Taylor smiled, clearly enjoying the scene. Micah stood at the edge of the mat, looking helpless as he stared down red-eyed.
Girls who couldn’t even tell you were coming.
What did that mean?
“Say it, socio.” Aydin leaned into his ear again. “‘I’m. So. Fucked. Up.’”
Rory resisted, trying to turn away—find a way out—but the cut on his brow dripped blood into his eye, and he just remained silent.
“I’m,” Aydin recited, egging him on, “so fucked up.” And then he dropped his voice to a hard whisper we all could hear. “In the head.”
A sob escaped Rory, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he was afraid it was true.
I looked over at Will, his gaze locked on the scene playing out.
But he must’ve sensed me watching because he looked over at me, his expression unwavering but his eyes hard.
Why aren’t they helping him? The only person who seemed to be enjoying the show was Taylor. Was this how Micah got injured? Fighting Aydin?
“They’re never going to let you out,” Aydin told the man under him. “I’m your family now.”
Rory gasped, not looking happy about it, and Aydin shot off him, standing up and walking to the small table at the edge of the pool.
Taking a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, he poured himself a glass of Scotch and threw it back, everyone watching him.
I thought Taylor said they didn’t have liquor here.
Will walked over, and Aydin set his glass down, telling him, “Just ask.”
But Will just grabbed for the bottle, and Aydin grabbed him, a hand at the back of Will’s neck and the other squeezing his throat.
“Look at me,” he told Will, their noses almost touching.
And then, Aydin’s gaze flashed over to me, a bitter smile playing on his lips and a sinking feeling hit my gut.
He controlled everything.
Shoving Will away, he brought his hand down hard, slapping Will in the face.
“Ask,” he said again.
Will stumbled, his back to me, but after a moment, he rose again, standing tall.
Aydin shook his head, charging up to him and slapping the same side again and again, pushing Will back until he lost his footing, spun around, and dropped to his hands and knees.
Tears filled my eyes, and I stared down at Will as he took a moment to catch his breath, and then he rose back up, facing Aydin and steeling his spine for more.
What the hell was he doing? Will could fight. He wasn’t even trying.
What had happened to him?
Aydin stepped up, nose to nose, and gazed into Will’s eyes. “He’s hurting,” he said to him. “Ask me or beat me, and you can have the whole bottle.”
The bottle. I eyed the Scotch whiskey.
And then to Micah. Rory and Will were trying to get Aydin’s liquor to soothe Micah’s pain.
The muscles in Will’s jaw flexed, and Aydin didn’t wait for his answer. Balling his fist, he reared back, swung, and slammed Will across the jaw, then grabbed his head and brought it down on his knee.
I gasped as blood spurted from Will’s nose and he fell to his knees again. I started to rush toward him, but he shot out his hand, stopping me without a look in my direction.
He sucked in air, eyes squeezed closed as he wiped the blood away from his mouth and knelt there, trying to get his legs under him again.
Finally, shaking, he rose to his feet.
But Aydin just chuckled and walked away, pouring himself another drink.
“I can’t trade with someone who doesn’t play,” he said.
Will stood there bleeding, and I moved a little, trying to catch his eyes.
But just when I thought he was going to look at me, he looked away instead and walked off the mat.
What had happened to him? He wasn’t the leader in high school, either, but he never let anyone treat him like shit.
“Sleep well?” Aydin asked.
I blinked, realizing he was talking to me.
“Taylor thought for sure we’d have to pry you out of that room,” he mused, taking a towel and wiping the sweat off his face.
He tossed the towel on a nearby chair, his gaze falling to my hand and the knife in it.
“You may as well relax,” he told me. “You’re not leaving.”
“I’m not staying.”
He laughed, unfastening his belt. “Denial. The first phase. I remember it well,” he mused, dropping his pants to the floor and leaving him in his boxer briefs. “Dealing with the loss of freedom and choice are exactly like dealing with the loss of a friend or parent. ‘This isn’t happening. This isn’t my life now. There has to be some way out of this…’”
He stared at me, amused, and then he peeled down the rest of his clothes, leaving him completely naked.
Heat rose up my neck, but I clenched my jaw and kept my eyes dead center on that stupid smirk of his as the others stood around, remaining silent.
“You’re dirty.” He sighed, throwing back another swallow of liquor. “I warned you that we’d bathe you if you didn’t do it yourself.”
“You’re going to have to, Hot Shot,” I fired back. “I don’t listen to you.”
“Oh, what a delight.” He smiled, turning and dropping waist deep into the pool. “I was so hoping you were going to make this hard.”
I glanced at the doorway I came through, wishing I’d gone for the kitchen like I was supposed to.
“Are there more people in this house?” I asked.
He splashed water on his face, coating his chest, as well. “Why would you think that?”
“I heard movement above me in your room a few minutes ago,” I told him.
Maybe if I got them distracted, searching the house, I could get to the kitchen. I might not get out of here tonight, but I could hoard some food.
“And again, in the walls down here,” I said. “But you’re all in here.”
I didn’t pass anyone on my way downstairs, and it appeared they were all already down here when I arrived.
“You’ve never heard anything before?” I asked.
The surveillance room, probably one of many, and movement in areas of the house where there weren’t supposed to be people?
But he knew where I was going with my train of thought. “There’s no help for you here.”
He sank below the surface, submerging his body, and rose up again, swimming to the other side and then smoothing his dark hair over the top of his head as the steam billowed around his body.
Unable to stop myself, I dropped my gaze. The curves and dips of his tight stomach, the bronze skin that looked like he was loved by the sun on some Mediterranean island instead of a cold, desolate house in the middle of nowhere, and the V of his hips that disappeared down into the water would make lots of women—and men—happy to look at.
And I had no doubt he was well aware of it.
“Come here,” he said softly.
I darted my eyes to his, seeing him tread through the water to the edge closest to me, looking like a god on Earth.
Too bad for him, I worshiped no one.
“Why do you control the food?” I demanded, staying right where I was.
“Why would I control the food?” he challenged and then looked behind me. “Taylor?”
I looked over my shoulder, seeing Dinescu approach. I moved away.