Cutslut

by Kim Jones

  Since I don’t have access to pen and paper, and I can’t write with my hands tied over my head even if I did, I’ve decided to start keeping a diary in my head. Today’s entry sounds like this.

  Dear Diary. It’s now day seven of my captivity. For the past six days, I’ve attempted to escape this prison. And every attempt has been a bust.

  Somehow, someway, I’ve been caught. Tracked down in the middle of the woods, hauled back to this godforsaken clubhouse, tied up and left to rot on a mattress with no sheet. See, I had a sheet, but it was taken from me after I used it to aid in my second failed getaway.

  I’d made it only three miles when my legs gave out and I face-planted the dirt. The position was so inviting, I decided just to fucking stay there until he came to get me—hours later.

  But I’m not a quitter. I pushed past the pain I fear may be permanent in my limbs and have ran as far as I could for six solid days. The last two haven’t gotten me very far at all. Barely out of sight. But that didn’t matter to my rescuer. That motherfucker made me wait until dark before he came for me no matter how close I was. Even when I gave up and made my way back, he locked me out so that I was forced to stay in the cold until the sun finally made its descent.

  Oh, but he’s a generous man that captor of mine. He feeds me breakfast every morning. Coffee. Cigarettes. He was even kind enough to supply me with my own toothbrush and allowed me some clothes out of my luggage—a T-shirt and underwear. Out of spite, I’m still wearing his shirt I found the first day I was here, just to piss him off.

  He really hates that for some reason. Every morning he says, “Quit wearing my shit.” Of course I ignore him. There’s something satisfying about having my stench on his clothes—makes me feel like I’ve won some small battle with him. Even if he continues to win the war. And when I say stench, I mean it. I haven’t bathed since I’ve been here. There’s something deeply gratifying about that, too. And a little disturbing.

  Other than failing to get away, I have another problem. Jinx seems to only get sexier every time I look at him. All I can think about is how good it felt when he kissed me. Fucked me. Made me come. Because he makes me have these thoughts, I hate him more.

  But I can’t deny my physical attraction to him. From his handsome face to his rugged hands and all the delicious muscle that lies beneath his clothes, he is, unfortunately, still the sexiest thing these eyes of mine have ever bared witness to.

  Maybe I’m developing Stockholm Syndrome. I crave his presence. His touch. His scent. His company. I miss him when he’s not around. Especially when I’m in the woods with nothing to talk to but fucking trees. I miss him here, too. When I’m tied up in bed. Alone.

  My plan isn’t working, obviously. So today I’ve decided to try something new. I need to rest up. Get my energy back. And pray Cain doesn’t show up before I can get the hell out of here.

  I’m going to see if Jinx makes good on his promise of “the easy life.” He said if I don’t run, I’ll be rewarded with Netflix and chocolate and scotch. And, hopefully, a night of sleep that doesn’t involve being tied up to this bed.

  Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get lucky. But if that’s in the cards, I’ll most definitely have to bathe first.

  16

  WINTER

  “Sleep well, sweetheart?”

  It’s the same line I get every morning. My answer, like every other time, is the same—a grunt.

  Jinx appears in my line of sight and I try not to focus on how good he looks. But dammit I can’t help it. I think he looks better today than he ever has. Instead of jeans he wears black sweats that hang low on his hips. Where he usually dons a long sleeved shirt, today he wears a white T-shirt that shows off his muscular, tattooed arms. I find it hard to swallow.

  Other than my mind having no problem running crazy, I can hardly function today. My shoulders feel out of socket. The tendons in my legs are pulled too tight causing a fiery pain to shoot from my calves all the way to my thighs. And this morning more than any other, I need his assistance simply getting out of bed.

  Performing my usual morning ritual, I pee while he watches. Then wash my face and hands. Brush my teeth and refuse to look at the nasty creature that is my reflection in the mirror.

  Deciding not to run today doesn’t leave me feeling like a failure like I thought it would, it makes me feel triumphant. I’ll be warm. That thought alone is enough to make me smile.

  “Something funny?” Jinx asks, carrying me down the hall and sitting me next to him at the table. I glare at him over my eggs.

  “What the hell could be funny about this?”

  He shakes his head, spinning his hat around as he dives into his own breakfast. “Like I said, sweetheart, you’re doing this shit to yourself.”

  I roll my eyes and stare into my coffee. “God, you sound just like Cain,” I mutter, not really meaning to say it out loud. But he heard it. And his reaction causes the temperature in the room to drop.

  “I’m nothing like that motherfucker,” he growls, his tone icy.

  I glance at him over the rim of my cup—his gray eyes steely glaciers. “Says the man who’s left a woman tied up, cold, hungry and in the dark, all night…alone.”

  He studies me a moment before admitting, “I didn’t leave you alone all night.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen you leave.”

  He quirks a brow. “Have you?”

  Have I? No. I haven’t. I’ve heard the door slam. I’ve even heard it open in the morning. But I’ve never really seen him leave. Doesn’t matter though. He’s done horrible things to me. And although it doesn’t even come close to how Cain treated me, it’s similar.

  “He really do that shit to you?”

  My head snaps up. I hadn’t realized I was so lost in thought. “Well I sure as shit didn’t do it to myself,” I snap, stabbing another bite of eggs.

  “You were running from him, weren’t you?”

  “No.”

  I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but instead of calling me on it, he asks something different. “Why did you stay with him then. If he did that shit to you?”

  I release a breath and regard him with the same stoic expression he gives me. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” he says, his tone a little lower.

  For a moment, I contemplate telling him. Spilling all the secrets I’ve harbored for the past six years to this man I barely know. But no good can come of it. He may not care about what Cain did to me, but out of loyalty, he’ll call Pierce and tell him. And even though he said things to me during our last conversation that left scars on my soul, my brother still doesn’t deserve to carry that burden.

  Clearing my throat, I leave my breakfast half-finished—suddenly having lost my appetite. “This conversation is over,” I say, pushing back from the table. I wish I could stomp out but my limbs are like Jell-O and it takes me a moment to find my footing. Then I’m more sliding than walking toward the hall.

  I finally manage to make it to the bathroom despite my muscles screaming in protest. Once I’m there, I turn and lock the door behind me. I know it won’t keep him out if he really wants in, but maybe it’ll be enough for him to knock rather than just barge inside.

  Out of nowhere I’m hit with a cramp in my leg that’s so painful, it knocks me to my knees. Sweat gathers beneath my arms and across my lip, but I manage to breathe through it pretty quickly. Being tied up six nights in a row, after hiking through the woods has definitely done a number on my body.

  With one last look at the flimsy lock on the door, I reluctantly remove the shirt from my back. It takes me a minute to crawl inside the tub. Once I’m seated, I don’t bother with the cold water, I just let the hot blast me to the point of scalding. When the tub is full, I draw my knees up, tuck my head between them and curl my arms around my legs as the steam rises around me.

  Closing my eyes, I inhale deep and will the water to soothe my aching limbs. It would be smarter of me to lie back in the tub, but this po
sition is most comfortable. Even if it does leave parts of me exposed.

  The heated water calms me. I allow its warmth to seep into my bones and chase away the cold that still lingers from the past few days. But I’ve been cold for too long and even in the hot water, I shiver.

  A knock sounds only seconds before the lock is picked and the door is easily pried open. It gives me just enough time to shift my body, grab the towel next to the tub and shield myself from Jinx’s view. He stares at me with a mixture of shock and curiosity.

  “Get out!” I yell, making sure to keep my back out of sight.

  “What the hell’s your problem? Not like I haven’t seen them before.” His eyes fall to my chest that’s covered by the towel. Normally, my body would respond to the heaviness in his eyes. But it’s not my breasts or any other intimate part of me I’m worried he’ll see, it’s the evidence of my past. The one place I’ve managed to keep hidden from him—even when we fucked.

  “Leave,” I cry, panicking a little as I inch further back in the tub until I have nowhere else to go. That lustful look disappears from his eyes and is replaced with worry.

  “Winter…” he starts, taking a step toward me. His look says he cares. I don’t need him to care. I need him to leave. So I hide my true emotion and muster up as much anger as I can.

  “You won’t let me piss by myself but can you at least let me take a bath in peace?” His eyes narrow in suspicion. Good. Before he sees through my façade, I continue. “Fucking go!”

  After a moment, he points a finger at me. “Whatever scheme you’ve got going, you better make sure it’s worth the price you’ll pay when I figure it out.”

  I don’t allow myself to breathe until he’s gone. When I do, I look down at the water and curl my lip in disgust. It’s filthy. Not taking any chances of him coming in and seeing me again, and knowing I’ll have to refill the tub probably a hundred times, I regretfully abandon my bath and opt for a shower instead—keeping my back to the wall just in case.

  My arms are so weighted it makes washing my hair and body as exhausting as my hike through the woods. Time consuming, too. And when I have too much time, I think. Right now, I’m thinking why in the hell it matters so much to me that he doesn’t see what I’ve never hidden before.

  Is it because for the first time I’m in the presence of someone who isn’t Cain, Madness or their associates? Is it shame? Or is it because I’m afraid that heat in Jinx’s eyes when he looks at me will disappear once he sees it?

  Nope. Not the last one. That’s ridiculous. I’m just being self-conscious. Truth is, I don’t want Jinx to look at me any way. I just want him to look a-way so I can run from this place. From him. Pierce. And leather…ugh. Whoever thinks that shit smells good hasn’t smelled it after it’s been worn in the sun by a sweaty man for a few days.

  By the time I’m clean and my thoughts are clear, the hot water has long run out and once again I’m cold. Stepping from the shower, I towel off quickly and wrap it around my body.

  Finding my reflection in the mirror, I cringe at what I see. My skin is red and splotchy—chaffed from the cold wind. Scratches cover my legs from low hanging limbs. There’s also a few scrapes on my cheeks and neck. Nothing serious, though.

  My eyes look too big for my face. A little hollow and sunken. That’s due to lack of sleep and malnourishment. After a few good meals and comfortable nights of sleep, they’ll appear normal. Hopefully.

  Fingering through my long, knotty hair, I attempt to tame it. I could use a hairbrush. Like the one in my luggage that Jinx still hasn’t given to me. Maybe once he realizes I’m not going to run, he’ll allow me to have it.

  In the bedroom, I notice there’s another one of Jinx’s button down shirts casually laying on the dresser. Beside it is one of the T-shirts Pierce bought me and a pair of plain cotton underwear. I roll my eyes, imagining Pierce telling whoever did my shopping to not get me any sexy lingerie.

  For the first time in days, I dress in my own clothes and put on underwear. They feel weird after going commando for so long, but my shirt is shorter than Jinx’s so I decide to keep them on.

  Glancing over at the bed I’ve grown to hate, I feel like I’m actually seeing it for the first time. And it’s completely disgusting. The mattress looks new except for where I’ve slept. There it’s soiled in filth and grime from my dirty body. Maybe for good behavior I’ll get a clean sheet.

  Good behavior.

  I snort at that and stumble my way silently down the hall on wobbly legs. Wrapping my arms around myself, I try to suppress the cold I just can’t shake. The concrete floors beneath my bare feet don’t help. When I arrive in the main room I find Jinx sitting with his back to me at the bar.

  “Hey,” I say, causing him to stiffen before he slowly turns on his stool to face me. “Can I get some socks and a sweater or something?” I jut my thumb toward the back room. “Ran out of hot water before I got clean and I’m freezing.”

  He smirks at me. “And make your trip into the woods a little more comfortable for you? Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.”

  Dropping my head, I stare at my feet as I begrudgingly admit, “I think I’m gonna hang around here today.” I peek up at him and catch his surprise before he has a chance to hide it.

  He stands slowly, looking me over with observant, cautious eyes as he makes his way to me. “You move from this spot before I get back and I’ll tie you up outside in nothing but your panties.”

  Panties.

  Son of a bitch why does that word on his lips send an electric charge straight to my clit.

  Knowing he’s never lied to me before, I stay rooted as he disappears down the hall. I look over my shoulder and find him walking into the last room on the right—the one with the door that leads outside. He’s only gone a minute or so before he’s back in my sights. He stops at another door and pulls a key from his pocket. Shooting me a look of warning first, he pushes inside.

  Frowning, I survey my surroundings in search of what it is that has him so on edge about me escaping. Usually, he’s so confident. Almost as if he wants me to run. Like no matter what direction I choose or where I end up, he’ll find me.

  When I glance down at my clothes, it hits me. I’m not wearing his shirt.

  The wheels in my head are just starting to turn when he comes out of the room with an armload of shit. I immediately make a mental note that he doesn’t lock the door when he leaves. I’ll have to see what’s in there later. Right now, all I care about is wrapping myself in that big fluffy blanket he carries.

  “Follow me,” he says, crossing the room to where a large, overstuffed sectional sits centered in front of a massive T.V. “Sit.” He points to a spot and I all but fall onto the soft cushions—sighing a little as the coziness envelopes me.

  Tossing the blanket over my lap, he takes a seat next to me and grips my ankles in his hands. Instinctively I stiffen and try to pull back. He gives me a small smile that’s one of the rare real ones he wears and pulls until my legs are over his thighs.

  “Trust me.”

  “Seriously? You’re asking me to trust you?” I ask, completely dumbfounded that he would even say such a stupid thing.

  “Yeah. I am.” His tone is serious. And despite the shit he’s put me through, a part of me does trust him. Not a lot, but enough for me to relax.

  He pulls a tube of something from his pocket and squirts a generous amount in his hands. “This will help,” he says, slathering the cream across my calves before working on the tight knots with his big hands.

  “Oh my god,” I groan, my eyes fluttering closed. “That hurts so good.” My skin heats from his touch and the orange scented lotion. “Why does this one smell so good? And why is it warm?”

  “Because I knew you were cold.” His simple, soft spoken answer has me opening my eyes to find him watching me. Then, as if he’s afraid I’ll read further into his act of kindness, he smirks. “Plus it doesn’t work as good as the others.”

  I narrow my
eyes on him. “You’re such a dick.”

  He shrugs, not disagreeing. He just silently continues his massage until the tension leaves. Then he pats my leg and instructs, “Turn around and let me do your shoulders.” I stiffen.

  “No, I’m good,” I say quickly. Still unsure of why I’m hiding. He studies me with an unreadable expression. Before he can fire off any questions, I point to the T.V. “You promised me Netflix. And chocolate. And scotch. So are you always a man of your word, or only when it’s beneficial to you?”

  He looks at me a few seconds longer before tossing a remote control in my lap. “Password’s devil,” he says, lifting my legs from his thighs and standing. He crosses the room and retrieves two bags, a bottle and a glass from behind the bar.

  Handing me the bags, he places the bottle and glass on the table next to the couch. “I’ve got some calls to make. If you try something stupid, my promise from earlier still stands.”

  I give him a middle finger of acknowledgement as he walks away and start digging through the first bag. It’s a huge assortment of candy bars. I settle on a dark chocolate one then pour myself a glass of scotch. I’ve consumed both and am working on my second serving when I remember the other bag. Inside are socks, a sweater, jogging pants and a beanie. All are from my luggage.

  It takes me a few minutes to put everything on. Then I grab the remote and find the entire series of a show I’ve never seen. Starting the first episode, I snuggle beneath the blanket and curl up on the couch—really warm for the first time in days.

  17

  WINTER

  “Shh!” I whisper shout at Jinx who’s brought his phone call to my circle of solitude. I’m on episode three of Prison Break and this motherfucker is yapping all up in my ear, forcing me to pause the show for the second time in five minutes. He cuts his eyes at me but doesn’t lower his voice.

  Tossing off the covers, I figure now is as good a time as any for a bathroom break. Hunched over, I walk down the hall toward the bathroom. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t follow me, I pause at the door he left unlocked earlier and try the handle.