“I’m sorry.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought about it.
Maurice inhaled and blinked sharply at the first thing that had been said in half an hour. “Hm?” he asked her, failing to hide the exhaustion in his movements.
“I’m sorry about what happened.” She stroked Pugsly some more. “I wish I’d known.”
Maurice smiled, which sent positive feelings through Mila. “I’m amazed you took it as well as you did. I did what I felt was best. If our roles would have been switched, I would have done the same.”
“Are you okay?” She’d been ready to shoot him. She would have killed him, not knowing his intentions, and been waiting for the police when the Dark Wolves’ hitmen would have arrived.
“I’ll be fine.”
Mila cleared her throat and subconsciously rubbed near her groin, the distinct memory of smashing his business a vivid one. “Your, erm…junk. I hope they’re not injured.”
It was obvious by how he’d sat for a good part of the drive that she’d gotten him good. She hadn’t cared, and honestly, she’d been happy about that, but the more she thought about it the worse she felt. She didn’t blame herself, but knowing what she did now, and as mixed up as she was then, she didn’t know what to feel. This whole experience tore her apart, from not knowing who to trust to having almost died to…all of it. She only knew one thing: she thought she could trust Maurice. That was it, that was all she was running on. He could be leading her to Fang this whole time and it could have been a ruse. It didn’t make sense, but nothing that day did already, so why not?
Maurice put the flashers on and cruised to a stop on the side of the highway near nothing. He picked up the discarded blindfold and extended it to her. “I need you to put this on.”
Mila tentatively took the cloth from him, eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“None can know the location of the Khan’s palace.”
“Not even Google Maps?” Mila didn’t know why she said that, but at the time it made sense, so she was going to run with it. Still…being blindfolded needed a lot of trust, a lot of trust that he wouldn’t do anything to her while she couldn’t see. Reluctantly, she raised it to her eyes and tied it loosely around the back of her head. She kept her eyes closed and listened to them get back on the road.
A short drive later, Mila struggled to not fall asleep. Her body begged for rest and saw the forced darkness of the blindfold as the perfect excuse. All the adrenaline and action from earlier that day had wrecked her, and by now it had to be getting close to the sunrise. Normally, she had a tough time staying up that long. With all this…she was ready to fall asleep on a comfortable campfire.
“It’s okay.” She heard Maurice’s voice as she twitched and moved around to stay awake.
“It’s not okay,” she mumbled back. “I’m not…I don’t trust people. You said it yourself.”
Even as she said it, she was half in dreamland, half in reality. She thought she heard him laugh. “I’ll protect you if something happens,” he said. “Rest. We still have a while to go.”
Mila didn’t want to rest. Mila wanted to be back in her apartment, drooling on her pillow like an idiot and worrying about her alarm going off for the exam. And yet, against her wishes, she felt herself nod off. She gave up trying to fight it. Maybe a quick few z’s wouldn’t hurt, and something about Maurice gave her the feeling that she was, indeed, safe.
She drifted off.
* * *
Someone touched her shoulder and Mila woke up violently, flailing like a beached marlin.
“It’s me!” Maurice!” With the comforting realization that she at least recognized him came the crushing reality that this was real. “Take your blindfold off. We’re here.”
Mila sluggishly untied the knot and let the cloth fall off her face. How long had she been asleep? Maurice was in the same spot and Sir Pugsly had climbed into her lap, but short of that, nothing had changed inside the car. A rosy haze filled the horizon as the sun snuck over the trees, bringing fresh light and life to the waking forest.
Mila barely noticed the sunrise because she was largely focused on the buildings in front of her: a massive, sleek complex with swooping glass panes, stainless steel beams, and massive gardens. It could have been plucked straight out of Manhattan and dropped into the wilderness. Compared to the towering trees around it, it was nothing short of a spectacle to behold. In fact, the structures were so fascinating that it took her a while to see guards patrolling the perimeter like they were protecting the White House, complete with earbuds, sunglasses, and guns.
“Oh my God.” Mila tilted her head forward to look at it more. For every sheet of crystal clear glass, thick vines snaked up and made it a part of nature. Gushing fountains sat in the sprawling courtyard with a fleet of black SUVs parked to the side. It simultaneously reminded her of an ancient mansion and a state-of-the-art skyscraper cut off at four or five stories.
Maurice parked the vehicle in front of the complex and killed the engine. “Come on. You have a while until he arrives.”
“What?” Mila couldn’t tear her gaze away. “Who?”
“The Khan.” He got out and Mila did the same, picking up the sleeping Pugsly and hoisting him into her arms. She almost face-planted getting out of the car after feeling the soreness in her butt from her earlier fall.
“Ow owwwww,” she whimpered, limping her way after Maurice across white gravel that crackled under her feet. “God fuckin’ dammit.”
The werewolf turned to her curiously after hearing her laments of pain, and the way the early morning sun hit his sculpted face stole Mila’s breath without her consent. “Are you okay?”
Mila somehow summoned the ability to walk normally. “Yeah. Yeah, just sore.”
His smile sent off a chain reaction of feelings in her heart, most of which she was too sleepy to recognize, but one stood out above the others: holy shit, he was hot. Not just handsome, but hot. She wasn’t looking at a pretty boy. The cuts above his eye and the blood on his jaw somehow made him even more appealing because they didn’t faze him. The intelligence, the sweetness in his eyes…
Mila frowned. What was happening here? Was this Stockholm Syndrome? Was she getting attracted to her kidnapper? He tossed his head at her to follow him and strode towards the complex, toned and broad back clear to see through the torn clothing. Was she actually checking him out? Did…did she care why she was doing it?
She shook herself out of it. Whatever was going on, she needed to worry about it later and be more concerned with the fact that they were walking into what appeared to be a werewolf lair—and she was getting left behind by the only figure that cared what happened to her. She hurried to catch up with him. Now that he was no longer looking at her, her butt hurt a lot more.
“Maurice.” She came up beside him. Sir Pugsly stayed asleep, miraculously enough. “What’s this place?”
Maurice nodded seriously to a passing guard. “An ice cream parlour. Isn’t it obvious?”
Mila believed him for a third of a second. Before she could say anything, he kept talking and led her through a magnificent courtyard, complete with sculptures, perfectly trimmed vegetation, and gurgling fountains.
“It’s one of Deadwood Headquarters.”
Mila gawked at a marble statue that looked real enough to walk off the pedestal. “One of them?”
He shrugged. “It’s a nice one.”
They made it up the steps and came to what appeared to be the main entrance with a sliding glass door that opened with a gush of refreshing air. Mila followed like a child going to their parent’s job—with awe, quiet amazement, and confusion. How in the hell was this thing hidden out there? How could someone have kept it under the radar? She decided to try and avoid thinking about it too much. Paranormal stuff sometimes didn’t make sense. It’s why there were no obvious recordings of paranormals. Even when the werewolves had come to kill Mila at her apartment, they’d been in human form. Fang would get in more trouble for g
iving away proof of werewolves than killing someone.
Sir Pugsly woke and seemed as amazed as Mila. He wriggled in her grasp, compulsively licking her fingers and snorting at various werewolves in the building, like he didn’t want to pick a fight, but he disapproved of it nonetheless.
Maurice came to a reception desk and leaned on the counter, nodding to the werewolf behind the it. Mila was once again drawn to Maurice. Something about him…felt odd. Not bad, but strange. The guy in the chair was also a werewolf, but he looked like a normal man. Maurice looked bigger, faster, and stronger even in human form. He emanated raw power without even trying to in a similar way that Fang had given off such a charismatic vibe. All the other people shied away from him and those that didn’t regarded him with respect. The receptionist was no different.
Maurice looked down at him. “Is he in yet?”
“Not yet. He’ll be in soon. There were complications on leaving.”
Maurice nodded sombrely. “Understood. When do you expect him?”
“An hour?”
Maurice thanked him and turned to Mila. “Good news and bad news.”
Mila groaned. Awesome. Good news, she liked to hear. Bad news, less so. “Yeah?”
“The Khan won’t be here for an hour or so.”
Mila waited expectedly. “Yeah, and?”
“You have to wait for him. He’s making a trip to talk to you specifically.”
Mila gestured towards the military complex she was standing in, with dozens of armed guards and with the shambles of her life in the distance. “You know, I think I’m gonna just head back to the city. It’s early and I better be getting some sleep.” She laced her voice with obvious playful sarcasm. “What’s the good news?”
He grinned. “Good news is that you have time to shower and eat if you want to.”
Oh. Oh, yes. Mila jumped on that option immediately. Mud still caked pine needles to her body and she was still sore as hell, even if she was hiding it. “I would literally kill for a shower.”
He tossed his head again in the follow me motion and led her deeper into the complex after requesting that he be notified when the Khan arrived. Mila swallowed her nerves. Meeting with any Khan, least of all the Deadwolves, was dangerous. It was like meeting the President of the United States, if the President might kill you for not agreeing with him. You didn’t become Khan by being friendly and open to other people’s opinion. You did it by climbing a ladder of death or, at the very least, keeping uprisings down.
Maurice must’ve seen her nerves, because he directly addressed them without her saying anything. “We don’t want to hurt you,” he assured. “If you don’t want to help us, we’ll simply let you go. No harm. No foul.”
Mila trusted that about as much as a cobra with a kiss me sign. Then again, what need would they have to kill her? They had nothing against her and simply not wanting to get involved wasn’t that big of a deal. They wanted her to help put Fang away. Did Mila support the idea of him going away, of all Khans going away? Yes. Did she support the idea of standing up and declaring that she was the one responsible for getting his Visa revoked and arrested? No, no she did not, because she doubted Fang would be awfully pleased. Just because he got put away didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t put a vengeance hit out on her.
That being said, Mila’s option list was a short one. She was running on two: stay or leave. That’s it. There was no brilliant middle ground. She either got to wait to hear what the Khan had to say, or she’d get in the car and leave. She felt safe and protected here, and that was enough for her then. Also, she couldn’t think of just herself. She had to keep Sir Pugsly in mind. Maurice didn’t know how many points he’d earned by saving her doggo. He might’ve tried to fight the hitmen, and that would not have gone well. The only reason the little furball was still alive enough to be awkwardly tooting in Mila’s arms was because of Maurice, and for that alone she owed him even if everything else was a lie.
They took an elevator, then some stairs, then another elevator. By the end of their trip, Mila was ready to take a breather. They finally came to a couple doors with keycode locks on them.
Maurice pressed in a series of numbers on one of the doors and let it open. “This is your room.”
Mila glanced inside the door but didn’t see much because the lights were off. “Where will you be?”
He pointed to the door on the left. “This one. If you need me, call out and I’ll be here in seconds.”
Mila liked that. Mila liked that a whole lot, maybe more than she wanted to admit. She was distinctly aware of her ears lowering submissively and the hint of a blush forming on her cheeks imagining why she might need him. “Okay, thanks!” She darted in and closed the door before she made a complete fool of herself.
Mila gently banged her head against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She was a prisoner, maybe. She couldn’t be over here getting turned on by someone who might be her captor. She needed to stay strong and focused, for her and Sir Pugsly.
The door opened, and Mila snapped to a regular pose with a forced smile to see Maurice staring at her.
“Oh.” Maurice paused. “Sorry, should’ve knocked. I wanted to tell you that the wall windows are one-way. Nobody can see inside so don’t worry about that.”
Mila nodded stiffly. “Thanks.”
“I’ll let you know when he arrives in time to get ready.” He smiled at her with a naughty look, and she realized: he knew. The bastard knew exactly what he did to her. That he and his muscles and charming smile and sweet eyes were wrecking all her sense of self-respect. Confident in that knowledge, he closed the door with that same expression.
Mila wanted to slap her ears and get them to stand up perky and normal, but they refused to cooperate. This was all just…crazy emotions. Yeah, that was it. She was overthinking this because she was scared, intimidated by the new environment, and confused. That and he was hot, and maybe she got hot and bothered with adrenaline. It was the same reason Mila stayed with the guy who liked ball-busting: she craved thrills. She tried before to stick with guys who took it slow and every time she got bored. She wanted someone to grab her and press her against the wall and force her—well, not really force, obviously—to not hold back animal passion.
Mila shook herself out of it. Well, he knew. Too late to hide it. Time to move on and act like she wasn’t thinking about anything other than what someone in her position should be thinking about: survival, protection, and making sure that she got a freaking shower. She set Sir Pugsly down in the room and found the light switch. She turned it on after trying to figure out how it worked only to discover it had a delightful dimmer on it. She left it halfway up to keep it dark enough where she wouldn’t get a headache from lack of sleep, but high enough so she wouldn’t trip on something and faceplant.
Chapter 8
Mila got a good look at her accommodations and…wow. Just…wow.
She had expected a hotel room, not the resort she faced. A magnificent king-sized bed looked over a plush, crimson carpet and a surprisingly spacious kitchenette. Mila was used to her own apartment, which was crappy and sometimes she had to battle water bugs so they would stay off the sink. This was heaven. No, this was Heaven 2.0, better than the original heaven. She’d died and gone to apartment paradise. She didn’t even want to walk on the floor to make it dirty. Everything sparkled and a clean aura wafted through the room. To top it all off, crystal-clear glass panes formed the wall leading to a scenic view of the forest far below.
So, naturally, Sir Pugsly took off like a rocket out of a bazooka. He skittered across the hardwood floors at the speed of light, yipping excitedly and running into everything.
“Pugsly!” Mila tried to grab him. “Stop that!”
He skidded into the nightstand which barely shook. As pudgy as he was, he wasn’t capable of bringing enough momentum to hurt much of anything. Mila forced herself to relax. She had enough to worry about as it was, namely the beautiful shower in the corner. Mila prance
d over to it, mostly wondering what sort of clothes she’d put on afterwards.
That became the least of her problems when she got over to it. Half of it ran along the wall to Maurice’s room and the other half of the walk-in faced the main living space. That’s where it got uncomfortable because anyone inside the room could casually look out at the lovely scenery. Unfortunately, it also meant that she’d be showering and staring at all the people walking around through a massive pane of glass. Hiding wasn’t an option because of the way the shower was designed, so for at least part of it, she’d be butt-naked with a wall of glass. She might as well go strip down in the courtyard. Maurice had said it was one way, though. She crouched and looked at it. It had to be tinted or something. To test her theory, she spotted a group of businesspeople wandering around in the courtyard, talking about something and coming in her general direction.
Mila jumped up and down and waved like an idiot. Nobody looked at her, which meant they couldn’t see through the glass. That, Mila’s unconscious suspicious side thought, or they were waiting for her to get naked. While showering, she’d be standing in full view. Something caught her eye and she made a pleasant discovery: she could see Maurice.
And Maurice couldn’t see her.
He emerged a level down onto a balcony, phone in hand and on speakerphone. Maybe he was ordering a pizza. Maybe he was talking to the Khan. Mila didn’t know and didn’t care, because at that point he was busy taking off the remains of his jacket. She laid a hand on the glass and watched intently.
He set the phone on a table and shrugged the coat off, lip curling up when he spotted the obvious hole in the back. Next came his tie, which he removed slowly, almost like he knew how much Mila relished it. There was something about ties that simply turned her on. She had never been able to pinpoint it, but watching a handsome man remove one…
The Deadwolves' Prisoner Page 6