Dangerous Intuition by Tasha Kessler (read after TXT) 📕

one? This was starting to creep me out. There was more to this than some family tree full of gypsies. “Is there?” Shit. I was right about the connection.

“How do you know my father?” It was getting difficult to breath. He knew. He knew something and I wanted to know. This was my life. This was my families ‘origins’ as they put it. I needed to know. I had a right to know. “You’re right. You have the right to know. But not here.” He looked around again and I couldn’t help but mimic the process. He wasn’t comfortable here, but why? He got up to walk away gesturing for me to follow him to his car. This time I went with him.

We drove for about an hour, coming to a windy road, the kind you would expect in the horror story that was quickly becoming my life. Trees zipped past becoming fewer and fewer in between. We came to a clearing that opened up into a huge magnificent old brick home. This guy must be loaded. “You may also call this place home if you like. There is plenty of space, and you ancestry is as thick here as mine.” I nodded mumbling my thanks as I looked around. At some point between the parking lot at the hospital and taking me into his home my warning signals had shut off. He no longer felt dangerous to me.

“My ancestry is as thick here as yours?” I repeated his statement as a question, not really paying attention to what I was saying or if he was answering my questions or not. This place was even more magnificent close up than it was from the road we had been on. I stood transfixed as he unlocked the door, staring up at the grandeur of this place in amazement. The only thing that could have pulled me away was the inside of his home. He opened the double doors and gestured me inside. This was a place made from dreams. The décor was a stylish mix of dark wood antiques mixed with contemporary deep blues. The place had the feel of looking at one of those beautiful old world maps. The kind that still had the drawings of sea creatures, and had angelic figures round about it tied in with Latin calligraphy. I expected to see an antique globe bar and I was not disappointed. It was placed perfectly in a corner next to floor to ceiling-wall to wall shelves covered in books. The other side of the room was adorned with a missive brick fireplace and two huge comfortable chairs. The warm glow of the fire brought me back to reality.

“Is someone else here?” I asked suddenly feeling ill at ease. “Only the house keeper and she’s already gone to bed. She had the fire going for me when I return home each night.” This brought some relief. “How are our ancestries both tied to this one place?” I asked sitting down when he gestured to the large chair by the fireplace. He took the other seat and began to ask questions of his own.

“How much do you know of your origins, Megan?” He asked. “Only what has been hinted at by you and by my father. There’s something not right.…” I trailed off thinking of the night my father had shown up. There was a sudden blur and when I looked up he was in front of me, standing wide-eyed at me. “You’ve met your father?” he asked angrily. “Not purposely. He kind of broke into my hotel room and drugged my maid.” He was kneeling by my chair now clutching my hands with his. “You must not go back there. It’s not safe. Please, promise me you won’t return there.” I nodded in agreement. His urgent tone had me afraid to go back. I would get my belongings tonight and never return. I was running out of money for the room anyway. Especially after all the phone calls to the psychic numbers I had made.

“Why? Why is it not safe?” Although the warning signals had gone off when I met him, he didn’t seem like he would ever hurt me. He didn’t seem like anything. I had not been afraid of him, but I was now. “How do you know my father?” I asked again. This time I would not be distracted, I would get my answer. I looked him in the eyes unblinking and unshakable. He didn’t want to answer my question, I could tell. He took one solitary last breath and with a whisper so quiet it was almost inaudible, “I am cursed.” I was suddenly very tired, fighting to keep my eyes open. My Speech was becoming slurred as I asked one final question before passing out. “Why do you blur?”
Prisoner

I woke in what could only be called a cell. It was exactly that, a brick room with only one small window and a small opening at the top of the door, and both had metal bars. What I guessed was hay scattered the floor and just enough moonlight was dimly seeping through so that I could see. I got up to try the door and fell immediately back to the floor at the aching pain I had just caused to my ankle. I was chained. I couldn’t reach the door but if I tried I could probably get close enough to the window to get a view of my surroundings. As I suspected, we were no longer at the massive house I had passed out in. There were trees everywhere, a small pond in the distance, and not much else. If I screamed for help I would only find his dark eyes on me through the door, I was sure of it.

I felt around my ankle looking for the part of the cuff that attached the chain. It was secure. I followed the chain to the spot it was bolted on the middle of the floor and saw that there was no chance of getting out of this shackle short of having a key or chewing through my own foot. I searched the room looking through the hay trying to find something I could pick the lock with. It was no use. The only things in this room aside from the hay was the chain that had me bolted to the floor and a small bucket in the corner that I suspected was for me to use the bathroom in if needed. The hay seemed clean and the room didn’t smell so I suspected that, although it may have been used for unruly slaves in its day, it had probably not been used recently.

I picked up the ‘bathroom’ and threw it at the door as hard as I could. If there was anyone else here besides me, I was going to get their attention. And if not maybe the bucket would break giving me something to jimmy the lock on my shackle open with. Mid swing, at my fourth attempt to break the bucket, the door swung open. The bucket flew from my grasp before I could stop it and just as the massive figure was about to say something it smashed into his face, knocking him back a good three feet and on to the floor behind him. He was out cold. If I hadn’t been chain to the floor, this would have been the perfect time to escape screaming into the night. So instead I sat and waited patiently for him to come ‘round. A few minutes passed and as he started to come back around I had the sudden desire to back up as much as possible. He was gonna be pissed.

As I suspected he was not happy. He sat up swearing and touching the blood just above his top lip, wincing when his hand came into contact with his nose. “Shit! You broke my nose!” I tried hard to squint through the darkness. I needed to see the face that went to the deep voice. He was sitting where he had landed moments ago in the shadow of the door, the moonlight not touching his face. He grunted and I heard an eerie cracking noise as he adjusted his nose. This time I winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you; I was aiming for the door.” I told him, not sure why I was apologizing to the person that was obviously here to guard me as I was kept prisoner here. “I guess I should be grateful that it hadn’t been used yet” he said chuckling. Was he laughing at me? I had just broken the man’s nose and here he sat bleeding on the floor laughing at me. “Who are you?” I asked annoyed now. All thoughts of finding a face to match the voice were now gone with my irritation. “My name’s Roman.” His deep voice rumbled as he stood wiping the blood from his face with his forearm just as his face reached the moonlight, giving some depth to his features. He was incredible. His dark curly hair was just a touch too long, hanging just above his deep blue eyes. He was gorgeous. His face matched the deep sexy voice from the shadow. He ducked slightly to keep from hitting his head, his huge muscular build stretched the span of the door frame, as he walked through the door. He was the enemy, placed to keep watch over me by my kidnapper.

“Was there something I could do for you, or would you like to hit me with the bucket again?” He asked. I stared blank-faced and coated my voice with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “Oh. You’ve got jokes? How cute.” What was I doing flirting with the kidnapper’s accomplice? What’s wrong with me? “Well since you’re in such a good mood, do you mind telling me why I’m chained to the floor like some type of animal?” I had had enough of being locked away by this man. I was the sane mental patient being kidnapped and locked away by my crazy psychiatrist…. for the second time. How much since does that make? “That’s something for my uncle to explain, not me.” This had rendered me speechless. I stood there, mouth gaping open like… well like some kind of mental patient. Ugh. Mental head slap. I shook myself slightly, clearing my thoughts. He was the crazy psychiatrist’s nephew.

“Is there anything that you can explain?” I asked as nicely as I could considering the fact that my patience with his family was running pretty thin. “Not really. Is there anything I can get for you to make you more comfortable for the night?” If he wasn’t holding me hostage right now I might be tempted to tell him exactly what could make me more comfortable. He was