A Pole and a Gun

3 - It's all coming back to me now

♧ TRIXIE

When I wake up, I don't know where I am.

I feel disoriented when I open my eyes to an unknown room. I pull the silky covers away from my body and notice that I am wearing a man's t-shirt over my scantily clad outfit I was wearing at the Club.

Right, the things I saw. Where is that fucking guy who took me?

I look around the room barefoot, none of my belongings in sight, nothing to reveal what went down last night after making our escape in my Camaro. My head throbs where he hit me and this t-shirt does nothing for my figure.

Everything had gone down so quickly and I wouldn't even be able to pick out my kidnapper in a lineup. It was dark, and I focused more on freeing myself from his clutches than inspecting the stranger.

I saunter through the room towards the door. With a flick of my wrist, I try the handle and it isn't closed, allowing me to step into the hallway.

"Aye, lass," a deep guttural voice resounds through the corridor and I'm hauled up by my waist and slung over the shoulder of a wardrobe sized male.

"Put me down, you brute," I protest, but the mountain man grunts and speaks into his wrist.

"She is awake," he mumbles to someone. "Aye," he continues as someone answers through his earpiece.

Trudging me down the stairs, perched on his shoulder. The t-shirt has crept up my backside and my thong and perky ass are on display for anyone to see. I bounce up and down, but he carries me around like I weigh nothing.

"Nox," another guy with an earpiece salutes the guy carrying me and opens two massive wooden doors.

"Analovitz," the brute, going by Nox, responds with a nod of his head.

I gaze at myself in the mirror facing the doors. Analovitz's eyes are trained on my behind and I know I'm making a heck of a first impression when his ears turn a reddish color.

"Here ye go," the giant of a man puts me down in the middle of the room, then he turns around and leaves through the double doors, closing them behind him.

My feet hit the warm wooden flooring and my gaze wanders around. I am standing in a study or library of sorts. Everything is sleek and modern, black and grey shelving stand out against the white pristine walls.

"Um," someone clears his throat behind me. I whip my head back and meet the scrutinous stare of the stranger that had brought me here, sitting behind his desk.

"What the fucking hell am I doing here?" I spat at him while giving him my best glare that I had in store.

"Great way of greeting the guy that saved you," he draws back, crossing his arms over his chest. Muscular arms that strain against his suit jacket. "You'll need to stay here because you are a witness."

"I saw nothing." I try lying to get my ass out of this crazy situation.

"I know you saw everything, the same as I," the guy laughs, a throaty, sexy sound that shoots straight to my lady bits. "You were pressed against me after all." He raises his brow, cutting my protests short.

Damn hormones. I haven't had sex in ages, and his piercing gaze, perfect jawline and muscular physique aren't doing me any favors.

"So, basically, I'm stuck here," I sigh, letting myself fall into the loveseat in the corner, not daring to go any closer to this dude.

"For the time being, yes," he states. "I think you're safest where I can keep an eye on you and I need you for the case I'm building for my father."

"Are you some kind of rich dude?" I don't catch my words in time as they fly out of my mouth without a warning. Being a stripper for a year has messed with my brain cells, apparently.

"Something like that, Patricia," he says, opening my wallet and fishing out my ID.

"Trixie," I deadpan, not fond of the name my parents have given me.

That tantalizing laugh returns, goosebumps return to my skin as he flashes me a wicked grin showing off his perfect teeth, and I will myself to look away.

"And my car?" I ask, remembering that he took my Camaro as a getaway car.

"Burned it," He flatly answers. "Then left it somewhere in the Nevada desert," he stares at the paperwork in front of him, like he didn't just kill my baby.

"Oh my god, how could you do that?" I shriek, not believing his bitter words. "It was a fucking classic. A 1973 Chevy Camaro."

I stand up and start throwing things at the douche canoe. First the pillows, then I grab books from the shelves and aim them at his shit-eating grin he is provoking me with. Is he enjoying this?

"First of all, it made my eyes bleed. How the hell can you drive that thing?" he throws at me, insulting my sweet ride as he ducks to one side as a book whizzes right past him, banging against the wall behind. "It's like two decades older than you are."

"It got me from A to B safely," I state, throwing another random object at him as I pluck it from the shelf. Again, he avoids them, like we have rehearsed this.

"Second, they got your license plate. I needed to get rid of it." He waves his hand dismissively, like the subject bores him. "I'll get you a new one when this is over."

"Who the fucking hell do you think you are?" I shout now, consequences be damned.

"My name is Dimitri, and you will listen to me while you're under my protection." He motions for the door and the brute from earlier steps into the room. "This is Artair Lennox, my highlander and your bodyguard."

"A bodyguard?" I mumble, wide-eyed.

"Dinna try shite on me, lass, ye hear me?" the log-throwing monster spoke in his thick Scottish accent.

"Adele will be up in a moment," he instructs Nox, motioning that we are done talking.

"Ye walk or do I throw ye over my shoulder again?"