HIS COLD PIERCING GLARE
1128 Words
Amy's eyelids felt heavy as she tried to adjust them to the bright light in the room.
She squinted, trying to remember where this place was— was she in a hotel Mia booked for the weekend?
When last did she see Debby?
At the thought of Debby, the images came flooding in; hospital, dark alley, hefty man in black.
She gasped like she just saw a ghost and sat up quick as she sensed a presence in the room.
Then she saw him: her ‘owner’.
He was in a plain black T-shirt with folded sleeves, sitting on a cushioned seat beside the bed.
He held a glass of champagne in his right hand and a book in his left.
And he was staring at her with that icy glare she dreaded so much.
“Welcome back, Wilson,” his voice had a somewhat steely edge to it and she wondered if it was due to an attempt to mask his anger.
Hell, she was caught red-handed, running from him! What was he going to do to her? She wondered.
His smartphone buzzed on the table. It was a call. He put on his ear device and took the call.
“Talk to me.”
He listened in silence for about a full minute, a small frown appearing on his face.
“If he still insists by tomorrow morning…”
He turned to look at Amy and hesitated, stopping his sentence halfway.
“If he still insists by tomorrow morning…you know what to do.” His voice came out low, dangerous at the ending part of his sentence.
He ended the call and fixed his eyes on her again.
Amy lowered her gaze to her hands in her laps, eager to escape that cold glare.
“LOOK. AT. ME.”
She shuddered at the sudden coldness of his tone and obeyed, her heart thundering in her chest.
Her gaze met his, she saw he had a grave expression on his face.
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how dumb are you?”
Amy's green eyes widened. “Excuse me?” She blurted out.
“I am Thomas Walton. I own the biggest tech conglomerate in the US. Some call me the most feared man in the country.
“But you gave me your phone number and you couldn't understand how much someone like me could do with just that?”
He squinted at Amy like she was the most amusing object he'd ever seen.
How naive was this girl? He wondered.
He moved from his seat to the bed, edging his face near hers.
That gaze, cold and intense, was fixed on her face.
A flush crept up Amy's neck, a warmth she knew was painting her cheeks rosy.
Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.
He came even closer.
His face was framed by the soft light mere inches away.
Time seemed to stretch thin, every second like a suspended eternity.
His hand reached up, not to touch her, but to rest on the headboard behind her head.
A tremor ran through her slender body, her palms felt suddenly damp, and she subtly curled her fingers into her skirt.
He was really too close now. She could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
His scent, a clean masculine mix of something woody and fresh, filled her senses, making her dizzy.
His icy stare got more intense, and her heart, like a wild bird trapped in her chest, began to beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She couldn't bear this. Amy started to look down.
“Don't! Keeping looking at me,” he breathed.
Her body reacted without conscious thought, inching slowly away from him until her back touched the headboard of the bed.
No more space to run, the next option was to jump out of the bed entirely.
He noticed this and smirked, cupping her chin in his palm before she could jump away.
He tilted her head upwards at an evil angle.
If he moved any more closer his lips would be touching hers.
Amy was so nervous she could feel beads of sweat trickling down her temple down to her neck.
“I own you, girl. Never attempt to take what I own away from me again.” he whispered the words slowly, the warm air from his words touching her face.
Then so abruptly, he let her go.
Thomas Walton stood up with a smug look on his face and walked back to the desk.
He whistled a familiar tune she couldn't recall and reached for a file on the bedside table.
After one more icy glare, he started to read out:
“Amy Wilson.
Born Eighteenth March, 2002, in Boston……
FAMILY:
Father, Jeffery Wilson.
Mother, Olivia Wilson.
Sister, Deborah Wilson.
Brother, Davis Wilson.
SCHOOL:
Finished from Lehman Harris High school in 2019
RELATIONSHIPS: Dated Martin Castillo, 2018 to 2019.
JOBS:
Worked as Waitress at TastyZone, 2018 to 2020.
Unemployed for a year before getting a job as salesgirl, Shop4more, 2021 to 2023.
Quit to work at Lily Blossoms, 2023 to present.
PLACES LIVED:
Relocated to New York from Boston in October 2018.
Currently resides at 30, Bedford Avenue, Williamsburg, New York.
HOBBIES
Painting, Volleyball, baking…”
“Stop. You don't have to do this just to prove your point,” her voice came out low, quivering.
He raised an eyebrow at her and continued. “The best part — owns 4 Instatok accounts…”
“Please!” her emerald green eyes joined the plea this time.
Thomas Walton stopped the reading, an accomplished look on his face.
“You seem to like my app so much you created an account four times, Wilson. Even I, the owner, have just one account.”
That amused look was back on his face again.
Amy's face was blank.
She just wanted him to do whatever he wanted with her so she could get out of his sight and see Debby again.
“Where is my sister? You have to leave her out of this,” she said in a panicky voice.
He gave a dry chuckle. “Debby is in the hospital. She's of no use to me. Unless you misbehave, of course.”
He raised his eyebrow cockily, regarding her from the corner of his eye.
“Do whatever you want fast, Mr Walton. Get over with it and let me go back to her,” she said stubbornly.
He pursed his lips tightly and in a split second that icy stare was back again.
“First of all, I'm keeping you here for as long as I want, girl. Secondly, since that's what you wish, how about you take off your clothes. Now.”
- Writer
