Page 8 of Unbound

Sybil

I’m not sure if things are going great or awful at this point. Technically, I’m right where I hoped to eventually end up, but the circumstances surrounding my arrival leave a lot to be desired.

Mostly because of all the shooting.

Walker blows out a long breath, looking more than tired. Beyond exhausted.

Weary. He seems weary.

“Stay here.” His voice is a low rumble as he stalks out of the room, leaving me standing in the bathroom doorway with no option but to wait until he comes back.

I’m not against sleeping naked, but somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate me rolling across his expensive sheets with my tits out. And considering Walker already doesn’t hold the highest opinion of me, I’d rather not do anything to make him like me even less.

While I wait for him to return, I peer around the room, deciding whether or not I should start my investigating in here. This room looks oddly untouched. Like it’s never been used.

The pillows on the bed are pristinely fluffy. The lines of the duvet are crisp and there’s not a snag to be seen on the woven blanket beneath it. I creep over to run one hand over the covers. None of the linens have the sort of softness that comes with repeated wear and washing.

There’s also not a speck of dust on any surface, and the vacuum lines across the carpet are only marred by the footprints Walker and I just added. While there are plenty of places for interesting things to be tucked away in here, if Walker doesn’t ever come in here, I doubt he’s put anything in the drawers of the dressers or nightstands.

Especially the kinds of items I’m looking for.

“Here.” Walker enters the room suddenly, practically throwing a wad of clothing at me before ducking back into the hallway with a mumbled, “Good night.”

“Good night.” The words aren’t even fully out of my mouth before I hear his door close.

Welp. I really managed to royally fuck this up.

With a sigh, I pad into the bathroom, closing the door behind me before peeling away the clothes I put on this morning—God, was that only this morning?—when I was simply nervous about my plan to confess all my sins to the girls over lunch. I wasn’t expecting the conversation to go well, but I definitely didn’t anticipate how things actually went down.

I’m obviously more confident in my skills than I should be, because not for one second did I think I’d be so easy to find. Even if I was found, it never occurred to me I wouldn’t be the only one in danger. Why spray an entire parking lot with bullets and risk getting caught when they could have just waited and followed me back to my hotel?

I don’t realize I’m standing stark naked, my brain running a million miles an hour, until a shiver racks my body.

Probably makes more sense to think about this under scalding hot water. It might not help me figure shit out faster, but at least my nipples won’t turn to ice and fall off.

I fiddle with the complicated faucet, wishing I had my phone so I could Google how in the hell to turn the thing on. A few minutes—and about a million ‘fucking hells’—later, I finally manage to get hot water spraying from the shower head. After grabbing a washcloth, I open a cabinet, hoping for a bar of soap. The gasp that leaves my mouth is so loud in the closed space, I’m glad I’m alone.

Because the stock of toiletries in here is insane. They’re nice toiletries too. Definitely the sort Deidre Bradshaw would choose. It’s a shame she hates me, because the woman would probably be great at helping me establish a skincare routine.

I sniff a few body wash options, choosing the one I like best and taking it into the stall with me. The water burns my skin and flushes my cheeks as I squeeze some of the sandalwood and vanilla scented gel into my cloth. It feels good to scrub down. Like maybe it’ll wash away part of the guilt I’m carrying over what could have happened today.

I feel so fucking bad about it. Not bad enough to abandon the quest that brought me here, but still pretty bad.

Once I’m clean and dried, I sift through the items Walker brought me, pulling on a pair of sweats I have to roll three times at the waist to keep from walking on the hem, and a T-shirt that practically makes it to my knees. I’m not a super tiny girl, but wearing his stuff certainly makes me feel that way.

My belly does a little flip just thinking about it.

Giving myself a serious look in the mirror, I grab a toothbrush from the drawer and point it at the chick who obviously needs a lecture. “You cannot be horny for Walker. Especially now.” I squeeze a line of toothpaste onto the bristles and stuff it into my mouth, working the bristles against my teeth and gums in a way that would make my mother cringe. I continue my pep talk around foam and drool. “You have to get your head in the game. Yes, he’s gorgeous. Yes, he smells fucking delicious. And yes, his voice could initiate a spontaneous orgasm.” I spit into the sink then meet my own eyes again. “But he hates your guts. As he should.”

I rinse everything down the sink and flip off the light. That’s enough self-reflection for now.

Shoving the decorative pillows to one side of the mattress, I slide under the sheets. It takes a couple minutes of flailing around to get everything good and loosened up and comfortable. Then I stare at the fancy little clock on the nightstand… and wait.

An hour later, I decide I’m probably safe, and silently slip out of bed, bare feet making my steps barely audible as they move across the floor. Holding my breath, I peer out into the hallway, straining to hear any indication of whether or not Walker is still awake.

I don’t hear any water running or a television droning, and there’s no light seeping from beneath his door, so I think I’m good.

My heart rate picks up as I quietly creep down the hall, moving carefully past Walker’s door. I’m sure he put me in the room on the other side of his to deter me from doing this very thing, but he probably should have left the door open if he wanted to be positive I wouldn’t go out exploring.