“There. Was that so hard? You have to take those four pills, twice a day, three days on the tablet if you’re hurting, five days on capsules. Got it?”
He prepared dinner, chatting on about nothing, talking to her as if she were engaged in the conversation. He grilled some chicken, added a splash of lime juice, then wrapped them in a tortilla, adding a bit of local salsa and fresh cheese. He removed the refried beans from the microwave and added a helping to each plate.
“Grab me a beer?” he asked as he walked past with the plates and forks. “Get one for yourself if you want it.” He intentionally ignored her as he fussed with the plates, turning to take the two beers from her when he heard the refrigerator door close. He opened them and placed one at each place. He slid a chair out and held it until she sat down, then pushed her up.
“Dig in. Burritos suck when they’re cold.”
“What do you think?” he asked as she bit into her burrito. She looked up, and a faint smile touched her lips as she chewed. “Good huh? I love these things.”
She slowly nodded head and he chuckled. “That’s a start. Can you tell me your name? I’m Arsen Kyle, but you probably know that already.” She opened her mouth as if she was going to tell him, then looked down as tears seeped from her eyes.
“Hey, hey,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it.” He was getting the sense she wanted to talk but something was stopping her and she couldn’t. It was probably nothing physical, since Doc Holiday didn’t seem concerned about her head. “Don’t push it. You’ll be able to talk when you’re ready.”
She looked up at him and sniffed, wiping her eyes with her hands, then stared at her plate.
“Is that all you’re going to eat?” He watched as she hesitated, then picked up her burrito again. He chatted with her, trying to draw her out, watching as she ate both her burritos, all her beans, and finished her beer. “You want something else?”
She slowly shook her head, and he smiled. Two responses. He was on a roll.
He quickly cleared the table, adding the dishes to the washer. It had yesterday’s dishes in it as well, so he started it washing. He picked up another beer for himself, a water for her, and then settled on the couch and flicked on the television. He was flipping through the streaming selection on Netflix when she settled beside him, finally selecting 50 First Dates as something that shouldn’t upset her and maybe he could stomach.
He didn’t hate the movie, but he’d seen better, and he had no idea if she liked it or not. She simply stared at the screen, though about halfway through she did lean into his side a bit and he put his arm around her shoulders.
As the movie ended, he squirmed out from under her. “Ready for bed?” He saw her stiffen slightly, but then rise to her feet. “Come on, let’s find you something to wear.”
He led her into his bedroom. He rummaged through a drawer until he found a Southwestern shirt he’d been given when he bought his motorcycle. It would hang on her like a dress, but that’s what he wanted. He grabbed one of his unopened toothbrushes and a small tube of toothpaste he kept for unexpected overnight guests, and handed it to her.
“Towels and washcloths are in the bathroom closet.” She stood, watching him until he made shooing gestures with his hands. She stood a moment longer, and he thought he was going to have to give her a push to get her moving when she turned and walked out.
He washed the road dust off his neck and arms before tossing his dirty clothes into the hamper. He sighed as he slid between the crisp, cool, satin sheets. He would give her tomorrow to get over this inability to speak, but if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, speak after that, he would have to find someone to help her. He had a business to run and he couldn’t have this damaged woman hanging on his heels all the time.
He was sliding into sleep when he sensed movement in the room. He jerked awake, instinctively reaching for the weapon on the side table as she moved across the end of the bed. She slid into the bed with him and turned her back to him before snuggling in close. He wasn’t sure what he should do, but decided to roll over and pull her into a spoon, wrapping her in his arms. He wasn’t normally much for cuddling after sex, but this felt entirely different. He had a long moment of trying to figure out where to put his hands without her thinking he was asking for something. Finally, he wrapped one around her shoulders, the other around her belly, pulling her tight against him. It was how she’d held herself, when she’d curled up on the bed, rocking. He had to admit, she felt nice against his naked body, even with the shirt on, and he smiled as she wiggled in a bit closer.
“Quinn,” she murmured.
He flashed hot at hearing her voice for the first time. “Quinn? That’s your name?”
She nodded slowly, then sighed.
“First or last?”
He waited, but she didn’t answer. After a moment, her breathing becoming slow and regular.
Chapter 12
Arsen brings me to his house, and it’s beautiful. I used to dream of living in such a grand and beautiful house someday. It is late in the day when we arrive, the sun just touching the horizon, bathing his home in a rich red glow.
He stops in the driveway, lets me dismount, and then walks his motorcycle into the garage. He invites me in, and I marvel at the beauty of his home. He shows me where I’ll sleep, then leaves me in the room. I use the bathroom before quickly looking in the other two rooms. One is set up like a home gym, while the other is clearly his bedroom. I return to the kitchen as he begins to cook. With only the two of us here I feel safe, safer than I have felt since…
My brain locks. I can’t remember how long I was held, ripped from my home in Flagstaff and used over and over for men’s pleasure. And then I’m back. Arsen places pills in my hand and orders me to take them. I hesitate, remembering being given drugs to make me compliant, but he encourages me and I swallow them one at a time.
The smells coming from the stove are divine, even better than the soup, and my mouth begins to water. As I watch he talks to me, and something clicks. I like to cook. I like to see the smiles of people as they taste what I’ve prepared. I have felt satisfied. I want to help, but before I can he removes the chicken from the pan, sliding it into soft flour tortillas, adding a spoon of salsa to each one, and then scooping beans onto the plate.
As he passes, he asks me to fetch him a beer. I do, and I decide to take one for myself as well. He smiles as he takes the bottles from me, opens them, and places one at each plate. He pulls a chair out and waits. I remember I’m supposed to sit when a man does that, and he slides me to the table.
The smell of the chicken makes my stomach growl, my mouth watering so much I’m afraid I’ll drool. I don’t touch the food until he bites into his, then looks up a me and motions his burrito at me. I pick one up and bite into heaven. It tastes so good I nearly weep with joy. I smile at him.
Arsen is a good man. He’d picked me up on the side of the road when no one else would, then fed me and gave me water. Now he’s feeding me again and sharing his beautiful house while offering me refuge.
When he asks my name I try to answer, I want to answer, but something is wrong with me and I can’t force the words. I try again, trying to say something, anything, but no sound escapes me.
I put my burrito down and I begin to weep in silent frustration and anger. I’m broken. I can’t even tell this kind man my name or how thankful I am.
He comforts me. I was afraid he would be angry, but he seems sad, as if he can sense my frustration. That makes me even more frustrated. With all he has done for me, all he’s asked in return is my name, and I can’t even give him that. I stare at my plate, ashamed, unworthy of the food he has given me, but he has moved on to another subject, as if my slight is already forgotten.
The food calls to me, and I pick up my burrito and begin to eat again. He smiles at me in approval and I eat the first burrito, then the second, finishing by cleaning my plate of the beans. For the first time in a long time, I’m not hungry, thirsty or a
fraid.
When he rises, I pick up my plate and carry it to the kitchen, setting it beside the sink. He smiles and nods his thanks. Again I want to help, but there is so little to do that he’s done loading the dishwasher before I can figure out how.
He steps around me, opening the refrigerator and pulling out another beer and a water, then moves to the couch. I’m disappointed he only got one beer, but then I remember his words about helping myself to a beer if I wanted. I think about it, but decide not to. The water is obviously intended for me, and I’m thankful for it. I move to the couch and sit beside him as he flips through movies on the largest television I have ever seen.
He finally picks something and we watch it. It’s a stupid movie, but I watch it without complaint. Being here, safe, my stomach full and my thirst quenched, watching a movie he wants to see, is enough. As the movie plays I start to feel sleepy. I lean into his side for support, and I like that his arm goes around my shoulder.
As the movie ends, I rouse myself, his question about going to bed briefly frightening me, but then I relax. He’s given me my own room, with a lock on the door, and I trust him to not hurt me. I follow him to his room and watch as he digs a long white shirt with Southwestern motifs on the back out of drawer. I take the shirt, toothbrush, and toothpaste from him. I can’t remember the last time I’d brushed my teeth. His kindness makes tears well up in my eyes yet again.
He shoos me away and I go to my room. I brush my teeth three times, running my tongue over the slick feeling teeth between brushings. I don’t shower, since I’d showered only a few hours before, but I do strip and change into the shirt. It hangs on me, but I’d had nothing but my dirty and smelly clothes for weeks until today. I run my hands over the smooth and soft fabric, bringing it to my nose to smell the freshness of it. I close and lock the door and then crawl into the bed. The fresh, crisp, cool linens feel wonderful, the mattress dreamily soft, but as I lay in the quiet of the house, the demons began to whisper to me.
I try to close them out, putting my tightly gripped fists over my ears, but I can’t silence them. I try to ignore them, but they won’t let me sleep. It has been so long since I could sleep.
I get up, pausing at the door, then silently open it. I go to Arsen’s room and wait at the door, afraid to enter. He appears to be asleep, but just thinking about having him near me silences the whispering fear. I cross the room and he starts awake. I almost turn and run back to my room, but his nearness draws me. I slide between the linens with him. I snuggle in close and a peace comes over me. I feel safe, truly safe, as his arms embrace me.
“Quinn,” I mumble, my name coming easily to my lips. I smile, relieved I’m able to finally answer his question, before the blessed darkness of sleep pulls its veil over me.
***
I wake with a start. Arsen is no longer in the bed with me. Panic rises within me. He’s left me! I try to call his name as I throw the linens back but all I hear is a wail. I run from the room, looking, searching desperate to find him, my own scream loud in my ears.
Chapter 13
Arsen heard Quinn cry out. He dropped the spatula onto the counter and dashed down the hall, nearly knocking her down as they collided.
“What’s wrong?” he cried as she flung herself into his arms, holding him tight. He could feel her trembling there, her breath coming hard and fast. “Quinn, what’s wrong?”
She said nothing, but her embrace never loosened. He’d left eggs cooking on the stove when she cried out. He tried to squirm out of her embrace, but she only locked on tighter.
“Quinn, the eggs are going to burn.” She didn’t seem to hear, so he pried her arms from around him as gently as possible and then held her hands as he pulled her with him to the kitchen. When he arrived at the stove, he stirred the eggs again. They weren’t burned beyond eating, which was good.
As he stirred one handed, he grinned at her. “Have a nightmare? I’d have nightmares too if I went through what you did.”
He turned away from the eggs and dropped four pieces of bread into the toaster. When he turned back, she’d stepped up and was stirring the eggs. He took a bag of shredded cheese out of the fridge, setting it near her, then got out butter for the toast. She looked at the cheese a moment before opening the bag and dumping a healthy portion into the pan, folding the eggs over and reducing the heat to melt the cheese.
As he buttered toast, she scraped the eggs onto the two plates he’d sat out, then quickly swished the pan clean with a brush before placing it in the dishwasher. She sat the plates on the table while he poured up coffee.
“Quinn?” he asked as she ate. “Is that your first name?” he continued when she looked up.
She paused, her eyes narrowing as she focused. “Yes,” she mumbled, then her face relaxed. “Quinn Nettleton.”
He sat back in his chair and watched her a moment. Her voice was smooth and rich, like honey, a beautiful voice. It made his blood run hot. “Nice to meet you, Quinn. Do you know who I am?”
“Arsen.”
He grinned, then chuckled. “That’s right. At least you’ve been listening. Do you know how you got here?”
“Yes,” she said, but didn’t elaborate.
“Is there someone I can call? Family?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me what happened to you?”
She looked down and shook her head.
“Do you remember?”
She nodded her head, but said nothing.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Do you remember Doc Holiday said he needed to draw blood? You okay with that?”
Again she nodded.
“Okay. As soon as breakfast is over, we’ll get you over to see Doc, then you can come with me to the clubhouse. Do you understand nobody there is going to hurt you?”
He smiled as she nodded. “That’s good. People aren’t going to want to have you around if you keep assaulting them. Are you feeling okay? Do you need the pain meds?”
She looked up at him, then slowly nodded.
“You know where they are.”
She gave him a flicker of a smile and slid back, taking one pain killer, then emptying two of the antibiotic capsules into her hand. She ran a glass of water and tossed them back then returned to the table.
Since she seemed to have exhausted her supply of words, they finished the meal in silence. Quinn kept her eyes low. He didn’t like that she seemed to be sliding back into silence, but just getting her name and knowing she was aware of what was going on around her was an improvement over the zombified state she was in most of the day yesterday.
She cleared the table as he loaded the dishwasher, then he showered and dressed. When he got out, she was waiting, dressed in the same clothes she had on yesterday. He frowned; they were going to have to do something about that, and soon.
When they arrived at Doc’s practice, Desert Sun Family Medical, they were immediately whisked to the back. One of Doc’s nurses drew Quinn’s blood without so much as a glance at Quinn’s bruised and battered appearance. That raised Arsen’s eyebrows. He made a mental note to ask Doc if he’d given the woman a head’s up of what to expect. He’d hate to think that the nurse wouldn’t have commented on Quinn’s condition otherwise.
Quinn was a trooper throughout the procedure, though she gripped Arsen’s hand tightly at the prick of the needle.
When they arrived at the clubhouse, she was his shadow. She didn’t interfere, but she also didn’t let him out of her sight as he went about his business. It was normal, routine stuff, so he didn’t mind . About ten, he picked up the baggie with two tablets he’d gotten from the Advocates and waved his arm, calling her to him. He was going to the plant to test the pills.
They went out the back of the clubhouse and walked the couple hundred feet the large prefab metal building. The Blacktop Blades empire also included a legitimate business enterprise, Botanical Bath Beads, or B3. Arsen had figured out a long time ago that the best way to conduct illegitimate bus
iness was to cover it with a legitimate one.
She followed him into the large building full of busy, large, stainless steel machines, tended by men she recognized from the clubhouse yesterday. He turned right just inside the door and trotted up a set of steps to a small glassed area on a mezzanine. She followed him into the room and her eyes widened in amazement. The room was full of expensive looking machines, none of which she recognized, so she stood by the door. Arsen moved about the room with practiced ease.
He entered the quality control lab and started the gas chromatograph with an attached mass spectrometer heating as he prepared the samples by removing a small section of each of the two tablets and liquefying it, being careful to keep the samples separate. By the time his samples were prepared and inserted into the autoloader, the machine as ready. He selected his detection profile and started the machine working.
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