Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  “Yeah, I’m armed.”

  “Good. Keep them loaded. Did you call anyone else before me?”

  “No, she begged me not to. Man, she’s in rough shape… bruises all over, scars, half-starved.” Sam’s throat tightened. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to this girl, but she’s been through hell.”

  Hakim paused on the other end.

  “Sam, give me a physical description.”

  “She’s blonde, green eyes, petite, maybe five foot two. Heart-shaped face. American. Bit of a rural accent, says she’s from Clover, Virgina? Early to mid-twenties.”

  “Okay,” Hakim said. “Give me an hour. I’m gonna dig into this. Sounds like human trafficking, but it could be something else.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too,” Sam agreed.

  “Lock your doors, keep your guns loaded. Is it snowing there?”

  Sam looked outside at the thick flakes falling. “Yeah, nice and thick, too.”

  “Good. That’ll cover the tracks to your cabin soon. I’ll call you in an hour.”

  “Thanks, Hakim.”

  “You got it. And… Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful. You don’t know where this girl came from. She could be trouble. I know you have a good heart, man, but keep an eye out.”

  “She’s not trouble! She’s in trouble! There’s a difference,” Sam angrily defended.

  “All the same,” Hakim responded, “be careful.”

  He hung up the phone.

  Sam walked over to the door and checked that the alarm system was activated. Then he went to a closet, typed in an access code on the door’s electronic lock, and pulled out a shotgun. He loaded it, touched the revolver at his hip again, and sat down on the sofa, contemplating what to do next.

  For what felt like the tenth time, he walked over to the room where Kat was and opened the door a crack. Still breathing. Still sleeping.

  Sam didn’t plan to sleep tonight. He thought briefly of going to the kitchen to make some coffee, but didn’t think he’d even need it. He felt incredibly alert and clearheaded. Whoever had hurt Kat was out there still, and Sam didn’t intend to give them a second chance at her. He decided to bring a chair into her room and keep guard over her as she slept.

  Maybe he did have a bit of a savior complex, but that woman definitely needed a savior just now. As Sam listened to the soft sounds of Kat sleeping, he vowed to do whatever it would take to keep her safe.

  Chapter 5

  Kat woke once more in Sam’s bed. She felt a heavy weight on her side, and turned her head to find Sam wrapped around her, solidly asleep. His arm was around her waist, comforting her as they slept like two spoons. She could just barely make out a chair in the corner of the room that hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep yesterday. Maybe he'd been keeping watch over her until he'd grown sleepy?

  He was hot as fire, and heavy, too. She couldn’t easily move, so she just lay still for a few moments, breathing his masculine scent in. His scent reminded her of a cedar chest, with undertones of lemons and soap.

  He wore cotton pajamas, but she could feel his muscles beneath his clothes. She pushed back a little, biting her lip at the firmness of his chest, his stomach, and his thighs. He dwarfed her, his hand almost twice the size of hers.

  She shivered at his closeness, at the fact that he smelled so nice. She’d never gotten that close to Ted, not once he proved impotent. He had used the space in a room like a weapon, intentionally pushing her to the corners, keeping his distance.

  Not Sam, apparently. She felt a strange sensation at the thought, her stomach turning. The feeling made her want to smile, which in turn made her frown. She pushed the sensation away, focusing on getting out of bed.

  She crawled over him. Just as she managed to stand up, his bright blue eyes opened.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

  Kat blushed. “I… I’d like to take a shower.”

  “Okay. Let me get some things together for you,” he said. He sat up, shaking his head like it would make him less tired. She felt the corners of her mouth lift as she watched him get up and gather towels and fresh clothes for her.

  “Here,” he said, handing the bundle over. “The bathroom’s across the hall. There’s a closet with some bath stuff in it. Use whatever you need.”

  “Right,” she said, blushing again. She had no reason to feel so exposed, but she couldn’t stop blushing like a schoolgirl around him.

  She headed for the hallway, expecting him to go back to bed, but he kept moving around in the bedroom. She turned back around and went across the hall to the bathroom. It was early afternoon by now.

  As she closed the door behind herself, she looked around. An oversize clawfoot tub was on one side, toilet and a sink on the other, a big picture window the backdrop behind it all. She put her clothes and towels beside the sink, looking out the window.

  Snow fell in fat flakes against the trees, the scene looking icy. She shivered and hurried to turn the taps on in the bathtub. There was a full-sized mirror, but she avoided looking in it while she was dirty. She found the bathroom closet full to the brim with a lady’s bathroom supplies, which took her aback.

  She wondered who had bought the face masks and sugar scrubs and bath bombs she found there. A girlfriend? Maybe an ex, she thought as she looked at some of the expiration dates on the products. The face masks had expired at least two years ago, and sat gathering dust in the closet.

  She moved past them, her fingers hesitantly landing on a package of disposable razors. Many times at Ted’s house, she’d longed for razors like these. When things got really bad, really bleak, she had dreamed of taking the razors apart and using the blades to kill herself.

  Here she was, in a quiet bathroom, alone with the razors. She closed her fingers around one, turned herself so the light hit it. So sharp and pink. Her hands trembled as she adjusted to the freedom.

  She wouldn’t kill herself, not now that she had escaped. And Sam had been so kind to her, she wouldn’t want him to have to find and clean up her body.

  A hollow note rang through her head. What she was thinking, how she could picture her dead body on the floor, ribbons of blood streaming from her wrists… It probably wasn’t normal. She realized that she was traumatized, maybe scarred by her time with Ted.

  She just needed to be certain that she wasn’t going back to Ted and his friends. She picked some shaving cream out, closed the closet, and took them both to the bathtub. She set them on the side, testing the water with a toe.

  It was steaming hot, which felt incredible. She hissed as her scratches stung, but she knew that getting them clean was important. Her bruises ached, but eventually it faded to a dull hum.

  Like so many things, she hadn’t taken a hot bath since she could remember. She noticed how hairy her legs were, and was glad for the razor.

  She eased herself into the bath, sighing when she was submerged. It felt heavenly, the hot water wrapping around her skin. She had a bathtub in the trailer, but it was dangerous to dally in the bath there. She never knew when her father or one of his junkie friends would decide to bust in.

  She wondered idly where her father was now, if he ever regretted selling her to Ted. Ted made a point to remind her regularly of how little her father had sold her for, that she was not worth a penny more. She honestly wasn’t sure if her dad was even alive.

  Maybe she would never know anything more than she already did about her father and his addiction. Maybe he’d died the day Ted had taken her. She had no way of knowing.

  She sat up in the bathtub, tears welling suddenly. She put her hands over her face, willing herself not to cry. There was something about the heat of the bathtub that made it difficult, though.

  To keep herself from weeping, which she’d long since learned was useless and impotent, she focused on getting herself clean. She scrubbed herself with soap, and washed her long hair three times.

  It would
n’t make her anything more than a junkie’s daughter, but at least she would be so clean that she practically glowed. By the time she got out, wrapping herself in a towel, she felt a little better about herself. Wiping some of the steam from the mirror, she looked at herself.

  She was too thin. She could see the bones in her chest sticking out prominently, see how skinny her arms were. Part of the reason she was so thin was the strict diet she’d been on at Ted’s, but part of it was that she had started to fade into the background. It was as if, by subsisting on very little, she could become nothing itself.

  She turned to the side, trying to summon a good memory from her life before Ted. To her disappointment, all that she could remember was that her dad liked to yell, and that he loved smack more than her.

  She sighed and moved away from the mirror. She started draining the bathtub, then frowned at the clothes. It was time to get dressed.

  She dressed herself in the clothes that Sam gave her, thick gray sweats. She returned to the bathroom closet to find a couple of hair fasteners, then brushed her hair and braided it into two fat plaits. Even in the braids, her hair was nearly down to her waist.

  She hung the towels she’d used on the towel rack, then opened the bathroom door. As the steam drifted out, the smell of eggs and bacon hit her nose.

  Sam was in the kitchen with his back to her, cooking.

  “Sorry, but eggs are all I have,” he called to her. “If you want lunch—”

  He turned to face her, swinging a dish towel up over his shoulder. He stopped cold, looking her up and down.

  “What?” she asked, her face heating. She looked down at herself. “Am I not supposed to be wearing these?”

  “No, I just… I didn’t realize you were…” He cut himself off, flushing, and cleared his throat. “I was saying that I don’t really have lunch stuff.”

  He went back to cooking, turning away from her. She bit her lip, wondering what he was going to say before he changed the subject. She was… ugly? She was thin?

  But he would’ve known that, before she’d washed off the layer of muck and grime. Besides, his face had been… approving.

  A tiny part of her thought he meant she was pretty. She shoved the thought down, but her cheeks were still suffused with warmth.

  “Eggs are fine,” she assured him, walking over to rest in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

  He pulled a pan of bacon out of the oven, then resumed cooking the eggs on the stovetop.

  “We probably need to head to the city soon, because the weather is supposed to get bad in a few days,” he said. “So says my phone, anyway.”

  “Oh?” was all she managed.

  She leaned against the doorway. She didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t had a smartphone like other people, because she’d been poor or living with Ted. Then the thought occurred to her that he might just dump her off with the cops.

  It was what most people would do, she thought.

  Unfortunately, that was one thing that would definitely get her caught. Ted worked with the police, although she was hazy on the details of where. Either way you sliced it, going to the police would bring attention she didn’t need.

  Then there was the fact that she didn’t want to leave Sam. He might be a virtual stranger, but he was kind and caring. It was a bright light in the darkness that had become her life. She just didn’t want to drag Sam down to her level.

  She felt like she was a bag of garbage, tossed from her dad’s house, unwanted by Ted. Now she was inconveniencing Sam, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She felt tears prick her eyes. Her life was out of her control, and she hated that. Hated herself, too, if she were honest.

  She looked at her feet, unable to say any of the emotions racing through her heart aloud.

  “Yeah. I thought… you know, if you wanted… you could come with me to my house. It’s a brownstone in D.C. I think you’ll like it,” he said.

  She was surprised. This man, who had no responsibility toward her, seemed interested in taking care of her.

  “Why are you taking care of me?” she blurted out. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but if there was a quid pro quo here, she needed to know about it.

  “Because,” he said, glancing back at her. “Someone needs to. And I gave you my word that you’d be safe.”

  He put the eggs onto two plates, then added some bacon. He scrounged for some silverware, then scooped up both plates. “Sorry there isn’t a table. We’ll have to eat sitting on the couch again.”

  She was still trying to absorb the fact that he was seemingly caring for her out of the goodness of his heart. She took the plate he handed her as he passed by, and watched him settle onto the couch. His big frame ate up a lot of space, but she didn’t want to offend him, so she took the remaining bit of couch for herself.

  “So… we’ll go to your house?” she asked, bringing things back around to his original point.

  “Mmm,” he said, mouth full. He chewed and swallowed. “I was saying that we can stay there until you figure things out. Whatever you want. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with you, except talk to the cops.”

  “No!” she said quickly. He looked up at her with a frown. “Ted is connected, you know. And his friends…”

  “There are others?” he asked, his expression going black. “Did you… did they…”

  She could tell that he wanted to know if they’d sexually abused her.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “They wanted to do… things… but I wouldn’t let them. Ted threw me outside as punishment, in the dog kennels. That’s when I escaped.”

  She took a bite of the bacon, but noticed that he put his half-eaten plate of food aside. Her story had seemed normal to her, but she guessed that it was the reason he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to put you off your food.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s just… fuck, Kat. It makes me angry. It makes me want to find those lowlifes and kill them.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. His enthusiasm surprised her. “Really?”

  “Let’s just say I have a beef with human traffickers, and it’s not just because what they do is so low.”

  “Human traffickers?” she said, trying the phrase out.

  “Well… he locked you up, or kept you captive with threats and lies. I’d call that slavery, and I’d call the piece of shit that held you a human trafficker. Among other things.”

  Her tears overflowed, rolling down her face. She turned away, embarrassed. She moved her plate to the floor and made to get up, but Sam stopped her. He grabbed her shoulder, then gently turned her back to face him.

  “Don’t cry,” he said softly.

  “I’m sorry… It’s just that Ted told me if I ever ran away, he would find me and kill me. I’m afraid that I’m bringing a lot of baggage to your doorstep,” she said, wiping away her tears.

  “Look. You could’ve ended up anywhere, but you came across my trail. I brought you here, and I swear I will take care of you. Okay? You have nothing to worry about.”

  The sober look on his face make Kat bite her lip and nod. He gave her a quick but reassuring hug, but he let go before she could even breathe in the clean scent of him.

  He got up and took his plate into the kitchen. Maybe the emotional nature of their talk had been too much for him. She tried to smile and eat her bacon, tell herself that it was going to be okay.

  She caught him cleaning and checking a couple of weapons when she wasn’t looking though, two sleek handguns. Seeing that, and the fact that he made several excuses to go outside and look around, she couldn’t help but worry.

  Chapter 6

  The scenery that went by outside Kat’s window was interesting but Sam said little, driving his Lexus SUV without commenting on the colorful cityscape they passed. He had called someone to take care of his horses as they drove, but Kat wasn’t really listening
.

  There was too much to look at. Graffiti, billboards, buses… hell, even the people on the street were varied and interesting.

  She watched with wide eyes as they drove through Washington, D.C., although Sam didn’t drive her by the more well-known tourist attractions. She was content seeing houses and restaurants, none of which she was able to see when she was captive in Ted’s home.

  As she watched, the scenery went from cheap clapboard homes and little corner delis to higher-end row houses and Starbucks franchises. She saw women walking strollers and men in uniforms trimming trees. As they slowed down, she started to realize that the neighborhood was very wealthy. Far too wealthy for Cyril Green’s half-homeless daughter, anyway. She silently prayed that Sam would drive past it, to a different part of town.

  Sam seemed confident as he slowed, circling the block. She bit her lip. Of course Sam was from such an affluent part of town. He probably looked at Kat, who had shown up in his life bruised and scratched and traumatized, as some kind of charity work. Once he’d cleaned her up and found someone to foist her off on, he would pat himself on the back and move on.

  She gave herself a mental slap. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? She couldn’t expect more, couldn’t let herself get attached to a man that just saw her as a pretty prisoner to rescue, and nothing more.

  Kat watched out the passenger side window as Sam pulled up outside a row of townhouses, all tall and elegant and colorful. The houses were colored like the sky at sunset, blue and pink and yellow and purple. Sam parked and smiled at her.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  “Here?” she asked, the last bit of hope sinking inside her chest.

  “Yeah,” he said, pointing at the yellow one. “That’s us.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  She got out of the car, feeling very meek as she looked up at the yellow townhouse. It was three stories tall and made of brick, with plenty of plate glass windows and a sophisticated oak door. The house seemed to look down on her forbiddingly as Sam got his suitcase and led her to the door.