by Stasia Black
Fucking. Cows.
Where the hell am I?
I take one last desperate look around for any other sign of life and the phrase no one to hear you scream echoes in my head.
Two of the brutes who got off the plane with me drag me up the few wooden stairs to the doorway of the giant western-style lodge. The large three-story building stands starkly against the otherwise bleak landscape. There might have once been a façade with a sign over the door but it looks like it was torn down a long time ago. Now the wood over the door is just grayish and weather-worn.
The two men push it open and yank me inside.
“Dad!” I still call out uselessly, trying to look over my shoulder. I stop fighting the men carrying me but neither am I going to help them. I go limp, refusing to walk forward. The men on both sides keep me upright, dragging me through the entryway. Unlike my polished marble foyer in Manhattan, the interior of this place is wood, wood, and more wood. The walls are styled to look like it’s a log cabin.
I’ve been kidnapped by Paul fucking Bunyan.
The toes of my pumps make a squeaking noise against the wood. I squeeze my eyes shut to all of it, wishing I could end this horrible nightmare but knowing it hasn’t even begun yet.
Because I accepted the devil’s bargain.
Will Mr. Owens actually keep his end of the deal? Or was that all bullshit meant to placate me? Are they going to toss Dad out of the plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean? Or do I dare even believe that he’ll be safe…?
We start up a stairway and the men dragging my lifeless body make no attempt to compensate for the fact the wooden stairs dig into my bare ankles with every step.
“Ow!” One of my shoes is knocked off, then the other a third of the way up the stairs. Son of a— Okay, so going limp was a bad idea.
“Just wait a second, let me get my feet under m—”
They don’t wait.
Bastards.
I lift my feet up so they’ll clear the sharp-edged steps and try to pull out of their hold again as soon as we get to the top of the stairs. I cry out after the man on my left roughly jerks me forward again.
“Let her go.” The command is boomed from a figure down the hall. Even though the two men holding me release their grip, I can’t help taking a step back with them.
The inside of the place is dark. There are tons of windows, but they’re all covered with heavy drapes that create a dark, suffocating atmosphere. From the outside, the building was huge—far too big to be a single residence. My first thought that it’s a resort seems to be correct. Downstairs I briefly glimpsed a huge open common room that might have once been used as a bar or for dancing. Up here there’s a long hallway with doors at regular intervals like rooms at an inn.
In the middle of nowhere. Abandoned.
Just like in The Shining.
Oh God, I’m going to die with an axe buried in my chest.
Because at the other end of the hallway is a huge, hulking man who in the dim light is just a giant silhouette.
The size of him is enough to scare the shit out of me. But I don’t know the half of it.
The next second he takes several steps forward. The light from the single wall sconce barely illuminates his face.
Just enough to see that if this is all a nightmare from hell, then he might be the devil himself.
Chapter 4
Big. Huge. Monster.
Shit. Shit! This is the client?
His face. The left side is… the skin looks melted with angry pink lines spidering across his cheek down into his jaw that has a heavy five o’clock shadow. The skin of his left eyebrow is slanted across the corner so that he’s eternally squinting and I’m shocked the eyeball seems still intact. Not to mention that his ear—he wears his thick, dark brown wavy hair long on that side but most of the ear is just—gone.
I can’t help taking a step backward. He’s huge. The hallway looks too small compared to him. He’s got to be what, 6’4 or even 6’5, with shoulders so broad he looks like he might have to turn sideways to fit through doors.
I can’t— I have to get the hell out of here—
“Leave,” the giant, disfigured man barks. The two men behind me immediately flee down the stairs. I take another step backward, about to join them.
“Not you.”
His booming voice freezes me in my tracks.
“There. The doctor’s waiting.” He thrusts an arm out toward the second door on the right down the hall.
Unlike the hallway, the room is brightly lit. It casts a rectangle of yellow light on the otherwise dark hallway.
There’s another person here? Maybe they can help me? If I can just let them know that I’m being kept here against my will, they could—
But what about Dad?
Wait, so do I really think the deal is still on after they blindfolded and manhandled me here?
I still hurry inside the room. Anything is welcome if it means getting away from the terrifying beast in the hallway.
“Examine her,” his low voice demands from behind me.
I startle forward even quicker into the bright light of the room.
The room, like everything else in the place, is all wood, but the window dressing and bedding is done in whites and grays.
My eyes quickly zero in on the petite brunette woman in her mid-forties, dressed in scrubs. She has a small table full of instruments and is standing beside the large bed that dominates the center of the room.
She looks past me and nods, I assume at the giant, then steps back and gestures toward the bed. “You’ll need to remove your clothing for the examination.”
My mouth drops open. And then I feel my cheeks flame.
Bracing myself, I turn back to the door. I keep my eyes somewhere in the vicinity of his giant chest. The dark-gray and blue flannel shirt he’s wearing appears to be straining at the seams to contain his biceps.
Oh God, oh God, what have I done by putting my life in this man’s hands? Still I manage to find my voice. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes.”
One word is all I get.
I steel myself. “Where is my father being taken?”
“To a place where he’ll be free of the reach of the United States government. And anyone else who might wish him harm.”
Mr. Owens intimated so in the car, but this seems to confirm it. He knows about the trouble my father is in… Or he’s behind it. I can’t help looking up, needing to see his face so I can try to gauge whether or not he’s telling the truth. His voice is so… not monotone exactly. That’s the wrong word. Just matter of fact. Like of course that’s where Dad’s headed.
I only manage to look at him for a half a second before I have to glance down again. That face… just ugh.
I couldn’t tell if anything about him looked trustworthy or not. It’s wrong and shallow of me. If we were out in polite society, I’d try to be more politically correct about someone with a disability or disfigurement, but considering the circumstances, I’m running a little short on empathy at the moment.
“How do I know you aren’t behind all this?” My whole body trembles as I ask it. “That you aren’t one of the very people my dad warned me about who wants him dead?”
“You don’t,” comes his grumble. “Not until tomorrow when he gets to his location. Then I can show you proof of life pictures of him with the local paper. You’ll get regular updates every week throughout the year.” There’s a short pause. “Or however long it takes.”
I swallow hard. Oh my God. If what he’s saying is true, then it is all real.
A baby in exchange for my dad’s life…
And all the things it takes to make a baby.
Holy shit. Is this actually my life?
“You can put this on while I examine you.”
I turn around to see the doctor holding out one of those terrible, thin hospital dressing gowns. I go forward and clutch it like a lifeline.
“The bathroom’s ju
st over there.” She points to one side of the room where there’s another small door.
Yes, apparently this is my life, whether I want it to be or not. The giant at the door and those thugs with the black bags seem like no take-backs kind of guys.
***
In the bathroom, my entire body shakes as I slip off my Gucci pantsuit and underclothes, then pull on the hospital gown. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror while I try to awkwardly tie the little tie behind my back and neck.
The wooden floor is cool underneath my feet. The bathroom is clean and what probably passes for high class around here—a marble topped counter with brass fixtures. An abstract watercolor painting of a cowboy riding a bucking bull hangs right behind the toilet.
So now I know.
Hell is cowboy chic.
Awesome.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and then clutch the material at the small of my back. No way to stop your ass from hanging out of these stupid robes.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Ten hours ago I was waking up and heading into what I thought was just another ordinary day of work.
And now I’m…
God, I can’t even think about my current situation too closely. Not if I want to make it through this and not freak the hell out.
I open my eyes and don’t let myself consider it any longer. I walk back out to the other room, hand still firmly holding my gown closed behind me.
The giant is still standing right outside the doorway—that’s the first thing I notice when I get back in the room. He’s hovering just outside the sphere of light. I hope he’s far enough away he doesn’t notice the shiver that goes up and down my body. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Maybe the exam will take the rest of the afternoon. Or rather, evening. I glance out the window at the setting sun.
Just how late is it? If it’s nighttime, does that mean he’ll expect… like, right away?
“When was the date of your last period?” the doctor asks, either totally ignorant of my obvious freak-out or doing a great job of pretending not to notice.
She continues with the preliminaries like this is any other check-up. Are my periods regular? Have I noticed any other irregularities or do I have any concerns I’d like to discuss with her?
The talking part is over far too quickly and then she’s onto the exam. Just my luck, she’s fast and efficient.
Her pronouncement echoes throughout the room while the speculum is still inside me.
“She’s a virgin.”
Even from the bed where I’m lying, my legs spread like the Thanksgiving turkey, I can hear his quick, heavy exhalation.
Relief? Surprise?
Mr. Owens said earlier that I was the perfect candidate. Was being a virgin part of the client’s requirements? And if it was, how the hell did they know?
It’s not like I wear a sign on my forehead, no penises have tread here. I’m a successful twenty-six-year-old woman. I work out, keep trim, and I get hit on plenty. At my age, it’s weird to still be a virgin without, you know, religious reasons for it.
But all growing up, I’d watched my mother use her sex appeal like a weapon, luring in one man after another. She played up the stereotype of sexy Latina woman to the hilt, wearing tight, revealing clothing that highlighted her ample assets.
I hated it. Hated the admiring glances the boys in my classes shot her way on the few instances she actually showed up at my school functions. Hated the way my father was still broken-hearted over her years after she’d left him.
And I especially hated the fact that since I was her spitting image, everyone expected me to turn out just the same.
As soon as my breasts began developing, I started wearing the baggiest, most unsexy clothing I could find. I cut my thick, glossy brown hair short. I studied hard and focused on grades and avoided boys and parties like the plague.
When I got to college, I chilled out a little. I had hormones just like any other girl. Sure, I was curious. Touching and getting myself off took care of that a little bit, but I wasn’t immune to romantic dreams.
My sophomore year, I got my first serious boyfriend. I met Brian in my Principals of Financial Accounting class. He seemed like a sweet, funny guy.
Until we were alone and all he wanted to do was reach under my oversized shirt to grab my boobs, which, in his words, he “couldn’t stop thinking about titty-fucking.”
Yeah, me and Brian didn’t last long. I tried one more time, with a guy named Jeremy who was part of the group of friends me and my roommate hung out with. I told him up front I wanted to take things slowly. He said that was totally fine with him. We dated for several months. Which was when I walked in on him screwing my roommate.
Shocker that I was put off sex.
I didn’t want to be labeled a cock-tease either so I just didn’t go there. I tried dating a couple more times but ended up breaking things off fairly quickly. Mostly I just automatically friend-zoned guys. I kept my hair short and continued wearing clothes that covered up my curves.
My girlfriends told me all the time that I was nuts and that all these guys I thought were just friends were actually hoping for something more with me.
But then I graduated college and was still a virgin and it just started to be totally weird. How do you tell someone on the third or fourth date… so look, I want to mess around with you, but I’m kinda sorta a virgin and still a little terrified about sex, cool?
Yeah, I never found a way to bring that up in polite conversations and would just stop returning a dude’s calls after the second or third date.
To my friends, I pretended I was waiting for some mythical perfect guy to lose it to, just to get them off my back about it. And then everything got intense with me working sixty to seventy hours a week and the last thing on my mind was a guy.
Now here I am and my virginity is possibly the thing that’s put me in the running for the position of sex-slave/baby-mama to a complete stranger so giant that I doubt I’ll be able to breathe if he lays on top of me.
And they say good things come to those who wait.
Bull shit.
My whole life has been about waiting. Playing it safe. Be the good girl, don’t color outside the lines. Put in the hard work trying to prove myself to Dad, then to my college professors, then to my boss at New World Media. Just waiting for the day for it to all pay off.
And right when it was all starting to—I finally had the house, the job, I was even thinking about getting a cat—boom!—my life explodes and suddenly now I’m—
“All done,” the doctor interrupts my thoughts, pulling off her gloves with a loud snap.
What? No. She can’t be done. My eyes leap to her but she won’t meet my gaze.
Instead, she speaks toward the door. “The rest of the information you requested will be in my report. I’ll email it to you within the hour,” she says, quickly packing up her tools in baggies and then replacing them in her black medical bag.
“Wait, that’s it?” I ask, sitting up. “Don’t you need to ask me more questions? Give me some vitamins or something? Draw some blood?”
“We already have the results of your most recent blood test,” the doctor says, still avoiding my gaze. I might as well be a plastic mannequin to her. “And I’ve already recommended vitamins. It’ll all be in my report.”
And with that, she’s walking out of the room. She gives the huge man standing in the hallway as wide a berth as she can. Then she’s gone.
Leaving me alone with nothing but a thin little slip of a hospital gown between me and him.
I stare at his feet. He’s wearing boots. Like, cowboy boots. They’re huge black ones.
They say the size of a man’s feet can indicate—
Oh God, now is so not the time for useless trivia, Mel.
I raise my knees to my chest, making sure to pull my hospital gown down over all the way to my feet so that I’m covered up in a little mini tent.
I avert my eyes to the white bedcover.
Silence.
No, that’s not true—there’s the loud tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock on the far wall. And the anxious terror gnawing at my stomach with every second that ticks away.
Is this the part where he leaps forward and then savages me? Do I fight him or just let it happen? If what he’s saying about Dad is true, if he’s really going to be safe and free, then maybe it will all turn out okay. Just a year of my life…
But the sex. He’s so big.
Oh God, he’s going to rip me in two.
My breathing becomes erratic and I clutch my arms around my legs. If he just wants a baby, why can’t we do this in a doctor’s office, all nice and civilized? He can go make his deposit in a cup somewhere, then a doctor can spurt me full with whatever the medical equivalent of a turkey baster is. Wham bam, thank you ma’am, I’m knocked up the way God intended, in a clinic with no actual body parts touching.
No, no, no, there’s absolutely no way I can do this, right? What the hell was I thinking earlier when I signed that fucking contract?
I wasn’t thinking, I was reacting. Dad was so freaked and then there were those pictures of me and people wanting to kill Dad and—
Tick, tick, tick.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Or making a move? Oh God, I’m going to scream.
The terror builds and builds until finally, I dare to look back to the doorway.
It’s empty.
He’s gone.
What in the—? He just… left? Now what?
First off, I scurry to the bathroom and change back into my own clothes. My black Gucci pantsuit, gray blouse, and matching blazer feel shockingly comforting if not exactly comfortable. But it’s the only shield I’ve got.
Right, Mel, a whole one-millimeter thick fabric shield that Mr. Beast-dude could rip apart with one good yank if he wanted to.
So… it would be cowardly to just lock the door and hide in here as long as possible, right?
Screw cowardly.
I run forward and flip the flimsy lock on the bathroom door.
