Damon inserted battery into the back of Trevor's phone while Elena was in the bathroom. He turned the phone to see the call log. Caller Unknown had in fact called a dozen times in the last one hour.

The boss was obviously very impatient, he thought. The phone rang as soon as he put the phone back in his breast pocket.

Talk about timing.

Damon answered. "How is it hanging, Wes?"

"Who are you? Why are you answering his phone?"

"I can think of only one reason."

There was a brief silence.

Then, "You are the one who shot Trevor."

"Compliments of me. I also took Elena Gilbert," Damon said. "Not her corpse. Her. Which means that if you still want her killed, you got to deal with me."

Wes let loose a spate of profanities and threats which came through loud and clear. "You think you are awfully smart, don't you?"

"Well, I outsmarted Trevor. That wasn't my grey matter left to shovel up."

"Why did you kill Trevor? You had agreed with the fifty-fifty split."

"You set me up to take the fall for her hit. Not a smart move, Wes."

Wes said nothing to that.

"Cat got your tongue?" Damon chided. "The sudden change of plan to kill her outside the bar was a set-up, wasn't it?"

"And why would I do that?"

"To take the fall for killing her. Trevor even told me to grab her purse, make it look like a robbery gone south so the hit couldn't be linked to anybody else."

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Trevor was a pro, well known to cops but never prosecuted. One of his means of consistently getting off clean was to blame the dead dude. Because as Trevor and I were closing in on her, it occurred to me that when Trevor left that parking lot, there were going to be two bodies on the ground, and that one of them was going to be mine."

There was another silence.

"I'm willing to overlook it," Damon said, "but because my feelings were hurt, I'm going to need a bit more compensation than Trevor settled for."

"How do I know you even have Elena Gilbert?"

"Come on, Wes, let's cut this crap. You knew who you were talking to when I answered this phone. You already knew Trevor was dead. By now the story of last night's events will have been well covered by the media."

"Well, if in fact you did take Elena Gilbert, deal with her any way you like. I don't have to pay you a goddamn penny."

"That occurred to me, too. But here are some possible consequences of that decision. One, I use her phone to notify the nearest FBI office that she is alive. A little worse for wear, maybe, but very much alive."

He paused, but Wes said nothing. Damon had his attention.

"I don't care that much."

"Bullshit, you don't. Because if she is not dead, your partner won't be happy with it."

Wes didn't respond.

"I'm sure you have heard about the merger," Damon continued, "Elena holds the deciding shares. If she is alive, what do you think will happen to the merger?"

He let all that sink in, and then said, "I wonder what your partner would say if Elena is alive and takes over Gilbert & Company?"

"What do you want?" Wes growled.

"What if I contact your partner directly to tell him I have Elena Gilbert with me?"

"Okay then," Wes said. "Five hundred thousand."

"The deal you have with your partner is worth a lot more, buddy. Have a nice day."

Damon clicked off, removed the battery, and slipped the phone into his shirt pocket. He turned around and found Elena standing at the doorway.

"The deal?"

He ignored her and poured some whiskey into a glass. "Want something to drink?"

"What is the deal?"

Damon winced. He didn't particularly like being on the other end of grilling. Especially not by her. He extended her a glass of whiskey. "Here. Drink this."

"Like hell." She pushed the glass away, sloshing the bourbon on him.

"Waste of good liquor." He sucked it off the back of his hand.

"You would like me to get drunk, wouldn't you? Make me more manageable?"

"I didn't pour enough to make you drunk, just enough to take the edge off."

"I don't want to take the edge off, thank you." She glared at him. "What is the deal?""

"I suggest you help me to wash the lettuce while I cook the steak." He turned away from her. "I'm hungry."

"Oh, no!" She grabbed his arm before he could walk away. "You are not getting off that easy. Tell me what the deal is."

"You want to know about the deal? I don't think so."

"Who were you talking to just now?"

"None of your business."

"He still wants you to kill me?"

"I said it is none of your business," he growled.

"Answer me!"

He moved away from her. "Go back to your room."

"Why?"

"Go back to your room."

"Or what?"

He stormed back to her grabbed her hand, and dragged her out of the kitchen area.

She tried to wrest her hand free. "You said you didn't want to hurt me."

"I won't. Believe me, when I pop you, you won't feel it."

When they reached the bedroom door, she was fighting like a wild cat, which made him even more furious. They wrestled, although it was never any real contest. He easily backed her against the door, her hands sandwiched between it and her butt. He held her there by pressing his body flush with hers.

"You had better hope Wes Maxfield says no to my terms."

"You are not going to kill me or you would have already."

"You have no idea how much money you are worth…"

"Not for any amount," she retorted. "I don't think you will."

"You know I will. You have seen me in action. Trevor? Not my first. Not even my first this week. Remember the men coming after us this morning?" Her eyes widened fractionally. "Oh, yeah, Elena. I have killed a lot more before I came to Richmond. So, don't delude yourself."

She swallowed. Brown eyes that had been throwing daggers moments ago now filled with misgiving. He felt her literally going softer against him as her resistance ebbed.

To impress upon her his point, he squeezed her shoulders tighter. "I did Trevor without a blink. Those people I had killed previously? A snap. Didn't even stop to think about it."

"You have stopped to think about me."

"Not really."

"Then what is stopping you?"

He stared into her defiant eyes, then lowered his gaze to her over-sized T-shirt. It was much too big for her. The hem fell to her thighs. She looked sexy as hell. She had no idea what impact those long legs and curving flanks did to him. He had no doubt that they would have the same impact on half a dozen other men at various times. She must have collected men like trophies with an effortless ease.

In another time, under other circumstances, Damon might not have objected to being collected by the woman in front of her. Wouldn't have objected, either, to exploring her mouth with his tongue, and her enticing rear with his palms. But he hadn't brought her up here to play games with her.

Besides, that kind of games could get in the way of his plan. Wes had already called once. He would call again, sooner or later. Damon would stick to his game plan.

His eyes moved back to her before he abruptly stepped back and turned away, saying roughly, "I will call you when supper is ready."

x x x

The mouth-watering aroma of steak sizzling on a grill lured her out from a deep sleep. Dimly aware that the huge bed on which she slept was too big to be her own bed, she rolled onto her back, completely disoriented. Blinking in the inky darkness of an unfamiliar room, she turned her face the opposite direction, searching for the pale source of illumination spilling through what turned out to be a narrow parting of the draperies on the wall. Moonlight. For a few blissful moments, she imagined she was in a luxuriously large hotel room somewhere on vacation.

She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Wherever she was, the local time was 8:20 P.M. And it was chilly in the room. It hit her then that she was not in a hotel room. She was in a house somewhere, and there were footsteps in the next room.

Heavy, masculine footsteps…...

Damon.

Awareness hit her like a punch in the stomach and she sat bolt upright in bed, already throwing the covers off and standing up, adrenalin pumping. How could she fall asleep? She took a quick step towards the window, her mind's escape mechanism working before her logic caught up. Goose bumps lifted on her bare legs, and she looked down in shivering disbelief at what she was wearing—a man's T-shirt she'd removed from a dresser drawer after her shower. Her captor's warning came back to her: "I have the car keys and there are no other houses on this mountain…"

"Just relax," Elena told herself aloud, but she was rested now and fully alert, and her mind was tumbling over itself with possible escape solutions, none of which were even remotely feasible. On top of that she was famished. Food first, she decided, and then she would try to think of a way out of here.

She thought she would use the bathroom again before she had something to eat. It didn't surprise her that the face staring back at her from the mirror looked terrible. She had washer her hair but she didn't have a brush. Grimacing, she used her fingers to brush her hair and piled it on top of her head, securing it with a rubber band she found in the bathroom. Looking nice for Damon Salvatore was not only completely unnecessary but probably a major mistake, considering that kiss in the cabin she had participated this morning.

That kiss…

It seemed like weeks, not merely hours since he had kissed her, and now that she was rested and alert, Elena felt reasonably sure his only interest in her was merely to ensure he got his money. Not sexual.

Definitely not sexual.

She glanced at the mirrors on the bathroom walls and felt reassured. She was thrilled with her looks. In an oversized T-shirt, with her hair like this and no makeup on, she wouldn't appeal sexually to any man.

Drawing in a long, steadying breath, she reached for the door handle and turned it, reluctant but ready to face her captor—and hopefully a delicious meal. The bedroom door wasn't locked. She distinctly remembered locking that door, on principle, when she was told to get to the room.

Silently, she opened the door and stepped into the main room of the house. For a split second, the inviting beauty of the scene made her feel completely disoriented. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, the lights on the beams high above were dimmed, and candles were lit on the coffee table, flickering on the crystal wine glasses he had set out beside linen place mats. It might have been the wine glasses and candles that suddenly made Elena feel as if she was walking into a seduction scene, or perhaps it was the dimmed lights or the soft music playing on the stereo. Trying to inject a brisk, businesslike tone into her voice, she headed towards Damon Salvatore, who was standing in the kitchen, his back to her, taking something out of the broiler. "What is this about?"

He turned and looked at her, an inexplicable, lazy smile sweeping over his face as he surveyed her from head to foot. Elena had the staggering, and impossible, impression that he actually liked what he saw, an impression that was reinforced by the way he lifted his wine glass to her in the gesture of a toast and said, "You distracted me just now. I had forgotten to mention that you look adorable in that oversize T-shirt."

Elena took a cautious step backward. "The last thing I want to do is look nice for you. In fact, I would rather wear my own clothes, even if they are not fresh," she said, turning on her heel.

"Elena!" he snapped, all goodwill gone from his voice.

She lurched around, amazed and alarmed by the dangerous swiftness of his mood swings. She took another cautious step backward as he stalked towards her, a wine glass in each hand. "Have something to drink," he ordered, thrusting a long-stemmed glass towards her. "Drink it, damn it!" He made a visible effort to soften his tone. "It will help you relax."

"Why should I relax?" she countered obstinately. "So that you can kill me easily?"

"Drink this, or I swear I will pour it down your throat."

She took the glass and drank the wine, while he stood only one foot away, towering over her, his broad shoulders blocking out her view of anything but him. It hit her suddenly that he had evidently shaved, and changed clothes while she fell asleep and that, in a pair of charcoal trousers and a grey V-neck T-shirt, Damon Salvatore was far more handsome than she had expected.

He gestured to the chair. "Sit down while I finish dinner."

Elena obeyed and sat down on one of the stools at the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room.

"Don't you dare try to do anything silly, or I will make sure you are being tied up for the whole night," he warned, taking a baked potato out of the oven.

She took another swallow of the wine for courage. "Are you always like this?"

He raised one brow. "What?"

"How can you be so arrogant and glib after everything you have done?"

At the look she gave him, he snickered. "And how can you be so brave and stupid as to call your captor 'arrogant and glib'"?

She drank more wine. "If you wanted me dead, I would be dead."

He put down two plates which contained juicy steaks and baked potatoes on the counter. "Yes, you would."

She picked up her fork. "But I'm not."

"Yet."

She ignored him and cut the first bite of steak. "This smells delicious."

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "I thought you said you aren't hungry."

She took a bite of the steak. "If I'm going to die anyway, I have just as well made sure my stomach is full and happy."

He poured the last of the bottle of wine into his glass and tossed it down. "You are still mouthy."

She pointed her fork at him. "And you are still a jerk."

He grinned. "I know."

An hour later, they had finished eating and Damon was having the last of his wine. Despite the dinner went smoothly, Elena had been vibrantly and uneasily aware of his nearness throughout their meal. She didn't underestimate the threat he posed—he was like a panther, patiently stalking his prey. Unhurried, graceful, predatory, and dangerous. She understood the threat he posed. He wouldn't kill her. Would he? Surely not. Not after kissing her that way.

She glanced covertly at him. Jesus, he looked incredibly sexy as he rolled his glass between his hands. If he had walked into the ER as a patient, would she have noticed that lovely fine-boned face of his and those incredible eyes? Or she would have overlooked all that because she would treat him as an ordinary patient? If they had met in the bar, would he have wanted to see her for lunch, evenings, or invite her to parties?

Elena gave herself a stern mental shake. None of that mattered! All that mattered was whether he was going to kill her. She stole another look at his profile and felt her heart skipped a beat.

"You are staring."

Her head jerked around and she saw him watching her. Her cheeks burned. "What did you say?"

His voice was cool, clipped and hard. "Don't play games with me, honey."

"I'm not!" she retorted.

"Stop stalling. I'm tired."

Elena watched him gather up plates and head for the sink. As he turned away, she said under her breath, "You are not all that nice."

He came back around. "What was that?"

"Nothing."

He gave her a hard look, and then his eyes tracked down the length of her body and all the way back up, pausing in places that grew warm under his scrutiny. "I'm not all that restrained, either."

He always had the last word, disallowing her to enjoy even a small triumph. Resentfully she folded her arm across her chest. "I suppose I have the right to know who is Wes Maxfield and why did he want to kill me."

"What?"

"I have never met him and I want to know why he wants to kill me," she pointed out with overdone politeness.

"Oh, for…" The plates hit the sink with a thunk. "Fine, I will play along with your game. What do you want to know?"

"Who is Wes Maxfield?"

"Someone you don't want to know."

Her brows snapped together. "That's not an answer."

"He is the top restaurant and nightclub owner in Richmond—but also the ruthless and powerful—owner of the underground drug industry in the State of Virginia."

She swallowed hard. "He wants to kill me because of my father. What did my father do to him? Did he kill my father?"

"What do you think?"

She didn't like the way he was diverting her questions but she knew she had to try. "What is the deal? You were talking about the deal with Wes Maxfield."

"There is one hell of a squabble going on at Gilbert & Company at the moment. Something to do with a merger proposal," Damon said. "I bet you must have heard about it."

She frowned. "I have told you before. That's my father company, not mine. I'm not interested in his business."

"Do you know the Mikaelson family?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"They are the want who make the offer."

"What has it to do with Wes Maxfield?"

"Gilbert & Company is a big pie and everyone wants a piece of it." He chuckled. "Lots of money involved."

"Did my father agree with the merger proposal?"

"What do you think?"

"Probably not," she said.

"Why not?'

"Because I know what my mother said about my father was true, He was only interested in his business and nothing else."

"Human being is greedy, sweetheart, especially when it comes to money," he said dryly.

"And you said "The Jewels" are produced by Gilbert & Company."

"That's right."

"But they are illicit drugs."

"Yes."

She thought about it. "My father didn't want to produce them anymore and he didn't agree with the merger proposal because the merger means Gilbert & Company will have to continue to supply drugs to Wes Maxfield."

He said nothing to that.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

He didn't answer.

"Who is Wes Maxfield's partner? Someone from Gilbert & Company?" she asked.

"I don't know and, to be perfectly honest, I don't give a damn."

Elena glared at him. "Don't give me that. I heard your conversation with Wes Maxfield."

He wasn't impressed and he wasn't friendly. "You know it is rude to spy on people who want to have private conversations."

She ignored him. "They want me dead because I have something - namely, those Gilbert & Company shares. They are afraid that I won't agree with the merger."

A brief silence stretched between them.

"You are onto something, aren't you?" she asked, finally.

He blinked. He stared at her for a couple of seconds before he recovered. He even managed a chuckle, but it was a little shaky. "Money. I'm after money, of course."

Elena shook her head. "No. You aren't after money. If you are, then you would have killed me that day outside the bar."

Then he did the last thing she expected he laughed.

She frowned. "What's so funny?"

"You are no good to me dead at this stage," he said, his expression hard. "But it doesn't mean you won't be dead soon. Now get up and go to the room."

His frigid command made her lurch upright. She glared at him but she did as he told her. When she reached the room, he reached for her hand. She snatched it away, but he reached for it again and this time held on. He pulled her towards the bathroom.

"What are you doing?"

"Bathroom." He pushed open the door, then stood aside and hitched his head.

"I will use it later."

"I have got to sleep. I don't want to be woken up for you to take a bathroom break."

Her eyes widened. "You are going to sleep here?"

"Yes. You better use the bathroom now."

He gave her time to think it over, and then added, "You have two minutes of privacy before I change my mind."

She went inside but he stopped her from closing the door. "Don't worry, I won't look."

She scowled at him and used the bathroom. Two minutes was more than adequate time. She finished in half that and walked back inside the room. He moved towards her, and when he reached for her hand, about to tie the bandana on her wrists, she asked, "Is that really necessary?"

He just gave her a sardonic look.

"My arms will go numb."

"I don't care while I'm asleep."

"What could I do with my hands tied?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't want to be surprised." He gestured towards the bed. "Go lie down."

"Yes, warden!" Elena snapped back, instantly angered by his high-handedness. "I hope my snoring doesn't disturb you. You won't kill me because I snore, will you?"

Instead of answering, he lifted his brows and regarded her in cold silence.

She moved to the bed, sat down and lay down on her right side.

"I will leave your feet free. There is not much you could do without the use of your hands. I guess you could try running out of the house before I chased you down, but whatever you tried, you would fail."

"If I'm going to die anyway, I had just as well try to escape."

"I admire that fighting spirit, Elena. Truly I do. The thing is, I don't wake up in a cheerful mood on the best of days. If you woke me up trying some doomed-to-fail stunt, I would be so pissed off I would likely tie your feet together and gag you. Is that what you want?"

She muttered something what sounded to him like asshole and bastard.

He pulled the T-shirt over his head and dropped it onto the floor. She quickly looked away to avoid the sight of his bare chest.

"Elena." He came to stand in front of her. "Elena."

Feeling foolish and cowardly, she jerked her head back towards him. "What?"

"Pistol." He touched the holster at his hip. "Cell phone." He patted his right jeans pocket. "Cell phone battery." He patted his left jeans pocket. "You might manage to get one away from me, but not all three."

His hands remained flat against his pockets, bracketing the frayed fly of his jeans. The waistband was low and loose, curled slightly forward away from his torso. Cowardly or not, she turned her head aside again and closed her eyes. She heard him removed his boots and laid down beside her. Then an encompassing, almost palpable quiet descended. The next sound she heard was the even breathing of someone who had fallen instantly but soundly asleep.

He slept like a baby, while she was still trying to attach a definition to the way he had kissed her this morning. She didn't want to think of it as something significant, but that was what it had been. The most disquieting thing about it, the aspect of it that had stopped her breath, had been the way he had caressed her with his tongue when he kissed her.

Compelled by curiosity and a confounding restlessness, she raised her head so she could see him through her shoulder.

He lay on his back. One hand lay at his side. The other, the one that had handled the satin strap with such delicacy, maintained a loose clasp on the pistol grip.

But despite the rhythmic expansion and recession of his rib cage, she didn't trust that he lay in the boneless lassitude of deep slumber. Any stimuli would bring him bolt upright, eyes slashing like sabres, muscles instantly reactive.

She laid her head back down and settled more comfortably onto the bed. If she lay still and quiet and allowed him to sleep, it might buy her more time. If she provoked him, he might tie her up and gag her. She had to figure out a way to get help if she couldn't escape.

She yawned. Drowsily she realised her eyelids felt heavy. Surrendering to the drowsiness, and lulled by the rhythm of Damon's breathing, she closed her eyes.

Another chapter with lots of Delena. I hope I have managed to bring out the chemistry and dynamics of Delena in this chapter. It will get more exciting in the next few chapters:) Hope you guys/gals will enjoy reading this chapter. I really appreciate your support so far. Thank you!