The Sacrificial Lamb (8 page)

Alex cursed to herself. She had made the same observation and started to keep track of his coming and going. Usually, she could tell when both men were present because they spoke in loud voices, making ribald jokes with one another. When it was quiet, she knew that the meeker guard was by himself. Alex noticed it happened midmorning and extended till past lunchtime. At first, both men used to come and deliver her meals, one standing by the door while the other walked in and deposited her food. Since she wasn’t a particularly troublesome captive, they became more lax, and that was exactly what she was counting on. The first time the guard came in by himself, she noticed that it had been quieter that morning and realized the Mr. Mean was missing. Sure enough, it happened again the next day, as well as today.

This had given her an idea that she started to mull over, and now this Armani-wearing thug might have just ruined her plans. Alex prayed that Mr. Mean disregarded the warning and kept on making his daily excursions. She might have resigned herself to the fact she was going to die, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try to do everything she could to make sure that didn’t happen. If he changed his schedule, she would have to lay her scheme aside and think of something else. Somehow she felt that if she died trying to escape, then that was better than just letting them kill her.

After a few moments of silence, Alex realized Mr. Armani had left the warehouse without his jacket. She’d waited, thinking perhaps he’d come back again in a few minutes, but he hadn’t. Not that it bothered her. She was more than happy to stay warm for a while longer.

Later that day when the bolt on the door was rattled, then opened, she figured it was one of her captors coming in with something for her to eat. She was surprised to see Mr. Armani step into the room, holding a large, plain paper gift bag. He glanced at Alex before carefully setting the bag down on the seat of the chair.

“What’s that?” she asked cautiously.

“Clothes,” he replied, giving her a level, green gaze.

“Clothes?” For some reason the word didn’t make much sense to her. He went out and bought her
clothes?

“Yes, clothes. Unless you want to stay in what you’re wearing and freeze to death?”

Alex gritted her teeth against a rude reply. “No.”

She should be grateful he had done something so…thoughtful. Standing up, she removed the suit jacket and held it out to him. She wasn’t prepared for the feel of his warm fingers brushing against hers and jerked her hand back in reflex. The jacket would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t made a grab at it.

As he turned to go, she had the sense to thank him for the clothes before he walked out of the door. When he left, Alex shivered, but attributed it to losing the warmth of his suit jacket and not to the intense look he gave her when they had that small exchange. While she hadn’t necessarily wanted him to stay, she did feel a little disappointed when he was gone. Any company at all was better than being alone, worrying about when her usefulness would end.

Would he be the one to pull the trigger?

She discarded that thought as soon as it entered her head. She wasn’t ready to face the fact that this man, who seemed to care about her well-being, would have the ruthlessness to kill her. But that was what mobsters did, didn’t they? Killed people? If ordered, he would have to do it or else face the same demise.

To take her mind off her morbid musings, she went to see what he had brought in the bag. She stood there shocked for a moment and then pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle the mad laughter that was bubbling to the surface for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Alex was sure the two guards would come running in here to see why she was cackling like a lunatic if she let the laughter escape her. And perhaps they would be right to think her crazy. She doubted any sane woman would laugh at the mere sight of a pair of panties.

Sure enough, right there, sitting on top of the navy blue, fleece-lined pants and hoodie, sat a three-pack of cotton underwear. Alex was still snorting and giggling to herself as the wave of hysteria began to pass. She fingered the fabric of the clothing, and while it wasn’t top designer quality, it certainly wasn’t Walmart brand either.

She tried to picture the man who had just left walking down the aisles of Walmart with a shopping cart, and she just couldn’t do it. Even the couple of times she had seen him, she could tell he exuded power and respect. He seemed to have disdain for everything around him as well. No, Mr. Armani would absolutely
not
shop at Walmart.

Moving quickly, she pulled on a pair of the underwear and then the pants, keeping an eye on the door at all times. She removed the skirt once she was dressed and folded it, placing it in the bag and tossing it under the bed. It was filthy, and she never wanted to see it again anyway. Grabbing the hoodie, Alex put it on and sighed in contentment. Warmth. She would never take it for granted again.

It was a surprise that something so simple could actually make her feel so much better. Yes, her situation was still dire and her outlook dismal, but at least she wasn’t in clothing that made her feel weak and defenseless. Something about wearing pants made her feel tougher—ready to fight if necessary. She would have preferred a comfy pair of runners to the ballet flats she was currently in, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least she knew if she got a chance to run, they would suffice.

The guard who came in to give her dinner did a double take when he saw her. Alex was sure he must have realized where the clothes had come from, and who knew what conclusions he had drawn. Her guess was that most captives weren’t treated to a new wardrobe, even if it was just a sweat suit. After that initial glance at him, she kept her eyes averted and tried to look properly frail and delicate.

Part of her plan of escape was to make sure they underestimated her and thought she was just a weak young girl. Complacency on their part was the key. Once they got comfortable that she wouldn’t take the opportunity to fight, that was when she would make her move. In order to do that, however, one of the men needed to be alone. She was shooting for Mr. Meek—he’d never see it coming. Tall and scrawny, he might be easy to knock down if caught off guard.

The mean one though, he was a different kettle of fish. He was still wary and cautious, making sure he had his weapon within reach at all times. He wasn’t as cautious as during those first couple of days, but it seemed he would never fully drop his guard.

Alex should have known better than to think she’d found a means of escape, but she was nothing if not tenacious. The next time she was alone with a guard, she would execute her escape plan. She just prayed that there would
be
a next time.

D
OMENIC
W
AS
B
ACK
in that dingy warehouse room. The light was flickering, throwing everything into shadow, and he was on top of the girl. Only this time he wasn’t pretending, and she wasn’t fighting. She was no longer trying to get him off of her body. Instead, everything she did brought them closer together. Her hips were moving against his to increase the depth of his thrusts. Her back was arched so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. Her legs were locked around him, heels spurring him to increase his pace. He still had her wrists locked in one of his hands, but it wasn’t to keep her restrained, it was an act of surrender.

His other hand was still buried deep in her hair, pulling her head to the side—his mouth on the smooth expanse of her neck. Instead of screaming in terror, she was moaning in ecstasy. He was so close to release, but something was holding him back. With every thrust, he could feel the tension coiling in his body. It was getting tighter and tighter, but still he couldn’t finish.

The ache in his groin finally grew to the point where it woke Domenic from his dream. Groaning, he put one hand on his pounding head and the other on his throbbing dick.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he mumbled to himself. Domenic hadn’t had a sex dream that vivid since he was a teenager, and even then at least he got a happy ending. Messy, but happy.

To make matters worse, he had to pee like a racehorse, but unless he could properly take a piss while executing a full handstand, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish that any time soon. Unlike morning wood, there was just nothing you could do with a full erection. Well, there
were
things you could do, but he just didn’t have the time to entertain those notions.

As he lay in bed, Domenic tried to think of something repugnant enough to deflate his raging erection. Unfortunately, he kept having flashbacks of that dream, which certainly didn’t help matters. Fucking hangover, fucking hard on, fucking desperate need to urinate. Fucking
wonderful
.

He managed to roll out of his bed and stagger to the bathroom. There was a trick an old roommate told him about that he had never tried, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He filled the sink with freezing cold water and then stuck his face in it. The idea was that the shock of the cold water would kill any lingering arousal. He pulled his head out of the water and swept his wet hair back from his forehead. Water went flowing down his chest, causing his nipples to pucker and gooseflesh to ripple along his upper body, but at least it deflated his erection.

His head still hurt like a son of a bitch, but two out of his three problems solved was better than none. As Domenic showered, he contemplated why twice in three days he had thought of Alexis during his more private moments. While he wasn’t immune to the calls of the flesh, it was still unlike him to fantasize, or dream, of a particular woman. And out of all the women he could choose from, why her?

It was frustrating almost to the point of madness that this inconsequential girl seemed to invoke odd reactions from him. He had spent the last few years closing himself off from people that he loved and not allowing anyone else in. What was happening now felt almost completely foreign. It would be one thing if this was just complete physical attraction—she was a beautiful girl, after all—but he suspected that wasn’t the case. He was constantly surrounded by scantily clad, gorgeous women, yet none of them held any appeal for him at all.

So, what was it about this scrappy, sharp-tongued girl that captured his attention? Her attitude was at such odds with what he expected of her, considering the fact she was being held captive and knew it was not likely she would live. Most people would have become cowed or despondent, but she hadn’t—in fact she seemed even more willing to fight. Brave? Or stupid? He wasn’t quite sure but was thinking the former.

Stepping out of the shower, Domenic grabbed a towel and dried off. He decided to go see the girl again. He tried to convince himself it was to check up on Marco and Vince, but a sniggering voice in the back of his mind accused him of having ulterior motives. When he tried the excuse that he just wanted to make sure her clothes fit, the voice didn’t believe that either.

Domenic fought with himself like this, back and forth, but found himself parked behind the warehouse barely an hour later. He stayed in the car with his hands on the wheel, cursing and willing himself to leave. Apparently, willpower was no longer his forte either. He had been leading a very regimented and structured life for the last five years, but all of that seemed to be going right out the window.

I’ll just go in and check on those idiots
.

He got out of his car and walked briskly toward the warehouse. Luckily for Marco and Vince, they were both present in the large room. Domenic glared at them for a moment while crossing his arms over his chest. Vince seemed oblivious, but Marco matched his expression.

“What are you doing here, Domenic?” Marco asked testily.

“None of your fucking business, maggot.” He watched in anticipation as Marco’s fingers twitched toward his gun.
Try it asshole, I’d love a chance to put a bullet in your head.
“How’s the girl?”

“How the fuck are we supposed to know?” Marco replied. “It’s not like I sit with her for morning tea.”

“You’re fucking useless,” Domenic snapped. “She could be dead in there, and you’d never even know.” He strode over to the door and slid the panel aside gently. Alexis was sitting on the bed looking at the door, obviously having heard his voice. Possibly the whole conversation.

“Well? Is she dead?”

Domenic pressed his lips together and slid the panel shut. He paused for a moment, clenching his fist to stop himself from pistol-whipping Marco.

“Get the hell out of here,” he said in a low voice. When he didn’t hear any noise, he turned to Marco and Vince. “I said, get out. Make yourselves scarce. Take a break or something.
OUT!”

Finally, they got up and wandered out of the room, grumbling to one another. He watched them leave, secretly pleased with having a chance to be alone with the girl. Domenic waited an agonizing five minutes to make sure they were gone before entering the room. She was sitting in the same place where he had spied her through the panel. There was an odd expression on her face—not fear any longer but something else. She still regarded him suspiciously, but there was also a look of expectancy, as if she were almost looking forward to seeing him.