“Yes, now hurry and switch the shoes.”
She drops the bags and digs around. While she’s changing out the bloody for the clean, I lean my head into the playroom. Following her bloody footsteps, I find Beardman’s head turned toward me, his nose disjointed and jaw hanging open at an awkward angle.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
I pick up the bags for her and gesture toward the stairs. “It’s the garage. Did you find any purses or wallets or anything like that?” I ask as we hustle down to the first floor. I don’t mention it to Dolly, but the longer we stick around, the higher the chance of running into Bossman’s associates.
“Yeah, there in the bag. They kept everything from people.” She follows me into the garage.
I stash the bags in the backseat of the truck cabin, then help her up.
“That’s weird, right? To keep the clothes and stuff. It’s weird.” She scrunches her lips to one side.
I round the front of the truck and hop in the driver’s side.
“Everything about this place is weird, Dolly,” I say, searching the console for the garage door opener.
“But they kept them like souvenirs. That’s really weird.” She scoffs.
Finding the remote, I open the garage door. Sunlight pours in, and we both cover our eyes.
“Sunlight,” Dolly whispers, gingerly taking her arm away from her face. As the beams light up the cabin, she leans forward toward the windshield, a large grin dancing on her lips.
It’s not only the warm rays of the sun lighting up the truck cabin, it’s our freedom.
“Where are we going to go?” she asks as I pull out of the garage, hitting the button to close the door behind us.
I turn onto the empty street lined with boarded up houses on both sides.
“Somewhere safe so we can look over everything.” I reach over and hold her hand. Smaller than mine, but just as mighty.
“Then what?” she asks, rolling down the window. Crisp spring air rushes into the cabin, and although it’s chilly, it’s fresh.
I drag in a deep breath. Renewed energy pumps through my veins.
“Then we make them pay.”
Fifteen
DOLLY
Ken’s still buried in the computer he took from the house when I come out of the bathroom with an oversized t-shirt covering me. There weren’t any pajamas in the piles of discarded clothes, but I had found this. It feels good to have clothes on again—real clothes.
The dresses with all the frills and lace, designed to entice the viewers and humiliate me into obedience, became awkward costumes. They covered my nakedness from the camera—at least for a few minutes—but displayed my failures.
This t-shirt comforts me, because I chose it.
“Find anything?” I ask Ken. My hair is still wet from my shower, and I wrap the short white towel around to squeeze more water out.
He clicks a button and leans back in the chair. The motel he’s brought us to has a queen-sized bed and a writing desk his size dwarfs while he’s sitting at it.
“A few things.” He swivels the chair around until his knees have trapped me between them. “You were in there a long time.”
I nod with a grin. “The water was so hot, I didn’t want to get out.”
He takes the towel from me and tosses it on the edge of the bed.
“Didn’t leave any for me then?” He chuckles and pulls me into his lap. His thighs are strong.
“I think you were a scary police officer,” I say, pressing my hands against his chest. He told me he was a cop, that he came to rescue me when Bossman stole him away. He promised me the rest of his squad would keep looking for us.
They never came.
His brow wrinkles. “Why do you say that?”
I shrug. “You’re so big.”
He laughs and pulls me into his chest to kiss my forehead.
“In a lot of ways,” I whisper into his ear, then bite down on his earlobe.
“Hmmm, is that right?” Scooping me up in his arms, he lifts me, only to toss me onto the bed with a bounce.
I scramble to my knees and crawl to the end of the bed. His eyes burn me as I kneel, grab the hem of my shirt, and pull it over my head. His gaze doesn’t move from mine.
“Are you going to shave this off?” I run my fingers over the stubble covering his jaw. His face was smooth and clean when he arrived in his cell. He looked younger, more innocent then. The dark beard suits him, distinguishes him from the man who had been dumped, drugged, bruised, and sliced in the cell across from me.
“I don’t think I will.” His voice is nearly as rough as his appearance. Unlike me, they never made him shave. “Are you going to spend all night staring at me, or do you think you’ll kiss me?” He’s teasing me again.
I tilt my head, like I’m seriously considering my next move. My mouth aches to touch his, and he must know it. He’s wearing his arrogance on his lips.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” I might have to make him wait for it. The little twitch of his eyebrow when I show him my defiance wakes my insides. My belly trembles when his eyes darken. The uncertainty of his actions shoots a tiny thrill down my spine. It’s been so long since the electricity running through me was anything but pure pain.
He slips his hands beneath my arms and hauls me from the bed until my feet touch the floor. My hands are drawn up over my head and placed there. He doesn’t have to tell me to keep still, it’s written all over his face. He wants my obedience. As if I could deny him anything.
His fingertips trail down my sides, tickling my ribs as he passes over them.
“So many scars.” He licks the white mark on my shoulder. It’s old, before my captivity. “So much beauty,” he mumbles, then kisses my neck, biting down on my flesh and sucking until I groan from the discomfort as it rises into purity of pleasure.
His hand wraps around my throat, not too hard, but his dominance, his control, is undeniable.
“Now, kiss me.” His voice shatters the sliver of resolve I hold in my grasp. Rising to my toes, I bring my mouth to his, pressing lightly. He squeezes my throat, and I wrap my arm around his neck, pulling him down toward me to deepen the kiss. My tongue pushes past his lips, dancing with his, until I’m not sure who’s kissing who. A nip to my lower lip, a brush of my tongue against his, we dance as one.
He’s the first to break away, throwing his head back and sucking in a long breath.
“Fuck, Dolly.” He’s grappling for his own control. When his control slips, I can tuck myself into him, freeing myself in the process. “I shouldn’t want to do what I want to do.” He’s torn.
I frame his face with my hands and pull him back to me. “I want it too. You’ll never hurt me—never truly hurt me.” I wrap one hand around his wrist and push his hand harder into my throat.
“I won’t be like them.” His voice drops.
“You’re nothing like them.” I squeeze his hand around me tighter. Air moves slightly out of my grasp. “I want you.”
His lips thin into a straight line. His nostrils flare with his harsh exhale.
A decision is made. The war is over.
Keeping his hand tight around my throat, he reaches down to his pants, undoes the buckle and the button and the zipper, and shoves them down his thighs. Without leaving my gaze, he kicks his jeans away from us and shoves me onto the bed, climbing on with me.