When I wake, the mattress is cold beside me and a head-splitting ache makes me push myself deeper into the recesses of the covers.

What I would kill for a coffee and something warm and sugary and comforting. Something to take the thought of a certain brooding male from my mind and calm the raging hangover that causes leftover nausea to rise in my throat.

The wait for him to come back is excruciating. There's something so terribly addicting to his presence. I sigh, the memory of his hands burning my skin. The deep croon of his voice echoes in my ear, gooseflesh rising on my arms as I recall the warmth of his breath tickling my neck.

By the end of the day, he never comes. Oliver comes in to unlock my hands so I can shower and use the bathroom. He brings me a pint of Chinese takeout, watching intently as I pick out chunks of chicken from my lo mein before chaining me back up again.

I hate it. There are certainly worse prisons to be held in, but the silence makes me go crazy. By the time Oliver moves to leave for the last time of the night, I stop him.

"Wait." My voice is raspy as if I've just woken up. Up until this point, I've refused to speak to my jailor. So far it only seemed to make his job easier so I've decided it's not worth the effort.

His hand pauses on the doorknob. "What?"

"Can you—" I pause, clearing my throat so my voice rings clear. "Can you turn on the TV? Please."

He sighs, spinning on his heels to click on the screen a few feet away. I almost sigh in relief as a telenovela crosses the screen, filling the silence with the soft croon of untranslated Spanish.

I don't say thank you. The channel stays on for two more weeks.

Sinclair doesn't come back once. I know he's alive, the proof the beating heart in my chest. His presence haunts me although I find it especially difficult at night. I can't tell if it's loneliness or the fact he's managed to hook me on his presence like a drug.

Like an addict, something in my stomach twists remembering the feeling of his fingertips skimming over my skin. Smelling him on and around me—in his blankets and the oversized t-shirts Oliver supplies me to wear—is a strange method of torture that has the unwanted image of his body fitted against mine incessantly slithering into my thoughts.

When he strides into the apartment after fifteen days of ignoring my existence looking delectably disheveled and reeking of women's perfume, I'm not sure how to react.

He glances at me as he strides over to his dresser, tossing off his shirt with a wrinkled nose. I get a flash of tanned skin and toned muscle before he pulls a clean white shirt over his head.

"I've never heard you so quiet." The velvet-like draw of his voice makes the breath still in my throat. His brow raises at the total silence, a dry laugh tumbling from his mouth as he glances at the soap opera on screen. "Didn't know you knew Spanish."

"I don't." I hate how small my voice sounds.

He hums in acknowledgment, grabbing the remote and clicking on the news instead. A blonde woman cheerily remarks how the next few days are forecasted to be sunny without a chance of rain.

"Oliver's a prick," he says, cloudy eyes skimming over the ball I've curled into under his blankets. Something unfathomable flickers in his gaze. "I'll have someone new to watch over you soon."

A strange tightness fills my stomach, my chest filling with ice. The urge to scream itches at the back of my throat. Instead, I swallow it and calmly ask, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why keep me like this? Chained to a bed, isolated?" Aching for your presence? "Just kill me if you don't have a use for me anymore."

His eyes flicker to the cuffs around my wrist. "Has he had you in those the entire time?"

I stare at him, the heat of fury sweltering in my belly as I allow all the depravity I've felt in the past two weeks to show on my face.

The silence between us is tense as he walks over to the bed and unchains my wrists, his face carefully blank. It's only at his closeness do I realize a bruise skims under his eye and his knuckles are busted as if they've been driven into a brick wall.

I rub the sore skin around my wrists, frowning as he strides back to the door, unbound and alone. "Where are you going?"

"Business. Don't wait up, angel."

...

Clicking through TV channels mindlessly, I realize two things:

1.) Sinclair Black is going to drive me to insanity.

2.) If I sit in this room any longer, I'll shoot myself with my own gun (when he gives it back to me, of course).

I take a deep breath, trying to ease the restlessness that festers in my gut. Maybe it's a good thing Oliver kept me bound. The temptation to wander from my cedar-scented prison tempts me to my core.

It takes me another hour before I get the courage to rise out of bed and pad over to the door, tugging the oversized t-shirt further down my legs nervously.

I attempt to open it, sighing wearily as the locked knob stays stubbornly still beneath my fingers. My heart shudders in my chest like a bird wretchedly flapping its wings within an iron cage.

I don't hesitate as my leg juts against the wood, wincing as it opens with a splintering pop.

I await the sound of approaching footsteps. When silence blesses my ears, I expel a relieved breath and take a tentative step down the stairs.

The quiet continues even as I reach the last step. When I turn the corner, the last thing I expect is Oliver's presence.

Granted, he's slumped over the bar like he's downed one too many, but still.

I still, dread tightening my chest as I wait for him to notice my presence. But he never does. Upon taking a step closer, I realize there's no alcohol to be found around him.

"Are you okay?"

I almost think he's dead until a muffled grunt sounds back at me.

My brow knits as I take a step closer. "What's wrong with you?"

He lifts his head slightly and a flash of metal catches my eyes. Two knives are embedded in the back of his hands, binding them flush against the bar. A stream of blood trickles from the open wounds and cakes against his inked arms.

"Holy shit," I breathe, moving closer to him. My hands reach for one of the handles but he bares his teeth at me like a feral dog.

"Don't fucking touch me."

My hand jerks back to my side as I stare dumbly at him. "You have knives in your hands."

"Yes," he bites through gritted teeth. Sweat beats his temples, slicking his dark hair to his face. "If he put them there, he'll be the one to take them out. Otherwise we're both fucking dead."

"Christ." I rub the chafed skin of my wrists absentmindedly. "Sinclair did this?"

Oliver doesn't say anything, his jaw clenching as he glances at the door behind me. It's the room I'd shot his friend in what now seems like ages ago.

"He's in there?" I can't find it within myself to leave him in this state. Oliver has a knack for being broody and acting like everything I do is an inconvenience, but he doesn't deserve this. His demonic blood makes him sturdier than the average human so the wounds won't kill him, but it'll leave him in excruciating pain for god knows how long.

"Don't," he bites, dark eyes flashing with warning.

I ignore him, hands clenching in preparation to aim one at Sinclair's perfect face—not only for torturing one of his men, but also for hooking me on his touch and then leaving me pining after him for two weeks like some kind of weak-minded schoolgirl.

I push the door open, stilling in the doorway as a familiar breathy voice fills my ears. Red hair spans over dark satin blankets, olive fingers clutching her pale waist as he drives into her from behind.

It shouldn't feel like a betrayal. I don't even like the man. But all I can think of is how the same hands fit so perfectly in the dip of my waist like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

Eyes the color of storm clouds flicker up to meet mine, a brush of dark hair falling into his eyes. His body seizes its rhythm, gaze narrowing on the stricken expression that crosses my face.

"Angel."

-

((a/n: Meant to put this out sooner but I was scheduled to work seven days in a row and got pretty burned out from it all. Finally have a day off so I'm going to spent it sleeping and reading mafia books (any recs??). Anyways, thanks for being patient and hope you enjoy babes xx ))