Page 18 of Sweet Deception (Irish Kings #4)

Chapter Fifteen

I stopped shouting his name the second the unmistakable roar of his sports car carried to my ears, engine revving to life and tearing into the night. As pissed as I was that he locked me in here like some princess in a tower, my anxiety has settled with him gone.

Back in the room, I rest my strained voice and pour all my energy into breaking out of this place however I can.

For the better part of an hour, I try everything to get the door to budge.

But he bolted the damn thing shut, and even if I could swing one of those small wooden bedside tables at the windows hard enough to break them, the bars and two-story drop would still hinder my escape. Well, the bars would.

Defeated and sweaty, with the weight of the day bearing down on me as well as the time—it’s the middle of the night, and I’m usually in bed by ten—I finally decide to shower.

He wasn’t lying about the dresser and the closet in this strangely shaped room.

Various clothes of different sizes and fabrics sit piled in the darkness and hang beyond the closet door. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll find, but the shower calls to me as it always does when I’m stressed and my back is up against the proverbial wall.

I rifle through a dresser drawer until I unearth a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. They’ll all be giant on me, but whatever. I’m not here for a fashion show. I fold them under my arm, kick off my shoes, and pad into the bathroom, closing the door and flipping the lock behind me.

My pulse flutters when I remember the smug edge to Darren’s expression as he held up the bathroom door key.

Screw him.

If I understand him at all, I know he’ll return and sneak up on me. This time, I’ll be ready for the bastard.

Setting my stack of clothes down on the back of the toilet, I move to the sink, squat down, and yank open the cabinet doors.

I’ll fashion a weapon out of something, anything .

Resourceful is my middle name. Foster homes do that for a girl, building skills like emotional avoidance and creative self-defense.

I don’t find much beneath the sink. Just a few bottles of cleaning supplies and a gallon-sized container of shampoo meant to refill the smaller bottle in the shower. A giant, hard, plastic jug of shampoo? This is the best I can do?

I haul it out from under the sink and balance it on a corner of the counter.

Unconventional? Absolutely.

But I’m not going to let that stop me.

A plan comes together as I unscrew the cap.

I pour some shampoo on the tile just in front of the door before stripping naked and climbing into the shower.

Soon, glorious hot water rains down on me, helping to clear my cluttered mind.

Playtime’s over. I need to find a way off this property, get to Mrs. Guseva’s, and disappear before Darren or anyone else can locate me.

Saving Lucy is too important.

After I’ve washed myself, I step out of the shower, but I don’t turn the water off.

I dry as quickly as I can and climb into the borrowed clothes.

My muscles freeze the second I hear that click .

Not the bathroom but the bedroom door.

Darren’s back.

My heart goes into overdrive. A knot congeals in my throat, and I swallow hard.

This is it…

This may be my last and only opportunity to get away from him.

When the doorknob rattles, I snatch the gallon-sized shampoo bottle. Heart hammering against my ribs, I position myself in the corner of the bathroom, ready to strike.

The second Darren steps foot on the tile, his right leg skates forward on the shampoo slip-n- slide I laid out for him. His giant hand scrabbles against the wall to keep his balance, and he doesn’t see it coming when I launch the shampoo bottle square at his chest.

“What the fuck?—”

Even though he manages to bat the bottle away with his arm like a fly, the surprise is enough to topple him to the ground.

The bottle careens across the bathroom, banging against the tile wall and sending even more shampoo cascading onto the floor between us, but I don’t care.

I’m moving as fast as my tired, balletic body allows.

In all the commotion, Darren dropped his keys in the threshold.

Yes!

I sprint to the doorway—leaping over his felled body—and bend for the keys without slowing down.

My small victory ends the second Darren grabs my trick ankle.

I cry out in pain, toppling to the ground. My body slides as I hit the hardwood. Darren’s fist is a shackle clamped around my throbbing ankle. Biting into my cheek to keep the agony off my face, I drag my body toward the door.

Darren releases my ankle, but before I can fully recover, he’s on top of me. He wrenches one arm behind my back while the other wraps tight around the nape of my neck.

He pants, sharp irritation in his gravelly voice. “Where do you think you’re going, jailbird?”

My free hand clutches his keys, not that it matters now.

I’m caught. Damn him.

As we both pant from this unexpected struggle, I let the cool, firm surface of the floor ground me.

Darren sits on the back of my thighs, just below my ass. Even though this isn’t the vibe of the moment at all, my whole body’s aware of the fact that this is a sex position.

Or is this the vibe?

My face burns all over again, like the steam of the shower is still heating me up. Whether that’s because I’m embarrassed or…thrown off by this compromising position, it’s impossible to tell.

I press my eyes shut, and that’s when Darren begins to laugh. Not that unsettling, unhinged laughter from earlier. This sounds…more sincere. As if he genuinely finds me amusing.

“That was good.” He sighs, rubbing his thumb against the inside of the wrist he has pinned to my back. “I have to give it to you.”

“ Get off me .” I pour all the acid inside me into my tone, jerking beneath his weight and iron grip. But squirming around only grates my ass against his pelvis, and that sensation is the last thing I need.

Why is my mind swirling back to our first night together? When he had total control over me the way he does right now…

A throb between my hips shames me enough to not speak for a year.

How can I honestly be attracted to him? To this?

“Give me my keys.” Darren’s sharp, commanding tone reminds me of that night once again.

Ugh. I loathe him.

For a horrible, twisted second, I actually wish he’d crashed the car with both of us inside.

Hoping he’ll release me, I bend my free hand back toward him, offering the keys. He removes his hand from around my neck, nips the keys from my palm, and then wrenches my other arm behind my back, squeezing both of my wrists together.

“Let me up.” I feel weaker and smaller inside than even a moment ago.

It’s not a question of him overpowering me anymore. His presence just affects me that much.

Please, make it stop.

To my great surprise and relief, Darren’s weight disappears, and I roll over, quickly bringing my knees to my chest and springing to my feet. My boiling fury won’t allow me to look at him.

Backing away until I hit the dresser, I grip my elbows and wire my jaw shut, keeping my gaze trained low.

Darren stands next to the bed.

His clothes stick to him in strange places from where he slipped and fell. I want to snort at the fact that I knocked him down, but there’s nothing funny about this moment.

There’s also nothing remotely amusing about the way my body still throbs in unknown places, or the way visions of him spreading my legs and nailing me against the dresser project onto the walls of my mind.

What is wrong with me?

I wait for Darren to speak, but instead, he begins to peel off his clothes, damp and sticky with shampoo. He draws his shirt over his head in one fluid, graceful, controlled movement. My eyes widen as soon as I spy a rolling swath of his chest.

Heat crawls up my neck.

The nicks, scars, and tattoos adorning his chiseled torso draw my eyes like fireflies to a light in the night. The sharp lines of his body devastate my focus. I can’t stare at him, not without need pulsing through my veins.

I tap into all the rage inside me and drag my gaze up to his unreadable, handsome face. “What the hell were you thinking, locking me in here?” I cut my eyes at his, and the electricity that crackles between us when our gazes clash is more powerful than I want to acknowledge.

Tension tightens Darren’s jaw as he fingers the hem of his pants and removes them from his trim waist.

I attempt to keep my composure while he stands here grilling me with his laser-beam eyes, his insane body entirely bare except for the dark briefs sheathing his cock.

The act is harder than balancing in a grand plié for more than a few seconds. I squeeze my core tight to survive the tremors quaking through me and dig my teeth into my cheeks.

I’m fully clothed, and he’s naked, so how am I still somehow the more vulnerable party here? And why am I haunted by the sick desire to rip off these clothes I’m wearing and join him in the nude?

Darren marches up to me and gets in my face. My body shifts into such high alert, I don’t even think I’m blinking, and the raw power enveloping me renders breathing impossible.

“I was thinking you’d be safer this way.” His deep rumble sends shivers across my skin. “If you got into anything while I was away or tried to escape, things could’ve gotten dangerous for you.”

“Oh, and you call this safety?” The words spill from my lips, unfiltered and ridiculous. Can he tell how off-balance he makes me?

His heavy gaze falls to my open mouth. “Relatively speaking.”

I draw in a breath like I’ve got something else smart to say, but I don’t, and Darren doesn’t give me a chance to prove it.

“Step aside,” he orders, voice softening just enough for my knees to go gelatinous. With difficulty, I follow his instructions and maneuver myself out from against the dresser so he can pull open a drawer and retrieve clothes for himself.

Of course that’s why he came over here. I’m such an idiot.

I position myself against the wall and close my eyes while his lethal fingers rifle through the clothing. When I open them again, he’s fully dressed and staring at me.

Seeing him in the same style I’m in flicks on a lightbulb in my mind.

Are these…his clothes…I’m wearing right now?

Darren doesn’t say anything for a while.

He just gives my body the once-over. Very slowly.

His gaze lingers on all the right— wrong!

— places. Everything in me screams to cover my face or my breasts, even though I’m fully clothed, but I know if I do that, he’ll understand how destabilizing his gaze is.

And that can’t happen.

Saving Lucy depends on my ability to keep my shit together, especially in the face of this chaotic, unpredictable, and alarmingly disarming man.

When Darren speaks again, his voice is softer, like he’s trying a new tactic. “While I was out, I spoke to my boss.”

That can’t be good. “About what?”

“The men who paid you a little visit earlier this evening.” His eyes are almost black in the dimness of this room. I never bothered switching on a light, and it would be weird to do so now. “They were Red Hill Mafia soldiers.”

Red Hill? I swallow but don’t say anything.

Unfortunately, that name rings a bell. I’ve been researching them, too, in connection to Lucy’s disappearance.

“Who is she? The missing girl.” A muscle in Darren’s jaw tightens. “And what’s her involvement with Red Hill?”

I clamp my mouth shut again. I don’t have an answer to his query, but I’m not obligated to tell him that.

Darren gives me a dazzling, sinister smile. “Does this have anything to do with Troy Sullivan’s upcoming summit?”

My gaping mouth gives me away.

Darren knows about the summit?

Does that mean he’s involved? What if there are Kings on the guest list?

Though he did say Troy’s summit …not the Kings’ . Does that mean anything?

All I gather from this tense exchange is that Darren currently has more information than I do. And it’s imperative I learn everything I can.

Instead of continued stonewalling, I clear my throat and decide to share a little truth…in order to get a bit more from him.

It’s my best bet, especially since I damn near pulled one over on him a few minutes ago.

“Lucy’s one of my oldest friends. She went missing after a modeling audition a few weeks ago.” I drop my eyes to the floor between us, Lucy’s face blazing in my mind. “The only summit I know about is the modeling summit she was talking about.”

“What the hell would Troy want at a modeling summit?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I cross my arms over my chest, unsure of whether to go on. Darren fixes a hard gaze on me. “It’s a human trafficking front. He’s… I’m betting he’s planning to sell the women at the summit.”

Saying the words out loud gives the horror of it all even greater weight.

Darren doesn’t say anything more, but the expression on his face shifts to something pensive.

I’m wary that this might be a trap, but I can’t pass up any opportunity to uncover more information. So even though I don’t trust him, I’ve got to operate like I do, just a tiny, tiny bit.

Besides, deep in the dark, cobwebbed corners of my mind, there’s an itty-bitty inkling inside that maybe the confusion I see in his eyes is genuine, and maybe he and the Irish Kings really aren’t involved in Lucy’s abduction.

Squaring my shoulders and lengthening my spine, I exhale slowly, preparing. “How about a temporary truce?”

Those five words get his attention. “I’m listening.”

“You want information, and so do I.” I shift to my power stance, lowering my hands to my hips. “As you already know, I’m good with technology. Get me a laptop, and we might be able to figure out exactly what’s going on with this summit.”

He shoots me a suspicious glare, clearly measuring my sincerity.

But after a moment, he steps toward the bedroom door and pulls it open. Over his shoulder, he hooks me with a sidelong glance. “Follow me. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it downstairs.”