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Chapter 17 (Lou-Lou)
I ignore the daggers Marlene's currently glaring at me and my uncovered tits and keep my eyes pi
He's been actively avoiding me for the last two days, refusing to speak to me and refusing to respond to Marlene's requests to see me.
And most importantly...refusing to tell me why I'm still here.
Atticus can't be the reason behind it, because not only is he apparently dead now, but it just wouldn't make sense. Not enough sense to keep me prisoner, anyway.
I throw my shorts across the room at him and even though his back is still to me, I notice him subtly unbuttoning his suit jacket.
For a moment, I think he's gone mad and he's about to join me in my naked party...but then I see that two men on either side of him are almost fully turned around now, trying to get a better look at me.
And I realize my horrible mistake.
In a flash, Ricardo pulls two guns out of his waistband and Marlene screams as he raises them in the air and shoots them both in the head at the exact same time.
The rest of his men stiffen as the two bodies fall to the ground with a heavy thud and blood spills and pools all over the marble floor.
Ricardo bends down, picks up my clothing, and tosses it behind him. “Get dressed,” he barks as he continues walking. “Now.”
I reach for my shirt and clutch it against my chest. “Okay,” I whisper, hating that I'm giving in, but not wanting to be the cause of such mayhem again.
I didn't know those men...but they're dead because of me. Well, because of him...but still. Looking at a naked woman should hardly qualify as an offense that's punishable by death.
I take a deep breath and try to control the shaking that's bound to start any moment.
Marlene hands me my shorts and helps me up. “You really shouldn't have done that.”
“Yeah, no shit. Thank you, Captain obvious.”
“Would it kill you to try and be pleasant for once?” she huffs, turning red with anger. “I know you have enough issues to belong in a loony bin, but it doesn't give you the right to treat people the way you do.”
“Screw you, I'm not crazy.”
She waves a hand up and down my body, as if proving her point. “Well you're not exactly sane either, honey.”
“I just—I just want to know why he's doing this to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Isn't it obvious?”
I shake my head, because it's really not.
“The man is in love with you. He's so in love with you that your crazy rubs off on him and makes him crazy.”
We start walking back to my bedroom. “He just shot two men in cold blood...two of his best men because they almost looked at you while you were taking off your clothes. If that's not jealousy, then I don't know what is.”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and think about her statement for a moment. “So you're saying I'm here because even though Atticus turned out to be a scumbag, it made Ricardo jealous enough to suddenly decide to hold me hostage?”
She opens her mouth but clamps it shut before she starts nodding wildly...like a damn bobble head. “Yes. That's it...that's exactly why you're here. Now can you just stop and try to enjoy yourself? He loves you, he wants you, he's crazy with jealousy. Every other woman on the planet would kill to be in your position. I mean, have you seen the man? Obsessive or not, he's got a face that's nicer than heaven and a body that's hotter than hell. Who cares why he's keeping you here.”
I ignore that comment, because I know all too well just how nice Ricardo's attributes are. “I do...I care why he's keeping me here.”
She throws up her hands. “Of course you do—look, I already told you. He's jealous and he wants you for himself. And now here you are.”
“Sorry but I don't buy it.”
She looks like she wants to protest again but I walk into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, and turn on the shower.
“He let me go,” I say out loud, a
I drag in a low, slow breath before I march into what I now know to be his office.
Marlene told me I wasn't allowed in here, but just like everything else she says, it went in one ear and out the other.
His elbows are propped up on his desk and his brows are pinched together as he focuses his attention on the computer screen in front of him, which only pisses me off more.
I try not to notice how the first few buttons of his shirt are undone, giving me the slightest peek at his hard chest. And I really try not to notice the veins in his muscular forearms, which are showcased thanks to his rolled up sleeves.
Apparently being a mob boss gives him a good workout, because other than the black designer suits he now dons, his appearance hasn't changed one bit.
It's just everything else about him that's changed.
I prop my hand on my waist and clear my throat. Whatever he's looking at must really be interesting because Ricardo tends to notice everything in his environment.
Like the flip of a switch, his eyes zero in on me and he closes the top to his laptop.
“I guess it's not just a glitch then,” I say at the same time he says, “You changed, you look nice.”
I look down in confusion at the plain dark top and simple pair of jeans I'm wearing...I certainly wasn't dressing to impress.
But the way Ricardo's eyes are roaming over my entire body, making sure he stops and fixates at every point along the way, you'd think I was a freaking centerfold on the cover of a magazine.
When the neckline of my top drops off my shoulder slightly, his gaze lingers there and he bites his lip.
Thanks to working at the show n' tail and as a ring girl, I'm used to men leering at me like I'm a piece of meat.
But the way Ricardo looks at me...I've never had another man look at me quite like he does. Like he's in awe of me...like I'm the most perfect thing he's ever seen...flaws and all.
His eyes finally co
That heated stare of his is like the sun...it will either warm you up slowly from the inside out...or burn you alive.
“What are you talking about? What glitch?” he asks, pushing his chair away from his desk.
“You said I could do whatever I wanted, remember?” I take a nervous step forward. I can feel my cheeks becoming pink with embarrassment. “Well, I wanted to work on my school assignment. Obviously, I'm no longer in school anymore, but I still wanted to finish it—it um.” I swallow. “It's important to me...but I need internet access to complete it.”
I want to point out that the television doesn't work either, but he crooks a finger at me and says, “Come here.”
When I take the few steps over to him, he reaches for my hand. “You can't have regular access to the Internet but I'll figure out a way that you can have what you need to finish your project.”
It's on the tip of my tongue to say thank you, but I don't. Because I shouldn't be thanking him for being treated like a teenager who's now allowed privileges when I'm a grown woman being held here against my will.
“I'm also going to set it up so you can complete your studies here. You'll get your diploma, Lou-Lou. I promise.”
I feel something in my chest dislodge with those words—because the genuine expression on his face tells me he knows how important that is to me, without me even needing to say it—but I force myself not to give in.