Page 19 of The Prey
She squeezes her eyes closed again and rolls her top half onto her belly, then pushes up to sit. “Jet lag? How long was I out?”
I check the vintage Rolex on my wrist as I finish unbuttoning my shirt. “Ten or so hours.”
“Hours?” She repeats my word back to herself, her brow furrowing with confusion.
“While I know you love to chitchat, we don’t have time for that. I need you to get ready now, because we have an hour before the event starts, and arriving late isn’t an option.”
She blinks out of her confusion, her gaze going wide-eyed as she drinks in my completely bare chest. “What the hell are you doing?”
I turn away from her to find my luggage. It would have been better to hire someone to unpack for us, too, but I don’t want anyone touching my weapons or going through my things.
“Getting ready, which is what I told you to do.”
Turning my head to the side, I gaze at her over my shoulder. Another blink, another long stare. Are you kidding me? I don’t have time for her bullshit. Whatever patience I had built up for her is gone now. I stalk back to the bed, my shirt flapping open along my ribs.
“Wake the hell up and get moving. Bathroom is over there.” I point at a door leading off the bedroom. “I’ll grab you something to wear.”
Fear trickles into her eyes, and I can see the hesitation building. “Wh-where are we?”
I take her chin in my hand and squeeze it gently. “Ely, darling, if you don’t get moving, I’m going to drag you to this event naked.”
There’s a dark layer of menace in my voice now that she doesn’t seem to be grasping.
She blinks again, and as the words sink in, she jerks her face from my hold and glances around the room. Once she spots the windows, she glances back at me, then scoots backward across to the other side of the bed, walking over to the windows. It’s a gorgeous view, and I don’t begrudge the little gasp that escapes her lips as she cups her mouth.
“Are we…is…is this London?”
“Sure is. Now get dressed.”
Of course she doesn’t listen to anything I’m saying, and I have to stalk back to her side, grip her by the bicep, and drag her to the bathroom door. “Go, or I'll be going in with you to make sure you actually listen to me.”
She cranes her neck back and looks up at me, and I see the usual haze that comes from the use of that medication. It still lingers in her system, which would be fine if I didn’t need her to be a little more alert. Her legs wobble as she steps into the bathroom, and thank the fucking lord she does. I slam the door closed behind her and release a sigh of frustration.
If she were anyone else, I would’ve ruined her by now, but every time I think of crushing her in my fist, I see that broken and bruised image of her from that night in my mind, and I can’t bring myself to hurt her.
On the far side of the room is a small coffee maker that sits on the bar. I stalk over to it and hit the button for an espresso, placing a small glass demitasse beneath it.
Coffee should wake her the fuck up, and if it doesn’t, then I guess she’ll have to deal with my assholery keeping her in line.
A few minutes later, she exits the bathroom and scans the bedroom hesitantly, her gaze finding me. The espresso machine spits out the final drops of coffee, and I take the tiny cup over to her.
She takes it from me, staring at the brown liquid suspiciously. “Did you drug it?”
My annoyance climbs once more. “No, the drugs were to keep me sane on the long flight, and keep you alive by stopping me from tossing you out the damn exit hatch. This is to wake you up.”
“How can I trust that you’re telling the truth?”
I might murder her. I just fucking might.
“I told you the biggest mistake you could ever make is to trust me, so trust is a non-issue here, Prey. I’m not a good guy. I will hurt you if it gets me what I want. Don’t make me do that; just do what I fucking say and stop questioning me because, in the end, I don’t care if you trust me or not. What I care about is you waking the fuck up and making yourself presentable. That’s what I care about. So don’t trust me…trust me. It’s all the same.”
Her eyes narrow, the blue catching the light, but she doesn’t respond, thankfully. Instead, she sips the espresso like we have all the time in the world. That only pisses me off more. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I roll my eyes in place of taking the cup and pouring the contents directly down her throat. “Just fucking drink it, already!”
Maybe she can sense how close to the edge I am, or maybe she’s finally decided to get moving; either way, I can’t complain when she places the cup on the end table and starts doing as she’s told. In an effort to move things along, I grab a dress out of the suitcase for her. “Here, put this on.”
She pauses and then starts examining the shimmery green fabric. “This...I don’t remember this being in Bel’s closet.”
“Okay? And your point is? I didn’t ask if you wanted to wear it. I told you to wear it.”