“The doctor explained. You’ve been in the dark so long your eyes have to work harder to focus. With the blindfold on, you’ve been blinking less too. That makes your eyes dry, irritated. It’s going to take some time to get them back to normal, but it will happen.”
Water pools on my lower lids, tripping over with every blink. Slowly, my vision starts to clear. One curtain is drawnback, sunlight bathing a corner of the room. He’s right. After the initial shock, I’m able to adjust, bring my surroundings into sharper focus. Including him.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but he isn’t it.
Golden-brown hair is swept off his broad forehead, the strands long and thick on top and trimmed short on the sides.
The stubble on his chin is darker, but it can’t conceal the sharp cut of his jaw or the subtle cleft in his chin. Or the wide sweep of his lips, which look surprisingly soft despite the serious line they’re pressed into.
There’s a cut on one side of his mouth, a thick angry line that draws my attention up past a straight nose and sharp cheekbones to his eyes. Ice-blue and intelligent, he’s studying me as closely as I am him. Two specimens under mutual microscopes.
His hard gaze pins me in place, like he’s daring me to react to the deep scar that runs from his forehead, through one arched eyebrow, across one eye and down to meet the red line on his cheek. Part of it looks old, well-healed. The lower section is red, angry, like the wound has been recently re-opened.
The man breaks eye contact first. His attention drops to the floor, and I’m left with a second to absorb as many other hazy details as I can.
The bruises around his other eye.
The bandage that peaks out from the open neckline of his Henley shirt, not to mention the strong slopes of muscles the shirt can barely contain.
The dark curves of ink that wrap around from the back of his neck.
This man isn’t a knight on horseback, wielding a sword from a lofty height. He’s a warrior, fighting tooth and nail, up to his knees in sodden earth. He’s survived things. Dark things by the look of it.You and me both, dude. You and me both.
Speaking of dark things… “How did you know I was blindfolded?”
Those cool eyes flick to mine. “I saw it. You.”
“Where?”
“In the cell.”
“Oh.” Just like that the little bit of voice I’ve regained is gone. He’s still sitting next to me, his body a furnace, his weight substantial on the bed, watching me carefully as I absorb his answer. “Do you work for Rocco?”
“No.” He doesn’t break eye contact. His voice doesn’t change octave. Possible signs that he’s telling the truth—or is a consummate liar.
I’m no longer strung up by my hands or locked in a cell, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe. I’m with a strange man in a strange room with no idea of how I got out of Rocco’s house or why. I’d be a first-class idiot if I just took him at his word. “Why should I believe you?”
Blurry vision or not, I swear I see one corner of his mouth kick up. “You should not. Not without proof.”
“You have proof?”
“Da. In a manner of speaking.”
Da—one word and part of the puzzle falls into place. This man is Russian. That explains why he’s always sounded different.
Wait a minute—Always?
I trip over my own thoughts.Always. The word popped into my head unbidden, the sound of his voice triggering something deep inside my brain. My stomach tightens, anticipation and uncertainty an unpalatable mix. Now that my eyes are open, I don’t want to close them again, but I force myself back into darkness and tell him, “Say that again.”
“What part?”
“Any of it. Just talk. I need to hear your voice.”
He does. A series of quiet words, reassurances, some inEnglish, others in Russian. It’s a catapult back to my uncle’s dungeon as much as it’s a thick blanket being wrapped around me, heavy and warm.
“It was you,” I whisper. In the span of time I was in Rocco’s basement, I heard only three voices: Rocco’s, Dario’s, and the one belonging to the man who tried to bring me comfort in the most unbearable circumstances.
I’ve dreamed about that voice. Dreamed the man it belonged to would get me far, far away from that hell. It’s almost impossible to believe he actually has. Especially since I have no idea why.