บท 18: Take the damn medicine
True to Ignatius’ guess, Leona was suffering from a terrible nightmare! In Leona’s dream, Ignatius, who was previously polishing his gun, now pointed it at her. Wanting to escape, Leona tried moving his legs, but they were frozen. She met her kidnapper’s eyes that lacked hesitation. The feast was a trap! She should have run when he appeared!
The carrot head author fought hard to move her body as dream Ignatius squeezed his finger on the trigger. No! She refused to die here! Leona struggled harder and successfully unfroze her toes as they wriggled just in time as the gun fired.
Waking up disoriented but in an alarmed state, Leona opened her eyes and gasped for air while swallowing a scream. With her heart still in her chest, the author coughed and felt some pain in her throat. It felt rather scratchy, but that was the least of her concerns.
Feeling relief washing over her, Leona thanked her dead parents that she was able to wake up after such a terrifying nightmare. If she failed to wriggle her toes, she might be joining them by now after a cardiac arrest in her sleep. It was a very close call. Thank goodness she woke up!
The ceiling was dark gray, and the blanket was soft. It was obvious that Leona was not in the janitorial supplies room. The surroundings seemed familiar, but she could not remember where it was. Did she really wake up for real?
“Good, you’re finally awake.” Ignatius’ deep voice from Leona’s left made her turn to look at him.
The mafia boss was not wearing that prince outfit he had in her dream. Instead, he wore a plain white, three-fourths sleeved polo shirt that looked perfect. The writer shamelessly rated bonus seduction points when she noticed that his first four buttons were undone.
Leona snapped out of it when she met eyes with the shark tattoo on his left arm.
“Please tell me this is a dream,” Leona murmured, slowly sitting up. She repeatedly moved her toes again, but her surroundings did not change.
“It’s not a dream,” Ignatius responded in relief and mild amusement.
He placed the glass of water on the side table and passed her the medicine Ivan had prescribed earlier.
“Here,” he pushed the tablet and glass of water into her hand.
Leona pursed her lips as she looked at the pills. What if it was poison?
Ignatius observed her reaction. His captive was staring too hard at simple medicine. It made sense that she would be suspicious of everything after being kidnapped. However, she would feel worse by not taking them.
“Take it,” he repeated with a sharp gaze. Ignatius hoped that his intimidating glare would convince Leona to take her medicine.
The ginger head only stared blankly at the medicine. Without much choice, the ginger head slowly accepted her fate and swallowed the medicine. She was too afraid to look at Ignatius and missed the slight smile on his face as she drained the glass of water before placing the glass down on the bedside table.
Unsure of where she was, Leona nervously panned around the big room. Did her kidnapper leave a bomb underneath the comfortable bed? Was the tablet actually slow-acting poison? Men in suits would probably shoot her in the head at any moment now. Yet, oddly enough, there was no one else in the room except for the two of them. There was also no one in the weird glass bathro-
Hold on a damn second! That aquarium-like bathroom looked familiar!
Realization dawned on Leona like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. In reality, it was only Ignatius changing the ice pack on her head. The writer was so shocked at how she was in the mafia boss’ bedroom that she couldn’t react to Ignatius wiping her arms with a drenched cloth. She could only recall what happened on her first day of getting kidnapped. How could she forget the embarrassing situation when they were wet together or how she fell on top of him without a bra?
Leona felt stupid that she did not recognize the room sooner. Turning beet red, she avoided his gaze.
Because of the awkward silence, the ginger head pulled the sheets towards her. Ignatius had just finished toweling her, and it was slightly chilly.
Leona wanted to snuggle underneath the duvet when her clumsiness caused her head to bump hard onto the headboard.
Leona wailed in pain as she caressed the sore spot. She tried hard not to cry in front of Ignatius, but it was difficult. Her skull felt like it was about to crack, and a chick would probably emerge from it. She just knew it! Her poor head was going to resemble a camel's back after the harsh impact caused by the stupid door!
Almost at once, Ignatius darted closer to her side and stroked her head.
“Oww!” the ginger head yelled once again at the contact. Was the mafia boss stroking her head intentionally, so she would feel the pain? He was obviously torturing her!
When Ignatius felt a bump on his bunny’s head, his left hand immediately cupped her cheek while his right hand gently probed at her scalp. Why did she have a severe bruise? Something like that could not be caused by colliding with the headboard.
“How did you get this?” he asked.
The bed dipped, and their distance lessened, with Ignatius holding her head close to his face. Leona could not move as if he had imprisoned her celadon green eyes, observing her like a suspect under interrogation. Her wavering eyes made Ignatius confirm that she was keeping something from him.
Annoyed that she wanted to avoid his gaze, Ignatius held her chin between his fingers and forced them to lock eyes. Their faces were so close now that personal space became a thing of the past with their breaths mingling.
“Do not make me repeat my question, Leona Sandersmith,” he growled. “We can do this the easy or hard way, you decide.”
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