Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals #1) - Heather Long Page 0,25

out of the bed. The whole room swayed, and I wanted to curse. Curling the fingers of my right hand into my palm, I swallowed with a grimace. Or tried to.

There was no spit in my mouth, and my throat, like my head, ached. The room teetered a little, and even with what little light there was in the room behind me, my eyes still watered.

If I couldn’t stand up for long, I’d never make it out of here. I didn’t know why Kestrel and his friends took me, but kidnapping wasn’t out of the question. The last thing I wanted was to be ransomed back to my family. Yeah, I was sure that would go over well.

Maybe I could offer them money to let me go without talking to my family. They’d said they hadn’t called anyone, and I vaguely recalled Vaughn assuring me no one knew where I was. That had been important in the dark, head screaming and not able to focus.

Right now, though? It worried me.

The room had finally stabilized, so I headed for the door. Whether I had just a shirt on or not, I didn’t want to chance waking up my guard by looking for clothes. Every step was like sending a knife through my skull. My ankle wasn’t much better, but it held if I balanced more of my weight on my uninjured leg.

I gripped the knob, but it didn’t turn. Frowning, I tried it again. Was I locked in here? I smoothed my fingers over the knob, looking for a lock of some kind to release, but nothing. Then I just pulled it if the knob wouldn’t turn, but the door didn’t budge.

Frustration swelled through me as I yanked it harder. Not that it changed the result. The scrabble of panic clawed its way up my spine again, and I swallowed back a sound as I yanked it again.

“That’s not a real door.”

Fuck.

The scream I’d been holding in burst out of me, and I twisted to slam my back against the door. My blond guard stood a couple of feet away, one hand raking through his disheveled hair.

He jerked at my scream, and for a moment, a slash of a smile penetrated the shadows hiding his face from me. He half-twisted so the light hit him. “It’s not a real door,” he repeated. “The bathroom is over here.” He motioned to the other wall where a door stood ajar.

Still fighting the breathlessness, I stared at him.

“You okay?” He cocked his head to the side. “You don’t look steady.”

“You scared the shit out of me.”

When he raked his hand through his hair this time, I glanced away from the motion, only that was a mistake. I focused on the ripple of muscle along his chest and arm. The light playing over the muscle seemed to emphasize not only his physique, but also gave the paint flecks a bit of a glittery appearance.

Frankly, his body was fine, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen good bodies before.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, giving me something of a sheepish look. “But you were going to hurt yourself and you looked scared.”

I scowled. Pushing off of the door, I straightened and ignored the thundering in my head and the pulse of pain in my ankle. “I’m not.” I didn’t care what I said earlier.

“Okay.” Just like that. “You want the bathroom?” He cocked his head and nodded toward the open door. “Need a hand?”

“I can manage.” The words came out on a rasp. What I wouldn’t give for a little spit. That said, to get to the bathroom, I had to pass by him, and he squinted at me like I was some kind of puzzle.

“Okay,” he said, repeating the earlier word, yet neither of us moved. With a sigh, he rubbed that hand over his face. “Are you going to go?”

“Are you going to move?” I bit the words off one at a time. His hand dropped from his face, and he pressed it against his chest. A hint of mockery touched his smile as he took a step to the side and then extended his arm as though please, go ahead.

That would put him at my back.

But if I kept making a big deal about this, it was going to let him know I really was afraid. I couldn’t afford fear. I’d have licked my lips, but the dry mouth made that almost an impossibility. We both stood there for another long minute,