Chapter 3
Theo
IN movies when people wake up after being drugged or hit over the head, their eyes flutter open and they might groan from pain. But in real life that's not how it happens, let me tell you.
When I first think I wake up it only takes a second before I am back to my comatose state, fading in and out with the muffled ramblings of deep voices. The next thing I'm aware of is my right eye opening before my left and I can taste fresh drool in my mouth. My mind and body feel trapped inside a dream where I should be in control but I'm not. I squeeze my eyes hoping the dizzy feeling goes away and slowly move my tongue trying to remember how the muscle works.
I've felt this way before, it was after staying down town till 4am and having to get up at 8 am. Meaning it feels like waking up drunk, not hungover. Because of the familiarity of the feeling I keep my eyes closed, thinking I'm in my bed, as I try to push myself up my arms shake and wobble before collapsing.
"You shouldn't try to move yet."
Familiar. That's the first thought I have when I hear the dark, deep voice from only a few feet away.
Then shock bolts through my veins like electricity and on-command my eyes shoot open, only they don't seem to be working because all I see is blurry shapes and faded colors. But I can at least tell I am not in my crap apartment and the feel of leather upholstery underneath me is definitely not my old bed.
As my gaze tries to focus, I register a presence coming towards me and I try once more to sit up having better luck this time. Using my palms against what appears to be a couch, I push my upper body into a sitting position just as my vision clears. I blink once more before looking up now being able to make out my surroundings.
An office, I am in an office with dark wooden furniture and a leather couch that I'm currently laying across. I don't waste much more time on the surroundings before I zone in on the figure standing before me.
My eyes start at his expensive shiny shoes and work their up way the navy blue Italian slacks hiding toned legs that seem to go on for miles. He must be tall at least 6'4. I take my time wondering up his white button down tucked in shirt because my god this man is built like a soldier. Muscles coiled under the material, which does little to hide the defined arms and strong shoulders. His jaw line could cut my fingers that desperately wanted to trace the dark scruff around his chin and cheeks.
Finally, my gaze catches on his dark blue eyes, they remind me of the ocean during a storm: dark and chaotic. There are a few stands on black hair dipping past the forehead into his line of vision, but it didn't seem to bother him as if he was used to the waves falling into whatever tousled position they please.
My senses are still rebooting, but I find myself speaking, "Who?" my voice sounds dazed even to me.
His eyebrows raise and he tugs subtly at the fabric of his slacks before he slowly, elegantly bends at the knees to reach eye level with me. He's so close I would just have to reach out a hand to reenact the fantasies I had of running my fingers against his chiseled face.
"My name is Ace, mia damigella in pericolo," He says and although his rough voice sends shivers up my spine, I can't ignore the fact it sounds so familiar.
"Ace?" I repeat and my voice still sounds dazed and confused which is exactly how I am feeling.
I watch as a smirk slides across his lips causing one corner to rise higher than the other, even revealing some hidden white teeth, "yes, Ace."
Squeezing my eyes as nausea hits me, I ignore the way my head sways.
"You drugged me, Ace," I mutter and I actually hear him sigh as if it was his misfortune.
"It was an honest mistake, bambina," he reassures and I open my heavy lids to give him the best glare I could muster at the moment.
"Where-?" I begin but when I try to move my hand to rub the dizziness away the arm holding me up collapses and I fall forward without warning.
With incredibly quick reflexes he catches me against his broad chest and my arms grip his shirt out of reflex. My heart rate shoots and all I can do to calm down is take in deep breaths of air that contain his scent. He smells like cedarwood and men's body after shave, even though he has a slight shadow across his chin.
"Easy there," He grunts before slowly lowering me until I'm sitting on the floor my back against the couch to hold me up. Reluctantly, I release my hands from his white button down watching as the wrinkles from my grip stays. 'Thank you,' is on the tip of my tongue but I might down, knowing he doesn't deserve it.
I sigh out before resting my head against the couch trying to collect what little sense of awareness I have in this state but having a difficult time with his scent filling my senses.
"What do you want?" I ask softly finally feeling like some parts of the drug has worn off. I wait for his reply expecting exactly what my father warned me men like himself would want and why he would always keep such a strict security detail around me growing up. I knew what could happen when I left home and I chose the possibility over that prison.
Ace then stands as slowly and elegantly as he had lowered himself before, and I watch waiting for the answer. As he walks past the seating area and the pile of papers to the left of me, I can tell from the tension in the features I won't like the answer.
"Nothing," He says leaning against the front of the large wooden desk, "You came here by a... error of intel or miscommunication. We don't have business with you, Theo."
I furrow my eyebrows, "How do you know my name?" I whisper and he takes two fingers from his right hand to tap them against the left side of his chest. Unconsciously, I tilt my head wonder what the hell he was doing, but then understanding spread through me: my name tag. But that still doesn't make my confusion settle, and with my clearing head I start to realize more of my surrounds.
"I think I like when you called me damigella in pericolo better," I mumble under my breath honestly, mostly because of the drugs.
I watch as his lips spread in a grin, a real honest grin and it shook me.
"Where am I?" I ask and my voice, for the time, sounding like my own.
This time a more serious expression casted over his handsome features, "Doesn't matter. You're safe." His tone left no room for arguing but I was past the point of asking questions high. I was sobering up enough to know danger when I see it.
"Bull," I bite out watching his eyebrows shoot up, "You better get me home safe and sound, and pray I don't file kidnapping or abduction charges against you."
"I'd like to see you try," he hisses back. Although this would be a good time to note the glare and defensive stance of the muscular man who obviously has a concealed weapon, instead I take the road less traveled and rely on adrenaline to push through this.
Which made me momentarily forget my weakened state and I try to stand up from the floor, but to my surprise I am successful getting to my own two feet.
"You really shouldn't stand," He warns and I narrow my eyes at him, anger clouding any other rational thought.
Before I can get the words 'shut up' out of my mouth, I feel the nausea and dizziness hit again as black dots dart across my vision. Yet somehow, just like before I am caught against a strong chest and inhale the scent of cedarwood.
"Do me a favor and fucking listen to me," He grunts as he bares all my weight to guide me back on the couch, but this time he doesn't step back.
This time my grip stays on his shirt as his own hand remains attached to my bicep in a tight hold. Even as the black dots stay in the corner of my line of sight, I can make out the dark blue swirls of his eyes. I seemed to have misread the chaos I originally saw in his gaze. Now it looks like more of survival instinct, as if he was thrown into chaos and had no choice but to make it through.
I look away as quick as I can, once I get my focus back, but neither of us remove the others hold.
Letting out a breath I ask, "When can I go home?"
Honestly, I am not interested in sticking around. I do not care why they picked me up, even if it was a mistake. If he says I can go than that is all I need to know. The only reason I left home was to get away from this world and if I stay any longer I might get recognized and dragged back.
"What, no thank you?" He mocks, but I don't hear any humor he seems to be all business now and I shake my head.
"Not when it's your fault I can't stand," I grumble before again asking "When can I go home?"
He sighs letting go of my arms as I slowly release him myself, "after I talk to my boss. Just a quick chat," he answers and my eyes snap up to his hope rising in my gut.
"Well what are you waiting for?" I know it isn't the best idea I've had to get all smart ass with a guy whose gun is not so secretly tucked in-between his back and pants line.
I watch as his gaze turns hard and for the first time in his presence I feel fear. It is now obvious that up until this point he was trying to make me feel safe, and maybe even make me talk a little see what I know. He's been playing the good guy, and he seems to be so good at manipulation I even snapped at him knowing full well this is some mafia or cartel crap going down.
"That's no way to ask nicely. You're not really in a position for giving me attitude," he taunts, and I try not to gulp at the deadly look in his eyes. Instead, I try to keep up my appearance.
I slip on a small smile and say, "But I can tell that you like it when I talk back," trying my best at subtle seduction.
For a fraction of a second his eyes widen and a part of me is thrilled I threw him for a loop. But before I can continue to see how far my talents go, a phone goes off.
Both of us freeze and look over at the desk, but he's the only one that gets up to answer it.
"Si," he murmurs and the accent that comes out on a single syllabled word makes my heartbeat fast surprising me because it's not out of fear.
My eyes take him in again enjoying the new angle as his back is turned to us. How his shoulders coil in tension and he stands even on either leg with a wide stance, it is almost like he's posing for a photoshoot. But that's just him, how he stands, walks and talks.
Suddenly his entire body goes rigid like stone for a full 3 seconds before he curses loudly, "Shit!" and slams the phone down turning away from the desk. I think he is going to come towards me but then he actually walks straight pass me.
"I'll be back," He shouts over his shoulder before opening a heavy looking pair of brown wooden doors and then slamming them shut.
I hear a jingling sound and then a distinct click, before heavy footsteps fade away form the door.
That bastard just locked me in here!
____________________________________________