“Want company?”
I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from smiling like an idiot. “Okay. Sure. Why not.”
As I get up and traipse across my property toward the house, I realize I’ve never actually showered with anyone before. The idea had always seemed kind of weird and invasive – shower time is some of my favorite alone time – but I can’t deny that the prospect of getting wet and soapy with Troy turns me on.
Troy follows me into the bathroom, and I turn on the shower, waiting until the room fills with steam and the air blazes with humidity. I don’t speak as I climb inside and start soaping my body, but Troy’s hands on my back stop me cold. He reaches over my shoulder and takes the soap and loofah, gently washing my back and shoulders. My taut muscles ease under his tender ministrations, and soon, it’s like I never even touched the cannonball, let alone let him use it to fuck me senseless.
I turn to face Troy and capture his lips. He steps closer and puts his hands on my waist. I press my breasts against his wet chest and shiver as they grow stiff again. As Troy slips his fingers under my chin and tilts my head up, I close my eyes and wrap my arms around his neck. It’s an intimate, passionate moment – but not necessarily a sexual one. In fact, the combination of the relaxing, lavender-scented steam, the hot water pounding down on my back, and Troy’s strong arms around me is incredibly soothing. I feel like I could close my eyes and go to sleep forever. As I close my eyes and tilt my head under the water, it’s almost like a renewal, a baptism.
When we’re done, Troy and I towel off without speaking. He clears his throat. “Should I leave?”
I look up, meeting his eyes with my own. As I wrap the towel around my body and tuck in the edge over my breasts, I realize that I don’t want him to go. Maybe it’s just because this morning was so crazy…or maybe it’s because I’m seeing a new side of Troy that I’ve never imagined before. But either way, I know I don’t want to be alone.
At least, not yet. Not right now.
“No,” I say softly, shaking my head. “You should stay. If you want to, I mean.”
“Okay.” Troy’s expression is halfway between a smirk and a smile. “I guess I’ll stay, then.”
Chapter Twelve
Troy
“You little fuckup, what have I told you about going in that room?”
I look down and bite my lip. “I know I’m not a-sposed to go in there.” I twist my hands in front of me as I wait for the painful sting of the slap.
The large man narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his muscular chest. “That’s right, Troy. And what did you do, anyway?”
I swallow, willing him not to hit me. Willing myself not to fall over like a Weeble when he does. Taking a deep breath, I keep my body rigid.
“What did you do?” the man asks again. His deep voice contains a hard edge that makes me feel like I have to pee. “Tell me, Troy.”
Maybe if I’m honest, he won’t hurt me.
“I went into the room.” I shake as the words tumble out of my mouth. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m really, really sorry.”
He raises his meaty fist high in the air. From experience, I know it will gain strength and velocity as it travels downward. “Fucking right you’re sorry!”
The slap across my face makes me see stars. I reel back, but the shame and embarrassment sting infinitely more than his callused hand.
“You’re lucky that’s all you’re getting right now,” the man says, every word landing in that place deep inside, infiltrating my soul and enveloping it in the darkness only betrayal can do. “Now, stay here and be a good boy, you little fuck.” He points to a small chair in the corner. “I’ve got to take care of some business, and when I get back, I expect to see your ass planted firmly in that chair. Or else.”
I nod. My cheek stings like a bastard, but I don’t want to make my dad even angrier.
“Now, move your ass, you worthless little piece of shit! I’ve got things to do!”
Breaking into a run, I scurry across the room and plant my butt in the wooden chair. It’s uncomfortable – there’s a rough nail sticking out of the back – but I don’t say a peep even as it pierces my skin because I’m afraid of the alternative. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what’s so bad about sneaking out of the room and looking around the warehouse. There’s nothing here, anyway – it’s all abandoned crates and wooden boxes.
I’m determined to be good, but as soon as my father leaves, I can’t help but get out of the chair and rub my back. The nail snags the back of my shirt, and I wince as I put my finger through the hole and feel a fresh cut across my skin.
That’s when I hear the sound. A hair-raising, chilling, high-pitched scream that twists my stomach into a painful knot. Again, I have the monstrous urge to urinate on myself. Taking a shaky breath, I swallow and step forward. My sneakers echo on the concrete floors and I just know I’m gonna be in a heap of trouble when that man, my dad’s friend, comes back…but I can’t help myself. Something really bad is going on, and I’m scared.
Petrified.
The screaming continues as I creep closer and closer to the edge of the room. At the doorway, I lean against the wall and push the door open. I can see my dad’s dogs, two big Rottweilers, curled up on the floor. There are thick chains around their necks, and even though my dad told me they’d never hurt me, the sight of them always makes me a little scared. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
There’s something new in the room, too. A large cage – almost like the cage we have at home for the Rottweilers – is in the middle of the room. That’s weird. Did Daddy get a new dog? There’s something inside the cage, small and shaking.
“A puppy,” I whisper under my breath, suddenly forgetting about my fear. “Daddy finally got me a puppy!”
Breaking into a run, I dart across the room and squat down by the cage. But when I see what’s inside, I gasp. It’s not a puppy – it’s a little girl. Her face is dirty and bruised, and her dark, curly hair is a mess of tangles.
“Hey.”
When she sees me, she gasps and covers her mouth with both hands. Then she looks at me more closely. “Hey.” Her voice is shaky. “What’s your name?” She crawls closer to the bars of the cage, and an unpleasant, sour odor fills my nostrils.
“I’m not a-sposed to say.”
“Please, please don’t hurt me,” the girl whispers. “Help me.”
I swallow. I’ve never talked to a girl before – especially not a girl in a cage. I’m frozen in place as she pleads. I can’t explain it – it’s like my feet are rooted to the ground, or I’m standing in concrete boots just like Wile E. Coyote on Saturday morning cartoons. I want to help her, but I’m trapped. And when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out.
The girl begins to cry. Watching her breaks my heart. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks, and she buries her face in her hands. Her small shoulders quake with emotion.
“I’m afraid,” the girl says after a few moments. “They hurt me.” Her face takes on an even more pained expression. “Do you know why the bad men would do that?”
“I’m sorry.” It’s a pathetic answer, I know, but to add a little comfort, I put my hand on the bars of the cage and grip the girl’s fingers. Hers are shaking and I feel bad that I can’t do something more to help.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please help me get out of here. I want my daddy.”
I look into her eyes, see the pain there. The desperation. A desperation that matches mine.
“Please,” she repeats in a dry whisper. “Please, help me.”
I open my mouth to speak just as a wide door swings open, and I freeze. Oh no… no, no, no. I scramble to my feet, terror punching through my system. I have to run. I know the bad men are coming back – and I know I’m going to be in bad trouble. Trouble I might not survive this time.
She hears the sound too. She gasps and begins shaking violently, wrapping her tiny fingers around the bars until the knuckles turn white�
�then begin to bleed. Startled, I look into her face… and realize her eyes have been carved out. Blood streams down her cheeks, and when she opens her mouth, no sound emerges. Something warm and wet starts to flow down the side of my leg, and I realize that I’m peeing myself, but I’m powerless to stop as heavy footsteps approach the cage in the center of the room.
“You’re dead, little boy!”
Finally, I feel the hold on my body break just in time to look up and see the man. My father. He smiles, a terrifying, twisted sneer of evil.
“I knew you wouldn’t listen to me,” he growls. Then he pulls a knife from his belt and steps closer. Light flashes on the blade, and my body fills with tremendous, hot pain as he grabs me and pushes the sharp edge to my throat.
“This is what happens to little shits who don’t mind their elders.”
***
Bolting up in bed, I pant hard until my throat resembles coarse sandpaper. I can still feel it – the hot piss streaming down my leg and soaking my jeans, the blade of the knife against my throat. And worst of all, the sight of the mutilated little girl in the cage.
“Troy?”
The sound of my name causes me to jump, and I leap out of bed, grabbing a blanket and stumbling across an unfamiliar floor. As I crash into the wall, bright light floods the room.
Joslyn sits up in bed, wearing a cotton t-shirt and a worried expression. “Troy, what happened?” She wipes her brow with the back of her arm. Real alarm laces her voice with an unusual concern. “You were shaking and mumbling, and I kept trying to wake you up, but wherever you were, you didn’t want to come back.”
If she only knew the half of it.
I swallow. Joslyn takes a bottle of water from the nightstand and passes it over to me. It’s warm, but I don’t care. I drain the whole thing and inhale deeply to control my breathing, leaning against the wall and wrapping the blanket around my waist.
“Come on.” Joslyn pats the mattress beside her. “Come here. What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, because mind-blowing sex notwithstanding, she’s the last person I’d spill my guts to about my sordid past. “Nothing.”
“That sure as hell didn’t sound like nothing.” She narrows her gorgeous blue eyes into slits, so they almost appear black. “Did you dream about spiders?”
I shudder, pushing the vivid dream into the back of my mind. I welcome her teasing. If I didn’t, I’d be tempted to melt into the comfort of her arms. And that could only result in one thing. Heartbreak. She’s not the one for me long-term. She’d never understand or accept my past, and the broken man those events have turned me into. Not this woman who makes it abundantly clear she has high expectations of herself and everyone around her.
“I wish,” I shake my head. “No. I…I have recurring nightmares, that’s all. Since I was a kid.”
Joslyn’s silent for a long moment, and I worry that she’s going to call me a stupid pussy and throw me out. But instead, she bites her lip.
“You too, huh?”
“Yeah.” I sit down on the edge of the bed. The side of her bed where I’ve been sleeping is a tangled mess of sheets, and I wince. At least I didn’t piss myself in real life.
Joslyn sighs and snuggles closer. Heat radiates from her body. Heat I want to wrap myself around. “So, what are these nightmares about?”
I take a long time before responding. “Something really bad that happened to me when I was a little kid. I know it’s dumb. But I haven’t ever been able to shake it.”
Again, I think Joslyn’s about to jump in with a rude or cutting remark. But to my surprise, she nods her head once.
“Yeah. I know that feeling.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Joslyn whispers. “I…I was kidnapped when I was five years old. The same way that guy tried to snag me yesterday, with a bag over my head. The darkness overtook me. I don’t like being unable to see to this day. I felt so hopeless. So defenseless. I still don’t know why. This guy grabbed me from behind, put a bag over my head, and dragged me away. And when I woke up, I was locked in a dog crate. It’s why I’ve dedicated my entire life to women’s safety.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and I feel it pounding in every cell in my body. I don’t say anything, even though her story sounds eerily familiar. It sounds…like mine.
I guess that she takes my silence for curiosity, so she keeps talking. “Yeah,” Joslyn repeats. She sticks her bare right foot from under the covers, and I realize for the first time that she’s missing her pinky toe. This is the first time I’ve seen her without her shoes. Well, maybe yesterday, but I hadn’t been inspecting her feet. “They…cut my toe off. I don’t know…probably to send it as some kind of gruesome ransom note.”
I shudder as realization begins to dawn, and I reach out and put my hand on her ankle. To comfort her. To comfort myself. “God, that’s horrible. I can’t believe someone would do that to a little kid. If it makes you feel any better, your feet are still beautiful. I would never have noticed it if you hadn’t told me.”
“The world’s a fucked-up place,” Joslyn whispers. “I’m just lucky they didn’t do anything worse.”
As Joslyn talks, a horrifying realization hits me in the gut. My nightmares aren’t just random nightmares…they’re real. And not only are they real, Joslyn’s the little girl from my dreams. The girl in the cage, the girl who always looks worse in a new, grotesque way with each dream. The girl who sobbed and begged and cried for help.
And the girl I abandoned in order to save myself.
Chapter Thirteen
Joslyn
As much as it kills me to admit it, I actually enjoy having Troy around. Not because I need a man, or anything ridiculous like that…but because, despite the fact that he’s a giant lunkhead, he’s not a bad lay.
Who am I kidding? He’s the best lay of my life. Shiver-inducing images of him fucking me in every way possible jolt my body into lust mode. I’m just using him for his huge cock and what he can do with it.
At least, that’s what I tell myself when morning rolls around, and he’s still in my bed, lounging like he owns the place.
“Hey.” I jab his muscular, toned ass with my big toe. “This ain’t a bed and breakfast.”
Troy yawns in my face and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath as he sits up and stretches. He’s still naked, and I have a hard time tearing my gaze away from his smooth, muscular chest.
Damn, woman, stop staring, I urge myself, finally turning around and pulling on my favorite Lululemon purple yoga pants and a black sports bra that I know makes my breasts firm and full. When I’m dressed, Troy whistles.
“What?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Troy grins and gives a little shrug of those massive shoulders. I contemplate jumping back into bed and licking them. “Just thinking that you look good enough to eat. Want a morning quickie?”
I bite the inside of my mouth, so I don’t flush. Before I can even think about what I’m asking, the words tumble out of my mouth, “So, want breakfast? I mean food, that is?”
“What?” Troy snorts and makes a show of pinching himself. “Did I really just hear you ask me if I wanted to get breakfast with you?”
“Well, yeah.” I’m stammering and feeling more than a little flustered. Think, woman, think!
“IHOP?”
I draw myself up to my full height and shake my head. “Absolutely not.” I revert right back to be Fierce Warrior Joslyn, not Lust-Struck Joslyn. “If we’re going to train together, I can’t have you eating that garbage. We’re getting something healthy – low carb, high fat, and moderate protein.”
Troy rolls his eyes. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he says, rubbing his flat abdomen. I frown as he stares at me. “She’s baa-ack.”
“What?”
“Miss crab cakes.” Troy pulls his shirt over his head and reaches for his shorts. “I knew fantasy Joslyn was just a pipe dream. And p
ancakes loaded with blueberry syrup sound really good right now. And just so you know, once you’re out of my sight, I’m going to hit the café at the Armónico and have Dixie fetch me a short stack.”
I wrinkle my nose, and a lie flows like butter from my lips. “I never had a sweet tooth.”
Troy snorts. “They have savory crepes, you know.” He puts on a terribly fake French – or maybe it’s Spanish – accent and taps his chest, right below his collarbone. “Eef Madam would pree-fer a more…sopheesticated meal.”
I groan and slap my head with the back of my hand in mock affront. “God, enough already,” I snap back. “Although crepes do sound good. I only let myself have carbs twice a week. I had fries with my dad the other day.”
I’m not sure how – or why – but twenty minutes later, Troy and I are seated in a sticky vinyl IHOP booth. A stack of chocolate-chip pancakes drenched in syrup sets in front of Troy, and a nearly empty plate in front of me.
“What?” I tease, reaching over and stealing a bite of his pancakes with my fork. “Eyes bigger than your stomach?”
Troy meets my gaze and smirks. To my annoyance, I actually blush.
“What?” he asks, all innocence. “I ate a whole plate of bacon and eggs. Not my fault I can’t handle all those carbs.” He raises a teasing eyebrow at me. “After all, you did say they were bad.”
“This whole thing is bad,” I say, gesturing around.
“But it’s so bad it’s good,” Troy replies. “Live a little, woman.”
He grins at me before taking a huge forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Syrup drips down his chin and for a terrible, terrible moment, I’m almost tempted to lean across the table and lick it off.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I guess we all need our cheat days.”
Troy takes a long drink of orange juice and shakes his head. “We do. What’s your favorite?”
“What?”
“Your favorite cheat meal,” Troy asks. “What do you pig out on when no one else is around?”
I glare and lift my chin in mock superiority, but I can’t stop the little smile from appearing on my face. “For your information, I never pig out on anything.”
All In (Caldwell Brothers Book 5) Page 9
