Until he blinks; it’s like he cut me loose.
My body slumps, and I begin to cry. I weep more than I have since my father died. What I did to the biker, to this man’s friend. The guilt I feel about it, as well as for leaving, flows through me.
“I’m so sorry,” I sob. “It was an accident, but I was so scared...I tried to see if he was okay, but I was too scared to touch him.”
My hands cover my face in shame. I can’t see what he’s doing or how he’s looking at me. But he lets me have a moment to expel some of my grief.
“Get dressed,” he finally says, with an authoritative tone. “I’m taking you back.”
“What? No!” My fear of going anywhere with him halts my tears, and I look at him.
I wait for him to yell at me, to pull me off of the bed, and make me do what he says, but he doesn’t. Instead, he narrows his eyes at me and speaks through clenched teeth.
“You can either come with me willingly, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and toss you into the back of my truck. Either way, I’m taking you back to Whispering Valley.”
I can’t have him carry me out of here. If he did that, then I wouldn’t have a chance to try and make a run for it, which is the first thing that pops into my head when he finishes speaking.
“Fine, I’ll go with you, but what about my car?”
“You mean the one you were driving when you drove my friend off the road and left him for dead?” He leans over, so he’s eye to eye with me, and speaks in a low, threatening tone.
My eyes go wide, and my shaking returns.
“You have more important things to worry about than your fucking car, little girl.”
“But—” I begin, but close my mouth when he wraps his large hand around my neck.
“Close your mouth and get dressed. This is the last time I’m telling you. I’m done being nice.”
This is him being nice?
“Okay, I’ll get dressed. Can you please turn around?”
He stands up tall, with a smug grin on his face, and folds his arms over his chest again. I wait for him to turn around, but he doesn’t.
Fine.
I stand up and grab my clothes from the bed, deciding that I’ll change in the bathroom. As I turn in that direction, I feel his strong hand grab hold of my bicep. I look back at him with confusion.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he questions.
“I’m doing what you asked, getting dressed,” I explain.
“Nope. You’re staying out here,” he commands, pulling me back, away from the bathroom.
“You honestly expect me to get dressed in front of you?” I challenge.
He pops an eyebrow and folds his arms again.
“No! You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m doing that,” I tell him.
“Look, you can come naked for all I care. You’re lucky I’m even giving you the option of getting dressed,” he clarifies.
I stare at him with a horrified look on my face.
“I told ya I was being nice,” he winks at me. “Besides, if you’re worried about me seeing your underthings, you shouldn’t be.”
He walks to the chair by the door and sits down, as I wonder what the hell he’s talking about.
“I’ve already seen them.”
I stare at him, about to ask if he went through my bag when he continues talking.
“In your dresser at the apartment,” my eyes go wide with his admission. Is he telling the truth or just trying to scare me? As if he can hear my thoughts, he continues. “The one with a picture of you, your dad, and your brother on it. That vanilla lotion of yours smells incredible, by the way. But not nearly as good as your pillow.”
My shaking has returned fully now. I knew there was a chance they would stop by the apartment, but I never expected them to make it inside. Was Michael there? Did he have Steve bring him home? Did Michael let them in? Is he okay? I watch him as the questions bounce around in my head like a game of pinball. He rests his leg on the opposite knee and folds his hands behind his head.
“Is Michael okay?” I barely manage to get my question out.
“For now.”
“Please don’t hurt him,” I beg. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“As long as you comply, I don’t see a reason to seek him out and use him as leverage. Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to be at home when we were there last night. Seems like a pretty big coincidence to me.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing they haven’t found Michael.
“I have to say, the purple thong I found in your drawer is much sexier than your other panties. You should really think about getting more of those.”
If that wasn’t bad enough, he fishes that same purple thong out of his pocket and spins it around his index finger. I’ve never felt more embarrassed or violated in my entire life. But the real kicker is the fact that I can feel moisture pooling between my legs. This sick son-of-a-bitch who wants to kidnap me, and who knows what else, has me feeling something deep inside that I haven’t felt in ages. Tears prick my eyes again, but these aren’t sad, grief-filled tears. These tears are angry.
“I think you ought to wear this for me today,” he suggests.
“Go to hell,” I spit.
Standing from the chair, he stalks across the room. I back away from him, but he doesn’t stop until he has me up against the wall outside of the bathroom. He presses his body against mine, and I can feel his erection digging into my hip bone. The fire that began to build in my stomach grows hotter, knowing he’s turned on, and I hate myself even more now.
“I can help you put this on if you need me to,” he jabs.
I take the thong from his hand and lift each one of my legs, putting it on underneath my towel.
“There, happy?”
I channel the fire within me, using it to help me rather than hold me back. I need to appear unaffected. I place my arm over my boobs and drop the towel before I walk to the bed to put on my bra and shirt. When I grab for my jean shorts, I find they’re gone all of a sudden. I whip around, looking for them, and I see he’s right behind me again, my shorts in his hand.
He holds them out for me, and I almost miss the slight gleam in his eye. I affect him too. Maybe his hard-on didn’t solely have to do with his dominance of me. I take my shorts and put them on. Then, I check the area to make sure I have everything before wedging my wallet into my back pocket.
I plan on running fast and hard the minute I step out the door. To do that, I need to ditch my bag, but I can’t leave my wallet behind.
“Ready?” I ask, grabbing the handles of my duffel bag.
“About time. Let’s go, little girl,” he orders, walking past me.
I follow him to the door, and thankfully, he walks through it first. That will give me a second more head start because he won’t see me take off immediately. He goes left, toward the passenger side of the large truck parked in front of the door. My car is nowhere to be found, but I can’t worry about that right now.
I drop my bag and take off around the opposite side of the truck. I see a wooded area ahead of me, and I push myself as hard as possible to make it there. I need to find a way to disappear before he can catch up with me.