Present
I blinked my eyes open, the blurry room in front of me slowly coming into view. The weight of a truck sat on my back, and I rolled myself over, peeling my face off the pillow.
My arm draped over the other half of the empty bed.
It was just a dream.
I stared at the ceiling, still feeling him next to me in bed, but I knew he wasn’t there. He was closer than ever now, but I felt his absence more than I ever did.
Tears ached behind my eyes, remembering how he felt and how much I really wanted to feel that again right now.
He barely looked at me yesterday. He always looked at me.
God, who put me in Blackchurch? My brother wouldn’t have the clout for this. I’d heard he’d married, but it had been years since I’d seen him. Why now?
No, it had to be someone else. Someone who wanted to give Will his revenge and didn’t give a shit about me.
There were lots of possibilities.
Sitting up, I winced at the soreness in my stomach, and I reached out, tonguing the cut on my lip. It was funny, and I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t mind the pain. I actually kind of liked it. It was familiar. It reminded me that I was alive.
Strange as it was the past several years—free and on my own—I hadn’t felt that in a long time.
Climbing out of bed, I found my glasses on the nightstand and slipped them on, looking down at my boxers and tank top. Aydin had undressed me when he put me to bed, offering me some bottoms from his drawer. I looked around the room, not sure where he’d slept, but he’d stayed out after he patched me up last night.
Walking to the mirror, I turned and looked at myself.
My hair had coiled and ratted, wild and messy as it fell around my face and down my chest and arms. Dried blood coated my left nostril, and the skin on the inside corner of my right eye was purple. My cheek was red from where he’d slapped me, a cut adorned my bottom lip, and a white bandage was wrapped around my upper right arm.
Reaching out, I touched my reflection in the mirror, feeling it. Remembering.
Every hair on my arms rose. Every inch of my skin hummed. The air coursed through my fingers, and the muscles in my legs flexed, standing tall and strong.
I curled my fingers into the mirror, alive.
I was a fighter once.
Closing my eyes, I flattened my hand against the mirror once more, feeling warmth from the other side.
Were one of them in there keeping an eye on me? Was Will in there?
“Hi,” someone said.
I opened my eyes and turned toward the door, seeing Micah stand there in black cargo pants, his hands full of stuff.
I backed away from the mirror, grabbing the sheet on the bed to cover myself as he entered the room in his bare feet.
“Some clothes,” he said, gesturing to the pile in his left hand. And then he set down a plate. “And in case you’re hungry.”
I looked at the juice, fruit, a small baguette, and a wedge of what looked like brie, my stomach growling. Aydin had soup brought up to me last night, but I couldn’t remember the last time I ate anything substantial, and I was starving.
Dropping the sheet, I grabbed the bread, broke it in half, and cut off some cheese with the butter knife, smearing it on the bread.
Lifting it to my mouth, I ripped off a piece with my teeth and chewed.
Jesus. My mouth salivated, and I almost felt nauseous at the taste because I was so hungry. I groaned, loading on more cheese and then drinking the juice.
“You want a bath?” he asked.
I looked over as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. His abs flexing and his hair hanging in his eyes, all messy-sexy.
I choked, coughing with my mouth full. “With you?”
He just chuckled, stuffing his T-shirt into his back pocket. “I’ll draw you one. You look rough,” he explained. “How do you feel?”
I opened my mouth to say ‘fine’ or ‘I’m hanging in there’, but surprisingly, I just nodded. “Good.”
I took another bite and stuffed a piece of apple in, too.
I felt good.
Weird.
Walking to the tub in the corner of the room—that wasn’t in the bathroom, maybe because the previous owner of the house liked his wife to bathe in full view of the bed—he started the water, dipping his hand in the stream and adjusting the temperature.
“Rory told me what you did,” he said, sitting on the edge of the tub and looking over at me. “Thank you.”
I’d seen enough in my twenty-four hours here to know all wasn’t what it seemed. Rory was the one who’d spoken in the cellar yesterday. The one who didn’t want me here, hoped I’d die out there, and liked things just as they were because he had all he needed here.
“Are you and him…?”
I didn’t finish, just letting him figure it out.
He smiled and looked back at the water, but I caught the blush on his face.
I ate some more fruit and the rest of the bread before finishing the juice he’d brought me. Everything tasted so good, probably because I knew it was safe. If they’d wanted to drug me, they could’ve already done it.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Maybe noon.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Time isn’t relevant here.”
I wiped my mouth with the napkin, studying him. “Do you know how long you’ve been here?”
“A little over a year, judging by how many times the crew comes to restock us and clean,” he told me. “We’ve all been here a while. Rory was the last to show up, about seven months ago.”
No clocks. No calendars. No connection to the life outside. The only way to count the months was to count the resupplies.
It was like constantly waiting for something you weren’t sure would ever happen, much less when.
“You don’t seem like you should be here,” I told him.
He scooped some bath salts into the tub and pulled a towel and washcloth over from the nearby table.
With Stalinz Moreau as a father, I thought Micah would be different.
He stared at the water. “My father hasn’t been seen in public in nine years,” he explained. “He lives on a yacht that’s constantly moving from port to port, and the only way my five brothers and sister can see him is when we take a helicopter to follow whatever coordinates he sends us.”
I’d heard that somewhere. It was actually pretty smart. When you supplied weapons to terrorists and competing factions in third-world countries, upsetting the “consistency” of the tyranny already in power, many people would want you dead.
“People think wealth means choice and freedom,” he continued. “But oh, how I envied those filthy, barefoot kids running around some of the worst neighborhoods I drove through growing up.” He looked up at me, finally. “It’s nice not starving, but I don’t want to live like he does. I don’t want power. I don’t give a shit about money. I’ve had it, and now I’d just rather have peace of mind.”
I approached him. “So you’re the black sheep?”
He flashed a sad smile. “‘Who needs to learn a lesson about family loyalty and not being a pussy,’” he recited his father’s words, no doubt.
So we were all stuck here. Maybe I wasn’t so alone then.
Keeping my bottoms and top on, I stepped into the tub, the hot water instantly spreading amazing, glorious chills all over my body.
He smiled at my attempt at modesty by keeping my clothes on, but I really just wasn’t ready for him to leave.
I sat down, letting my eyes fall closed at how good the water felt. Taking the bait, he tipped my head back and water poured over my scalp, wetting my hair as he filled the cup and did it again and again.
I opened my eyes, looking at the mirror across the room as water cascaded down my back, over my chest, and soaked my tank top.
“What happens when the resupply team shows up?” I broached.
“They resupply.”
Yeah, duh.
“You know what I mean,” I told him.
If I were stuck here for the time being, I’d use that time wisely. I needed to map the house, explore the land, and start stocking food, water, and maybe another weapon.
Micah held up his wrist, showing me his bronze-colored bracelet.
I studied it, just realizing they all wore one. It hadn’t struck me yesterday, but now that I was seeing it, I remembered they all had one on.
“It tracks us,” he said. “And it doesn’t come off. Believe me, we all try.”
I didn’t have one, though.
“It vibrates when the team is coming,” he explains. “Security arrives first, and if we’re in our rooms like good little boys, they simply flip a lock to keep us secure. If we’re not, then they’ll find us and lock us in our rooms themselves. When the doors open again, they’re gone, the fridge is stocked, the toilets are clean, our wardrobe is replenished, and every piece of furniture is shining. Almost like we get a do-over every month.”
“A whole new chance to not break, spill, or bleed all over the floors again, huh?”
He snorted. “Yeah.”
“Can you talk to them when they arrive?”
“We can try.” He removed the now-soaked bandage on my arm. “But ultimately, the ones in charge aren’t the ones we see. The team is just doing a job.”
He soaped up a washcloth and gently cleaned off the blood on my arm.
“And while Aydin is correct that you should stay put, because you won’t make it out of here alive,” he went on, “I wouldn’t trust that they’ll be the ones to save you when they come.”
I tensed. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, they had to have noticed you being brought here in the first place, right?”
My heart skipped a beat, and I paused, thinking.
It was safe to assume they saw me brought in or helped bring me in. He was right. If Aydin didn’t lock me in the cellar and keep me undetected like he’d threatened to do, they might not care anyway when they came in a month. They still might not rescue me.
“Like I said,” he repeated. “It’s a job.”
Well, I wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing. Someone had an agenda bringing me here, and it wasn’t Will.
I looked over at the glass again, imagining he was watching as Micah slipped the cloth inside my tank top and washed my back.
“How do they know when you’re ‘fit’ to go home?” I asked. “I mean, people have gone home since you’ve been here, right?”
“One,” he said. “But he got sent back.”
The floor creaked, and I tipped my head up, seeing Rory lean against the door frame, watching us as he ate an apple. His gaze moved between Micah and me, something loaded happening behind them.
“And I wasn’t unhappy about it,” Micah added, humor in his voice as he looked at the other man.
I glanced between them, the vibe making my blood warm.
I was pretty sure these two might just be happy staying here for the rest of their lives if they had each other.
“Would Rory mind if you helped me with my hair?” I asked Micah.
He grinned, kind of devilishly, and picked up the shampoo, pouring some into his hand.
I closed my eyes as he spread it across my hair, lathering it up, and I knew Rory was watching us as I imagined Will watching me through the glass.
I let my head fall back, and he poured water over my scalp again and again as it rinsed my hair and coursed down my body. The fabric of the white tank top chafed the hard points of my nipples.
His fingers trailed down my hair, squeezing the water out, and I almost shivered, it felt so good.
All I could feel were the eyes behind the glass on me, and I gripped the sides of the tub, liking it.
“I think I better go,” Micah finally said.
I opened my eyes to Rory still leaning against the door frame, but he’d stopped eating and stared at Micah, his gaze piercing.
“He needs me more than you do right now,” Micah joked.
My thighs hummed. Damn.
“Thank you.” I sighed, not ready to give up the attention.
But I totally understood.
“Anytime.”
He walked toward the door, his T-shirt still dangling out of his back pocket, and then he turned to close the door.
“Oh, and the gift is from Aydin,” he said, pointing to the floor next to the tub.
I peered over the edge, finding an old, rectangular wooden case and picked it up, opening the rusted clasp. Flipping the lid, I saw mechanical pencils, a French curve, a T-square, an eraser, a compass…
I darted my gaze to Micah. These were drawing tools.
“You can walk freely about the house,” he told me. “No one is to touch you, Aydin says.” And then he smiled, adding, “Unless you invite us to.”
He closed the door, Rory’s laugh echoing down the hall.
