When I Fall For My Kidnapper

Chapter 26

I carefully roll out of the soft sheets holding me tightly to the bed. I grumble irritably to myself as I make my way to the soft yellow bathroom door. The room is a calming shade of pale blue, which eased my mind from the stress it was enduring. I wish I could go back to Santa Cruz, the place where Holden had been the most amazing person I'd ever met. He had been so sweet, and that night had been amazing. At least until Trevor crashed our little party of two...

Shaking the memory from my mind, I step into the bathroom, the white tiles cold beneath my sore and bare feet. I peel off my shirt carefully and step out of my shorts with caution, my rib aching intensely as I slowly unwrap Trevor's handiwork of gauze around my torso. I glance in the mirror, before rolling my eyes at my appearance. I look just as tired and pained as I felt. My eyes appear to be heavily sunken into my skull, my bright , hair disheveled against my head. I stick my tongue out childishly at my reflection, before pursing my lips poutily as I twist the shower knob to let the hot water start to run.

The heat breaks away the aches in my body and the steam clears my scratchy throat. Relief seeps into my skin as stress seems to slowly let out. I can think more clearly without the harsh pain in my side, and Landon's words haunt me.

Trevor killed people? How the hell could he do that? How could the Trevor I know end a life?

But I've seen Trevor fight. He is vicious when it counts. I've seen him knock Holden out in one punch. And Holden is a big guy wrapped in complete muscle, and I wasn't a cage fighter or anything, but I knew it took more than the average man to knock a burly guy like Holden out in one punch. I've seen Trevor practically get his arm torn out of socket in a fist fight in the rain and still manage to leave the guy nearly dead on the ground while Trevor managing to be covered in the victim's blood instead of his own. I've seen him snarl at his bosses, his friends even without fear, because he knew he could send someone to the grave in a single punch if he wanted to. Everyone always cowers around him, sinking into the shadows and watching him with terrified eyes. Trevor wasn't heartless, but he most definitely wasn't compassionate in the slightest. When he was pissed, no one wanted to mess with him.

So, maybe he has killed someone. Maybe the possibility isn't as impossible as I had thought.

I think about Trevor's hands, how long and narrow his fingers are, yet so powerful beyond imaginable. I think of how they feel against my skin, so warm and scarred yet smooth, and charged with electricity. How they handle me so delicately with soft, careful movements, as if I were fragile. It's hard to imagine the same hands of perfection could also be so deadly.

All this time, when I look at Trevor, I always imagined with pity about what he has had to endure throughout his life. What had those arms of scars gone through? What had his green eyes of intrigue seen?

But why hadn't I asked myself what those hands of desire had been capable? Who had they finished off for good?

Had I really let myself fall for a murderer? Had I really let myself trust a man who is built of secrets? The ultimate bad boy? How did I ever even let myself consider feeling any sort of feelings for my abductor? How could I have let myself fall asleep in the arms of a man with so many things to hide? So many things that I didn't know?

And the worst part of it?

The worst part is that honestly, I didn't care. I didn't care that Trevor might have killed someone. I didn't care that falling for my abductor was a strict no-no for me, that it was worse than anything else I'd probably ever done. I didn't care about the fact that I hardly knew anything about Trevor.

I cared about him. And that's what's so terrible. I care too much about him to care about anything else.

But why the hell do I like him? How could I like Trevor for everything he's done for other people? It isn't right. It's not healthy. It's wrong.