Captured (erotic) (#5, 101 Nights)

Chapter Two: George

It’s rare when I sleep through the night without dreaming or tossing and turning. I have a mild headache when I awaken, a sign I might’ve overslept. Morning light streams in through the open drapes of my bedchamber, and I roll onto my back. As always, I evaluate my surroundings and physical condition with my senses, a practice born from years spent in hot spots around the world sleeping in enemy territory.

The night trickles back to me: Alisha and beating the shit out of one of the guys chasing her. From there, it’s blurry. I remember bathing, a glass of wine and … that’s it. I feel better today, rested mentally and physically for once.

And then it hits me. I slept. With a wild woman like Alisha loose in my room. Throwing off the covers, I realize I’m fully dressed in the same clothes I wore last night after my shower. I never wear clothing to bed.

Worse, it’s too quiet in my flat for her to be present.

“Alisha,” I growl under my breath, realizing she somehow managed to drug me. I’d never sleep that deeply with someone I don’t trust in my room, unless she was in bed with me.

Ripping open the door separating my bedroom from the rest of the flat, I freeze in the doorway. Alisha is nowhere to be seen – but there’s a dead man in the middle of my living room. Blood has created a huge pool around him, the rusty wine color and gumminess of it making me think I slept for much longer than a few hours. He’s impaled on the metal arm of the glass top coffee table with shards of glass scattered around the room, glittering different colors in the sunlight like Mardi Gras confetti.

I crouch near him, outside the ring of glass. His eyes are closed and mouth open in a silent scream, his skin tinged with blue. He’s dressed like the secret police, and there’s a shattered laptop with a knife through the keyboard in the blood near one extended arm. It’s Natalie’s; I recognize the dog stickers.

I stand. It takes me another five seconds to figure out what happened. The front door is locked from the inside with a chair braced against it.

“Alisha?” I call softly, scanning the flat again. “I know you’re here.”

No answer. Concern twists my stomach. I don’t want to be worried about her, but I haven’t been able to shake the dread weighing me down since we landed in Nijala. She’s oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the exterior of every smile and around every corner. As luxurious as this place is, we’re in enemy territory, and she’s a lamb to the slaughter.

“I’m not angry, love. I need to know you’re okay.”

I wait again.

“I’m okay,” comes the tiny, stricken voice from the kitchen.

Hurrying across the living room into the kitchen, I see her seated in a corner with her back to the cabinets, a paring knife clenched in one hand and blood on her canary yellow shirt. Her eyes are red rimmed, her features pale beneath the gorgeous caramel skin. She appears small, scared.

I go to her, not liking the resurgence of a familiar instinct – the need to protect her. Unlike my ex, Tracy, Alisha can’t handle herself in a threatening environment. I met Tracy on a mission, a beautiful yet trained killer, one who knew who I was and still found a way to love me for it. I didn’t worry about her as much as I do Alisha, because Tracy knew how to defend herself well.

Not that it helped her survive.

Now is not the time. I don’t want to recall the last days with Tracy. I can’t really help looking at Alisha and wishing she knew half what Tracy did about self-defense or staying off the radar in a foreign country. If someone as skilled as Tracy went down, Alisha doesn’t stand a chance. The doom in my gullet is heavy, a reminder that Alisha managed to crawl beneath my skin before I realized there was any possibility of being attracted to her.