“Just let it go for a minute. Pipes are old.”
The water runs clear after a minute or so. Once the dirty water drains out, I plug the tub and stand up, but don’t turn around. “Are you going to stay in here?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Turning, I glare at him. Part of me wants to cuss him out, but the stronger part of me knows better. My jaw tightens and I turn around to undress. I attempt to unfasten my jeans, but am only able to get them unbuttoned due to my bound wrists. Max walks up behind me, takes me by the shoulders, and spins me around. I don’t want to look at his face, so I focus on what’s right in front of me—his stubble-covered throat.
“I’m gonna undress you.” I watch his throat move as he swallows. “Not because I want to, understand?” he says quietly. “But because I can’t untie you.” He reaches to the bottom of my filthy shirt. My eyes drift up to his face. He is beautiful, not like any man you would normally see walking down the street. His face—that would stop any woman dead in her tracks. And how ironic is that? He is the perfect predator. Magnetic. A man like this will lure you in, and before you even realize it, he’ll have devoured you.
A grimace forms over his face as he stares at my bound hands. “Shirt’s bloody anyways.” With a quick flip of his wrists, the thin material shreds and drops to the floor. Next, he tugs the zipper to my jeans down. He bends as he works my pants over my hips, and as messed up as it sounds, there is something so gentle in the way he’s undressing me.
In this situation, he could rip my clothes off of my body, grab me—he could do anything he wants to, because I am helpless, but his eyes are on the floor right now. And for the first time in my life, I actually feel like a man respects me. A man who is bad. A man who is keeping me against my will respects me enough to not look at my naked body. And then that ugly, twisted piece of me tells me it’s because I’m not good enough. Why would he want to look at me? And then—I want him to. I want him to be disrespectful, and I hate myself for it.
I step out of one leg, then the next. Those dark eyes of his glance up at me before he stands, and this time, I hold his stare. His fingers brush over my shoulder, around to my back, and then he unhooks my bra, pulls it away from my skin, and lets it fall to the floor. Part of me wants to cover myself up, but that other part of me wants to make him look. My bare chest rises in deep swells, my nipples nearly brushing against his shirt, but his eyes remain glued to mine. “I’m not gonna look,” he says barely above a breath.
“What if I want you to?” I ask, and shame washes over me.
Ignoring my comment, his warm hands reach my hips, taking both sides of my panties and dragging them down my legs. With his eyes still on my face, he takes a step back, and I quickly climb into the tub. The water’s scalding, but I don’t care. I sink beneath the surface and close my eyes. I hear the clomp of his boots over the floor, and I open my eyes just in time to see him holding out a washcloth and a bar of soap.
“Thank you,” I whisper, embarrassed that all I want is to have him look at me.
A small smile graces his face before he turns his back to me. I shouldn’t be attracted to him, but I am. All I want at this moment is for him to acknowledge me, for him to look at me like he wants me. Nothing about this is right.
There’s a pop and a creak. I look up and the window is cracked. Max turns to the side as he places a cigarette to his lips and lights it. His profile is so rugged yet refined. The late evening sun casts a slight glow behind his silhouette making him appear almost holy, but the moment he blows the thick smoke through the opened window all I can think is how much he resembles the devil. And I am coming to realize most things about this man are an oxymoron. Gentle yet savage, respectful but abhorrent—God and devil.
The longer I watch him smoke that cigarette, the harder my heart pounds. I am losing my mind. I will die in this place, either mentally or physically—possibly both. I don’t want either of those things to happen.
He takes another slow drag then rubs his hand over the back of his neck and groans, I can almost watch the tension build in his muscles. Then a single thought comes to mind. Escape. How hard would it be to get out of this tub and get that key from him? But then what? I’m soaking wet. I’d slip before getting to the door, drop the key. Then he’d be angry…
I force my attention away from him and wash myself as best I can. Max stays right there, his back to me, his gaze aimed out of the window, smoking cigarette after cigarette.
I sit in the tub until the water turns cold, and he has not yet once turned around. I stare at his broad back, my emotions swinging from anger to gratefulness and everywhere in between. “Can I have a towel, please?” I ask.
“You want your back washed?” he says.
“No.”
“Why?” He exhales, his shoulders falling. “You’re filthy.” He tosses the cigarette out of the window and pushes away from the wall, but keeps his palms flat against the window frame. He taps his fingers over the wood as he drops his chin to his chest. The fact that he hasn’t turned around yet makes me uneasy for some reason. “Just lean over your knees,” he says. “I won’t see anything.”
“I don’t care if you do,” I whisper.
He turns around and I’m still sitting up, fully exposed. He wets his lips with his tongue, then swallows, his eyes boring into mine. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for his gaze to drift down my body, as I wait for that validation I so desperately and shamefully want, but his eyes never falter, and seconds later, his shadow falls over the tub.
I watch the water ripple, distorting his reflection as he takes the washcloth from the edge of the tub, dips it beneath the water, and wrings it out over my back. Closing my eyes, I lean over my knees and lay my cheek against my arm. And this, even though it shouldn’t be, is intimate. This act in and of itself throws my mind into a jumbled mess. One of his large hands rests on my shoulder, the other washes over me in gentle movements. He sweeps my hair to the side of my neck to wash over my shoulders, and he’s gotten so close to me now, each time he exhales, the warmth of his breath sends tingles down my spine. And for a moment—a fleeting moment—the tension wound up in my muscles relaxes.
“That should feel much better,” he says, rinsing over my back.
When I look up, he’s standing next to the tub, holding out a towel. I step out of the bath and he wraps the thick towel around me. “I’ll get you some clothes when I go into town…”
He grabs my wrists and takes me to the door, digging the key from his pocket. I stare at him so confused and distraught. “Why?” I ask as we walk out into the hallway. That is all I want to know. Just a why. Why I’m here, why he cares…something.
“Why?” He stops at the top of the stairwell before leading me down. “Why are you here? Let me put it this way, to some people nothing means more than money. Not blood, not love, not life. Greed. One of the deadly sins. That’s why you’re here, darling. It all comes down to greed.”
Sometimes he says things that are so vague I can’t make heads or tails of them. “Stop talking in riddles, would you?” I say.
Now we’re in the foyer and my pulse is thrumming because I do not want to go back into that dark hole.
“Greed and irony…” Max laughs as we round the corner.
“Irony?”
“Yes, irony because you and I have evidently been tied to one another for much longer than the few weeks you’ve been here.”
It’s been weeks…
“Your dad…” He inhales. “Well, he killed my family.” He doesn’t slow his stride. His tone hasn’t changed.
My stomach knots, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I manage to breathe that word out.
I know what my father does, but it never seems real. It’s more like a mobster movie or novel because he’s so kind to me and my brother and mother, so tenderhearted, yet at the end of the day he is a cold-blooded killer. You have to separate things like that from the people you love. Sometimes, in or
der to love someone, you must first forget the things that you can’t love about them. “I’m sorry,” I say again, like those words can change something.
He opens the door to the basement. “Shit happens.”
Once we hit the bottom step, I feel sweat build in my palms and my head goes all dizzy. I stare at that wooden door. Although it’s a mere seven feet in front of me, it seems like miles. When Max slides the lock out and the door swings open, I want to scream. I’m desperate for anything but that solitude—the silence that forces me to think about all the things I don’t want to think about: about death and the parts of life I’ll never experience if I don’t leave here. About the fact that no matter how hard they look for me, the chances of anyone finding me are slim to none. That room is the epitome of what loneliness is.
“How many days have I been here?” I ask, attempting to stall him.
“Thirteen.”
“How many more?”
The lock clicks and he gives me a gentle nudge into the room. “Don’t know.”
Water drips down my back and it’s just now I realize I’m still in the towel, completely naked underneath it. He’s going to leave me down here like this. Naked. And the next time Earl comes in—I can’t let my mind go there. I can’t!
“I’m cold,” I whisper, fighting the desire I have to cry.
“I’ll get another blanket.” I hear the door click shut and Max moves in front of me. “Give me your wrists,” he says as he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts the cord, freeing my hands.
After tucking the knife away, he crosses his defined arms in front of him and grabs the hem of his shirt. His muscles bunch and flex as he tears the material over his head. My eyes trail over his tanned skinned, over his thick frame, his toned stomach and chest. Tattoos are scattered over his arms, mostly tribal, but one stands out: a raven on a knotted branch. Surely they stand for something? Max balls the shirt up and nods at me before tossing it at me. “It’s all I’ve got, but I’ll get you some more clothes. I didn’t exactly think that through.”
I narrow my gaze. “What? Think what through?” I just want to keep him in here. I don’t want to be alone.
“The bath. I just…” He drops his chin to his chest and rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “I felt bad for you, you know? You were fucking filthy, and I don’t trust Earl to not touch you or anything, so—I just didn’t think about having clean clothes for you.” He won’t look at me, and to be honest, I don’t want him to. He’s too real to me right now. Too normal. Too human to be the monster he must be.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I drop the towel and slip the shirt over my head before sitting on the mattress and pulling the blanket over my lap. “Can you please find me something to put on my lower half before Earl comes back?” Max glances up and sighs as he heads to the door. He doesn’t say anything, just leaves, and I hear the lock slide into place. “Please,” I say again, loud enough I know he can hear me.
I sit in silence for several minutes, surrounded by the smell of the cologne on his shirt before the door opens again and he steps into the room. He tosses a pair of gray sweatpants to me.
“Thank you.” I force a smile.
“Welcome.”
And then he leaves again.
I slip the sweats on, securing the drawstring as tightly as I can, and lie back on the lumpy mattress, closing my eyes and somehow drifting off to sleep.
Earl’s passed out in his recliner with both dogs sleeping beneath the leg rest. Bubba comes barging in through the front door, a crumpled paper grocery sack in hand. The sudden noise causes Bear to startle. He jumps out from under the chair, ears back, teeth bared, and growling.
“Aw, shut up now, Bear,” he says, pointing at the dog.
Earl grumbles from the chair. Bubba looks at me. “We gotta take that girl for drop off. Just got the money from the man.” He tosses the grocery sack down on the couch.
That gets Earl’s attention. He hops up, nearly tripping over Bear as he stumbles toward the couch and grabs the bag. His lips spread into a wide grin when he opens the top and peers inside. He inhales. “Nothing like the smell of money,” he says.
I push away from the wall and head to the cellar. When I open the door to Lucy’s room, she smiles and jumps up from the bed. “I missed you.” She reaches for my face, but I turn away from her touch.
“It’s time for you to go now.” I take her hand, but when I go to walk toward the door she remains still. I glance over my shoulder and arch a brow. “Come on, Lucy. I said it’s time to go.”
Her eyes water, her lip trembles. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m giving you a new life.” I smile and tug on her arm, but she still won’t budge. Turning around, I gently take her by the shoulders. “Lucy, do you trust me?”
Her eyes lock with mine as she nods her head.
“Then trust that I am doing what is best for you.”
And with that she gives, following me out of the room without another question because when you have been stripped of everything except some manufactured love, you too easily give into things you shouldn’t. She will believe most anything I tell her.
Bubba is standing by the table when we step into the kitchen. Lucy’s grip on my hand tightens, and I give her a reassuring squeeze back. Because it will be okay. She will know no better, and really, her life, even though she will be a captive in some sense of the word, will be better than the life she led before she ever met me.
The truck pulls off the dirt road, rolling to a stop behind a tiny white church. There’s just enough moonlight that you can tell the wood along the side is splintered, the steeple at an angle. It’s one of the oldest buildings in the town, and it looks as though it’s soon to fall in. A thick blanket of clouds cross the moon, and suddenly, it’s pitch black out. Bubba cuts the engine and climbs out. Lucy’s hand is still in mine, her palms sweaty. I turn to look at her. She’s terrified, shaking, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Lucy,” I say in a steady tone. “I promise this is what’s best for you.”
She swallows, fighting the tears building in her eyes.
I stroke over her cheek and offer a smile before stepping down from the truck to open her door. She climbs out and waits for direction. But instead of instructing her, I simply take her by the hand and lead her to the black BMW parked at the side of the church. A motion light hung on the corner of the church cuts on, and now I can clearly see the man dressed in a white button-up and black slacks as he steps out of the shiny car. He looks completely business when he smiles at Lucy, failing to acknowledge me. Regardless of his rudeness, my gaze remains locked on him as we approach. I’m angry that he thinks women are something to be trained and bought.
This is the hardest part to come to terms with.
I am selling a person. This woman has a price. She was stolen, manipulated, and is now being sold to the highest bidder. Most of these men want a broken woman, one that has been taught not to question, that has been built to love someone they should hate. Some of these men think they can buy love, and that is fucked up. Love is a human emotion, and what I am giving him, well, this isn’t exactly human, now is it? I break these women, piece by piece as I misconstrue their idea of love and freedom and respect. I make them pliable so these men will want them. And that may make me a bastard, but I accepted that long ago.
Lucy stops walking and I glance over my shoulder at her. “Are you…” she whispers. “Am I going with him?”
“Yes. I want you to go with him. He will take good care of you and give you so many things. I want you to love him.” I squeeze her hand and offer a gentle smile. She falters with her next step. “Come on, Lucy. It’s going to be okay. You know I wouldn’t lie to you. You can love him.”
“But,” she whines. “I love you…”
Shaking my head, I place my finger over her lips. “And I’m not capable of love, but he is.”
Her gaze bounces from
me to the man now standing but a few feet in front of us. I place my hand at the small of her back and give her a gentle nudge. “It’s okay,” I say.
The man holds his palm out and grins. “You are beautiful.” He takes her free hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss. “You will never want for anything again.”
Lucy glances nervously at me as I slowly release her hand. She takes a step toward him, and he grabs her by the waist, tugging her close to him. Sweeping her hair from her face, he takes her chin in his hand and tilts her face up, studying her. The way he looks at her makes my stomach turn. No sane person would do this. Normal people don’t buy others to do as they please. But it is a better life than what she had…
The hinges groan and my eyes pop wide open. Someone stumbles into the room, then slams the door and locks it. There’s a hacking cough and I know it’s Earl. I tightly shut my eyes. My heart sits in my throat, my skin slicked with sweat.
“Now, I know I ain’t done told you why you’s here,” Earl slurs. I open my eyes just as he swats at the frayed white cord dangling from the ceiling. He yanks on it and a darkness I once knew all too well falls over the room.
This isn’t just a visible darkness—it’s one I feel.
One that creeps into every piece of my soul.
The worn springs squeak, the mattress bouncing when Earl falls onto the end of it. “You wanna know why, you bitch?” I can smell bourbon on his lips. I feel his sticky breath blow across my face. I want to scream, but I don’t.
“Your brother—” He hiccups, and I hear liquid slosh in a bottle before the sound of him gulping back more alcohol breaks the silence. “He wanted me to kill ya.”
My pulse kicks up. He’s lying. He is—
“Brandon, that’s his name, right? He wanted me to slaughter you like a little piggy.” He grabs onto my leg. “Squee, squee, squee.” Another hiccup. “Paid me good money, but I just cudn’t do it. ’Cause you’re too purdy to kill, you see? I saved you.” His callous hand brushes against my thigh. “And I’s figures you owe me something for that.” Chuckling, his hand creeps higher until it’s at the waist of my pants. I scoot away from him. I should fight him—part of me tells me to, but the instinct I have to survive tells me it will only make it worse.
Darkest Before Dawn Page 5
