Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Next, I reached behind him and uncuffed his wrists.
He started breathing a little faster.
“Pull your arms forward very slowly,” I instructed quietly. “I’m gonna cuff you at your front instead.”
He groaned at the pain and blew out a strained breath. “Thank you.”
I helped him where the rope restrained him too much.
I squatted down and fastened the cuffs once more, a bit looser, and pushed them as far up his forearms as I could before I grabbed a wound-cleansing wipe. He watched me in silence as I gently wiped down the angry red rings that circled his wrists. He’d struggled at some point. Aside from bruising, the skin had broken in a few places.
“I’ll rub in some ointment after your swim,” I said. I had to fasten his cuffs again.
“I’m going swimming?”
“Unless you wanna lie here in your sweat…?”
He huffed. “A swim would be nice.”
Figured.
Okay, hands cuffed, feet still zip-tied. Bye-bye, clothes. I pulled out my knife and began cutting up the rope and his pullover.
“Do you honestly think I’m strong enough to fight you at this stage?” he drawled.
“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to take the risk?”
He wasn’t my enemy, but he was still the enemy combatant.
Lastly, I removed his belt and cut up his pants, leaving him in nothing but boxer briefs.
Goddamn, he was handsome. He had the perfect salt-and-pepper going on, from his hair, his scruff, to his chest hair. Those eyes of his were a killer too, with the blue morphing into green.
The man didn’t say a word about how much pain he was in, but I could tell when I helped him to his feet. His eyes welled up, his jaw was set, and his body trembled with each move.
Fuck me if I didn’t feel like shit. Even though I couldn’t have done things much different—except, perhaps not shoot him in the shoulder—I’d treated him like a criminal.
Slow step by slow step, I guided him out to the hallway. His legs weren’t in such bad shape; he was just sore as hell. I wasn’t worried about him making a run for it anytime soon. Even less so with the ties connecting his feet.
“Stay here—lean against the wall,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
He sucked in a breath and nodded jerkily.
I returned to the living room and grabbed my blanket, then hurried into the kitchen for water, a Coke, the soap bar, toilet paper just in case, some fruit, and deli meat. I gathered everything in the blanket. Only thing missing was the bread that I’d left in the car.
I hid the car key as well as the key to the handcuffs.
Pardon me while I took my hostage out for a fucking picnic.
I was nuts.
Mercier leaned on me for support, and he struggled to get down the concrete steps outside, ’cause the zip ties cut into his ankles. But we made it eventually, and I led him down to the approximately six-foot-wide beach.
“We’re in Italy, by the way,” I mentioned.
“I know.”
I glanced up at him. “You were dead to the world when we entered the country, dude.”
He exhaled and peered down, digging his toes into the fine sand. “You’ve been giving me water from a bottle with a label in Italian, and the license plate on that car over there is Italian.”
Oh.
Motherfucker, I sucked.
I cleared my throat and squatted down to fan out the blanket and put all the stuff on top. “For the record, that’s not a reflection of how good you are—just how shitty I am at this.”
He snorted in amusement. “I’m not arguing.”
Well, good. Or whatever. Asshole.
I straightened up again and extended the soap. “Go on in.”
“May I have some Italian water first?”
Oh, right. He was probably parched. I ignored the dig and gave him one of the bottles, and he chugged the whole thing while I stripped down to underwear too. After a sweaty fifteen-mile run, I wasn’t sure I’d come out of the water for a long time.
I went in after him, and I noticed I had to change the dressing on the exit wound later. It’d bled through a bit. Not enough to worry me, as long as I kept an eye on it.
In waist-deep water, Mercier submerged himself and stayed under for a few seconds. I could just barely see the sandy bottom for the milkiness of the turquoise-green water.
I dove under too, and the water felt as amazing as earlier. If not more so.
When I resurfaced again, he was scrubbing the soap across his torso, all while cursing and wincing.
“Be careful. Slow movements aren’t a bad idea,” I said. I swam to his front, and he seemed intent on ignoring me. It was kind of the opposite of what I wanted because I wanted to talk. I went stir-crazy if I didn’t have anyone to talk to every day.