Trouble(44)

Look at me, crushing on the first guy who’s nice to me. It’s ridiculous, even for me.

I just need to concentrate on what I’m here for—finding my mother, getting some answers, and moving on with my life. Starting fresh.

We’re back at the hotel now. I’m standing by the archway watching Jordan as he settles Dozer onto the sofa. He even turns on the TV for him.

I have to suppress the smile I feel. And the zap of attraction that hits me.

He really does think the world of Dozer. He’s a lucky dog. Minus the car hitting him, that is.

I follow Jordan through to the hotel kitchen after he’s finished settling Dozer.

I take a seat on a stool by the kitchen counter.

“I’m not the best chef…” he says over his shoulder, heading for the refrigerator.

“Sounds promising,” I quip.

I’m surprised at my own boldness. This isn’t natural for me, and not how I speak around men at all. I’m always guarded, thinking over my words before I speak.

I had to be. One slip up could cost me badly.

But with Jordan it’s easy to slip because everything with him feels natural.

He turns slightly, looking affronted. “Hey! I’m not bad. I make a mean Green Chili. I’ll get the ingredients in and make it for you another night, but for tonight, just name anything you want—that I have the ingredients for—” he grins, “and I’ll make it.”

Feeling lightened by his banter, I shrug. “I’m easy. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

His brows lift. He turns his body fully around to face me.

Easy. Not the best word to use, Mia.

See this is what happens when I don’t consider my words. Verbal diarrhea.

“N-not that I’m e-easy. Just easy about the food, you know,” I start to stammer. “J-just not fussed, easy to please.”

His brow lifts higher, and he’s grinning.

I want the ground to swallow me up. Now. Please.

“Easy to please. Got it.” He turns his attention back to the fridge.

I’m such an idiot. I really shouldn’t be let out around people.

Jordan starts pulling food out and placing it on the counter. Eggs, tomatoes…

“So, ‘easy to please’, will a Spanish omelet be okay?”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “A Spanish omelet will be perfect.”

He gives me a smile before turning back.

“You want any help?”

“Nah, I got it. You want something to drink? There’s beer in the fridge, or wine if you want?”

“Beer’s great.” I hop off the stool and go over to the fridge. “You want one?”

“Sure.”

I grab two bottles.

“Opener is in the drawer.” Jordan points to the drawer with the knife he’s using to chop the tomatoes.

I falter in my step, my chest tightening, legs stiffening. My eyes hazing.

Shit.



Oliver trailed the knife across my collar bone and over my shoulder.

“Where did you get this from, Mia?” He held up the top I’d bought myself the day prior. A beautiful, low cut, strappy top, which I had hidden in the back of my closet. I was hoping to wear it when Oliver was at the hospital. I bought it because of the colors. It made me think of summer. I felt warm and happy when I tried it on. I wanted to keep hold of that feeling, so I bought it, even knowing the risk.

“I b-bought it, sir.”

“Did I give you permission to buy this?

I hung my head. “No.”

He moved closer to me. “This is a whore’s top! Designed to get the attention of boys! Is that what you want, Mia? You want the attention of boys?”

“No, Daddy.”

He held the top in front of me as he shredded it with the knife.

I wanted to cry. Over a top. But that top had made me feel happy. For that fleeting moment, I had felt happy, and he’d taken it away again. Like always.

“Take off your sweater, Mia.”

My eyes snapped up to his. “W-why?”

“Don’t question me!” he roared. “Just do as I say!”

My body shaking, I lifted the sweater over my head. Leaving me in my bra, I held my sweater, fingers clutching it, against my stomach.

Fear was roiling inside me.

Oliver walked behind me.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I heard the knife being placed down on his desk, then the snap of Oliver’s belt as he removed it from his pants.

My stomach dropped hollow. No matter how many times it happened, the fear was always the same.

“You’ve disobeyed my rules, Mia. You’ve been a bad girl. What happens to bad girls?”

I swallowed past the fear that was drying my mouth and shaking my insides. “They get punished, sir.”

I braced myself, gritting my teeth.