Chapter 5 Tied Down and Unraveled

Pierce had been tied to this radiator for eight hours.

Eight. Entire. Hours.

He'd tried everything he could think of. Tested every knot from every possible angle. Pulled at the bras until his wrists were raw and aching. He'd even tried to shimmy the whole radiator loose from the wall, which only resulted in a loud clanging noise that made Darrel give him the most judgmental look he'd ever received from a cat.

Nothing worked.

The bras held firm, and he was starting to develop a very grudging respect for whoever engineered sports bras. These things were built like they were designed to restrain prisoners.

By the time he heard her key in the lock, he was exhausted, starving, and had resigned himself to negotiating his freedom with whatever scraps of dignity he had left.

Which wasn't much at this point.

The door opened and she walked in with grocery bags, looking tired but visibly relieved to see him still there.

"You're back," he said flatly.

"I am."

"Took you long enough."

She set the bags on the counter. "I had a full shift. Some of us have jobs."

"Some of us are tied to radiators with sports bras."

"By choice."

"That is absolutely not…." He stopped himself, forcing a breath. Getting angry wasn't going to help anything. "Can you please, for the love of God, let me go now?"

She looked at him for a long moment, and he could practically see her weighing her options behind those grey eyes.

"Not yet," she said finally.

His jaw tightened. "Elena…"

"Are you hungry?"

The complete subject change threw him off. "What?"

"I bought food. Are you hungry?"

He was about to argue again, to demand she release him, but his traitorous stomach chose that exact moment to growl. Loudly.

He closed his eyes. "I'm starving."

"Good." She started unpacking groceries. "I'll make something. Then maybe we can talk."

Pierce watched as she moved around the kitchen, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. She'd changed out of her scrubs into sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt that said "Trust me, I'm a doctor" with a cartoon stethoscope. Her hair was still up in that bun, though pieces had fallen loose around her face.

She looked exhausted. Probably because she'd spent her entire day at work worrying about the criminal tied up in her living room.

The guilt that twisted in his chest was unfamiliar and deeply unwelcome.

Twenty minutes later, she appeared in front of him with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon.

"Here," she said, kneeling down on the floor.

He looked at the bowl, then at his hands, still bound firmly behind his back. Then back at her.

She couldn't possibly be serious.

"You expect me to eat like this?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not untying you, so yeah."

"So what, you're just going to watch me starve?"

She sighed like he was being deliberately difficult. "No, genius. I'm going to feed you."

Oh no. Absolutely not.

"No," he said firmly.

"Then I guess you don't eat." She started to stand up, taking the bowl with her.

"Wait." The word came out way more desperate than he'd intended.

She paused, looking down at him with an expression that was somehow both amused and exasperated.

"This is completely humiliating," he muttered.

"Should've thought about that before you hijacked my car at gunpoint." She settled back down, crossing her legs in front of him. "Now open up."

Pierce stared at her. At the spoon in her hand. At the complete and utter lack of fear on her face as she prepared to hand-feed a man who could probably kill her with his bare hands if he wasn't currently restrained with her underwear.

If any of his men ever found out about this, he'd have to disappear to a different country and assume a new identity.

But God, he was so hungry. And the soup actually smelled incredible.

He opened his mouth.

She fed him a spoonful, and despite everything—the absurdity of the situation, the complete loss of dignity, the fact that he was being treated like a toddler, it was possibly the best thing he'd tasted in weeks.

"Good?" she asked.

He swallowed. "It's fine."

"You're welcome," she said, clearly hearing straight through the lie.

They fell into a rhythm. She'd feed him a spoonful, wait patiently for him to swallow, then another. It was methodical, careful, and surprisingly gentle. She didn't rush him or make it more humiliating than it already was.

"So," she said after a few minutes of silence. "Do you have a mother?"

Pierce nearly choked on the soup. "What?"

"A mother. You know, the person who gave birth to you? Does she know you run around getting shot at for a living?"

He stared at her in complete disbelief. "Are you seriously asking me this right now?"

"It's a valid question." She fed him another spoonful. "I mean, if I were your mother, I'd be extremely disappointed in your life choices. Just putting that out there."

"My mother is dead."

That made her pause, guilt flashing across her face. "Oh. I'm... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago."

"Still." She was quiet for a moment, then asked softer, "What about your father?"

"Also dead."

"Siblings?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't, really. I'm just curious." She tilted her head slightly. "You're a criminal tied up in my apartment. I think I've earned the right to be a little curious about who you are."

She had a point. He'd invaded her life pretty thoroughly.

"One brother," he said reluctantly. "Older."

"Are you two close?"

Pierce let out a bitter laugh. "No."

"Why not?"

"That's a very long, very complicated story."

"Well, I have time. You're literally not going anywhere."

He shot her a look. She smiled innocently and fed him more soup.

"Was this a career choice?" she asked after another few minutes of silence. "The whole criminal thing. Or did you just kind of fall into it?"

"You ask way too many questions."

"You're avoiding answering them."

"Maybe because I don't particularly want to share my entire life story with someone who tied me up with her bras."

"Fair point." She fed him another spoonful. "But you're stuck here anyway, so you might as well talk to me. Unless you'd prefer to sit in complete silence for the next however many hours until I decide what to do with you."

Pierce considered this. Silence would definitely be safer, less revealing, and less likely to make him say something he'd regret.

But there was something about the way she asked her questions, it was casual and genuinely curious, without any judgment, that made him actually want to answer.

"Born into it," he said finally. "My father ran things before me. It wasn't exactly a choice I got to make."

"There's always a choice."

"Easy for you to say."

"Is it?" She set the now-empty bowl aside and grabbed her medical kit. "Because from where I'm sitting, you made a choice to get involved in whatever situation got you shot. You made a choice to force your way into my car. And you're making a choice right now to be difficult instead of just cooperating."

She started checking his wound, her fingers gentle despite her pointed words.

"You don't know anything about my life," Pierce said quietly.

"You're right. I don't." She looked up at him, those grey eyes meeting his. "But I know you could've killed me last night. You had a gun. You could've taken my car and left me on the side of the road. But you didn't."

"Maybe I'm just not that kind of criminal."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning he wasn't ready to examine.

Pierce watched as she finished checking the bandage, her movements practiced and confident. She was close enough that he could see the faint freckles scattered across her nose, the exhaustion evident in the dark circles under her eyes, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating.

Dangerous thoughts for a very dangerous situation.

"Do you have health insurance?" she asked suddenly.

He blinked. "What?"

"Health insurance. Because those stitches need to come out in about a week, and you should probably get a proper follow-up to make sure everything's healing correctly."

"Are you actually asking me about health insurance right now?"

"I'm a doctor. It's literally my job to ask these questions." She packed up the medical kit. "So do you?"

Despite himself, despite everything, Pierce felt a laugh building in his chest. It came out as more of a huff, but it was definitely there.

"What's funny?" she asked, looking genuinely confused.

"You. This entire situation. All of it." He shook his head. "I've been shot, tied up with sports bras, and now you're concerned about my health insurance coverage."

"Well, someone has to be concerned about it."

"For your information, no. Criminals don't exactly get benefits packages."

"That's wildly irresponsible."

"I'm a criminal. Responsibility isn't really our thing."

"You should unionize and fight for your rights."

This time he actually laughed. Really laughed. The sound surprised both of them—a genuine, unguarded moment of amusement in the middle of this absolute disaster.

She smiled then, a real smile this time, not the mocking ones from earlier. It completely transformed her face, making her eyes light up.

She stood up, gathering the empty bowl and her medical supplies. "I'm going to make some tea. Want any?"

"How exactly am I supposed to drink tea while tied up?"

"I'll feed it to you. Obviously."

"Obviously," he muttered under his breath.

She disappeared into the kitchen, humming something under her breath, and Pierce let his head fall back against the radiator with a quiet thud.

This woman was absolutely going to be the death of him.

Not because she was dangerous or violent or planning to turn him in to the authorities.

But because somehow, tied up and completely helpless in her apartment, being hand-fed soup and interrogated about his health insurance, he was starting to genuinely enjoy her company.

And that was infinitely more dangerous than any bullet wound.