15: I wasn't done looking

I hesitated, my legs refusing to move. I wanted to beg, to plead with him to let me go. But before I could make a sound, Marek shoved me into the car. The leather seats were worn and cracked, smelling faintly of smoke and something metallic. He slid in after me, his arm heavy across the backrest, caging me in. The young man in the driver’s seat glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his lips tightening. “Kurwa, Marek,” he muttered in Polish, shaking his head. “You said you just needed to see someone.”

Marek grinned, his scar pulling tight. “I am, Patryk,” he turned his head, looking me straight in the eyes, his ice blue stare pinning me in place, making me shiver. “I am looking at her right now.”

Patryk’s jaw clenched. “Why did you bring her here?” he pressed, his voice carrying urgency, nerves just beneath the surface.

“Well,” Marek murmured, calm as ever, his gaze still locked on mine. “I decided I wasn’t done looking.”

“Idiota,” Patryk muttered under his breath, shaking his head again.

Marek finally broke our gaze, shifting his focus to the driver. He waved his good hand lazily in the air. “Just drive, brat.”

Patryk glared at me one last time, assessing, troubled, before dropping his gaze to the wheel.

The car pulled forward, dragging me away from the hotel. Away from my world.

The drive blurred past in silence. Marek sat beside me, his bandaged hand draped casually on the backrest, the other tapping idly against his thigh.

I pressed myself against the door, watching the buildings shrink and fade into quieter streets, until even the traffic seemed to vanish. My chest tightened with every turn, every stoplight that brought me closer to the unknown.

Finally, the car slid into an underground garage. Cold concrete, dim light. The kind of place where echoes never came back.

“Marek, are you sure about this?” Patryk sighed, like he had already given up in advance.

Marek chuckled, a sound low and rough. “Stop worrying, Patryk. I’m just going to have some fun. Then I’ll deliver her all wrapped up in a bow for Wiktor. I promise.” The sound of that name snapped my breath short. Marek noticed, glaring at me from out of the corner of his eye. His gaze sharp and amused.

“You’re going to get us killed, brother.” Patryk exhaled in defeat.

Brother – that’s why they looked so alike.

“Relax, brat.” Marek chuckled before turning to me.

“Out,” he ordered, dragging me along, leaving Patryk behind in the car.

His hand clamped on my arm again as he led me toward a steel elevator. The doors closed with a metallic sigh, and I was alone with him in the narrow space. My breath came ragged, even though I tried to steady myself, keeping a clear head.

His ice-blue eyes caught mine in the reflection of the polished steel.

“You think I’ll hurt you,” he said quietly, watching me intently.

“Like I’m some beast with no control.”

“And you’re not?” I tested him, voice trembling but defiant - building up my courage.

His eyes sharpened, measuring me. Then he flashed one of his slow dangerous smiles.

“Well… we’ll see.” He shrugged.

Not reassuring. Not at all.

When the doors opened, he guided me into a stark, modern apartment. Exposed brick walls, black leather couches, a glass coffee table littered with cigarette burns. It smelled faintly of smoke and cologne. His cologne. His scent. Where Santiago always smelled of cedar and spice – heat wrapped in silk, a lion in control of his fire – Marek was the opposite. His scent was leather, smoke, and pepper, raw and feral. Where Santiago’s presence soothed and smothered, Marek’s scraped against my skin – dangerous, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.

Marek shut the door behind us, tossing his jacket over a chair. He didn’t chain me, didn’t lock the door, though I knew better than to think I could just walk out. I hovered near the wall, hugging myself, waiting for the storm. Instead, he walked past me to the kitchen counter. He poured a glass of water, then turned and held it out to me. His scarred face unreadable. “Drink.”

I hesitated. His hand didn’t move. My throat burned with thirst, so I took it. The water was cool, crisp, grounding.

“See?” he said, watching me drink. “I can be nice too.” His words carried a weight I couldn’t place.

When I set the empty glass down, his hand caught mine, holding it firmly without hurting me.

My body flinched from the sudden movement.

“He’ll tear the world apart to find you, you know.” Marek said, his thumb tracing over my knuckles. “But tonight, you’re mine.” His tone was dark, possessive, but there was no mockery in his eyes. Just hunger – yes – but also something else. A flicker of pity? Maybe even understanding?

He stepped back then, surprising me. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch. “You hungry? You look like you haven’t eaten in days.” Confusion tangled in my chest. He’d dragged me here like prey – and now he was offering me food, water, a seat.

I stayed frozen by the wall, unsure if this was some twisted game. My legs screamed to run, but my mind knew that he would catch me before I ever touched the door.

“Sit,” he repeated, softer this time. His voice carried less command, more… weariness.

Against my better judgment, I moved to the couch. He didn’t follow immediately. Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching me with those icy eyes that didn’t quite match the faint slump of his shoulders. “I’m in the mood for something … greasy,” his voice was suddenly back to mocking, drinking my maid uniform with his eyes. “Care to join me for pizza, little lamb?”

The words sounded double-edged, I wasn’t quite sure what I was signing up for – so instead I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.” My voice came out smaller than I had intended.

He sighed, murmuring in Polish, “Kobiety…” while tiredly rubbing one hand against his scarred face. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you – I’m just offering pizza.” He raised his brows, shaking his head in disbelief – like I was the crazy one.

That ignited a spark of anger. “So, you kidnap me, drag me here – nearly sexually assault me in the elevator – not to mention that … that … brutal kiss in front of my manager – oh, and let’s not forget, getting me FIRED – just so you can offer me some f*cking pizza?!” I spat, trembling with anger.

For the first time, Marek looked startled, his eyes widening. Then he threw his head back and burst into a rough and feral laugh that filled the room.

“Little lamb’s got claws after all. Who would’ve thought?”

“F*ck you, Marek!” I countered, words ripping out of me. I was surprised by my own anger. And courage.

He raised his brows even higher, his grin widening dangerously. Then he suddenly rose, slowly, closing the distance between us at an unhurried pace. My courage dropped right to the floor. He sat on the edge of the couch, a few feet from me, a deadly smirk on his face. He leaned in, prowling over me like a wolf. “Careful, little lamb – that mouth of yours are going to get you into trouble.”