5
Stinging.
My face.
Numb.
A wall of warmth next to me.
“I’m just changing the bandages. Could’ve been worse.”
My eyes drifted to hers. “You a doctor?” It hurt when I spoke, and I didn’t even recognize my own voice now—scratchy, husky, coarse. Another souvenir of my time here.
“No. I’m not anything,” she said quietly.
You’re wrong. You’re everything.
“They’re dropping you off today at some meeting point, and your club is going to pick you up and take you home.”
Home? A simple word, a simple idea for most. For her and me? My home. Her home. Whatever the fuck.
“They’ll get you a doctor, right?” she said. “If you’re hungry, I brought soup. It’s from a can, but it’s good. I like it.”
I shook my head slightly. “Everything hurts, I can’t.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No.”
“I want to. Please.”
Her low, emotional voice danced over my skin. My eyes lifted to hers. Had anyone ever said the word please to me before? No. It was always do this, clean it up, get that done, bring that, fetch, stop. Drink, kill, set it on fire. Now. Go. Never once a please.
“Not chicken noodle. Hate chicken noodle,” I mumbled.
A small smile curved her sexy mouth. I’d pleased her. “No, it’s tomato. I like tomato. Just open your mouth a tiny bit more so I can get the spoon in there.”
I parted my lips as far as they would go, my face screaming. She concentrated on getting the full spoon in my mouth.
Did she take care of all the prisoners like this? Fuck all the prisoners? Tend to their wounds? Was I just another idiot in a long line of prisoners? After I left would someone else fill my spot in her life?
“Soup okay?”
I nodded, and she fed me again. And again.
We didn’t have much time left. No time left. I wanted to listen to her speak. Hear her. Anything I could get.
I asked, “Why do you like tomato soup?”
“When I was a kid I used to make this soup from this can every Saturday. I’d heat up the soup, and my grandma would make the grilled cheese sandwiches.” Her face flushed.
Imagining her as a little girl, an innocent, laughing child sharing a meal with her daddy, made my chest pinch together.
Look where she ended up.
“When were you going to tell me about you being Med’s old lady?”
She didn’t answer.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-one.”
“How long you been here?”
“Almost four years.”
“Med’s around fifty or so, isn’t he?”
“Fifty-two.”
“He likes to collect women, huh?”
“He likes to collect a lot of things,” she replied. “He wanted to keep you, actually. But he knew he had to give you back otherwise there’d be a huge war.” Her thumb lightly brushed the edge of my jaw, and a shiver raced over me. “Now he left his mark on you. Made you his for everyone to see.”
“I’m not anybody’s. Nobody owns me.”
“I’m sorry about what I did.”
“What? What did you do?”
“Getting you off while they—”
“He made you do it. He makes you do lots of shit, huh?”
“Yeah, but not like last night.”
We stared at each other. She didn’t have to explain or go into any other sure to be fucked up details. It was in the dull steadiness of her gaze. Unspeakable things, humiliating things.
“He doesn’t own me inside, though, and he knows it. He used to be really possessive of me, but that’s changed lately. Before, he never would’ve suggested I bring you food or have any contact with a prisoner. I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know what it could be.”
“He’s crazy. It’s got nothing to do with you. You can see that, right?”
She swallowed hard, her eyebrows knitting close together. She was struggling with reality. Med had really done a number on her. “Last night was a first, so I don’t think—”
“I’ll help you.”
“Help me?”
“I’ll come back for you.”
Her face tightened. “Why? What for? So I can be yours? So I can suck your cock whenever you want?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to own you like some slave. I meant so you could be free.”
Her face blanked.
I wanted to see her free. Even if she wasn’t with me, knowing she was out there with a smile on her face doing her own thing would be great.
“That’s nice to hear, but you’re just another prospect and from an enemy club. Kid, you and me don’t matter. We’re the cogs in the wheel. The little people who get stepped on and used. We’re just jagged stones in their path. They kick us out of the way as they move along. You realize that, don’t you? After last night, after what he made me do, I think my old lady status is done. There are plenty more girls waiting to take my place too.”
My pulse kicked up. “I want to get you out of here. You want that don’t you?”
She averted her gaze. “I’ll bet you’ll be a hero when you get back to your club. I’m sure you will be. You survived, you showed bravery. You never ratted them out. But me? Me, I’m just a nothing. An empty bottle they toss after they’re finished drinking their fill. And now...”
“You’re no empty bottle. You’re beautiful, you’re—”
“Shh. Please. You’ve got a fever as it is. You need to rest.”
I licked my cracked lips and tasted my own blood. Would they really let me go? Maybe they’d pop a bullet in the back of my head or knife me in front of my bros. Maybe I’d pass out from the pain any minute.
Would I ever see her again?
I wanted her to know my name. A name no one ever used for me. I was desperate for her to think about me and have my name for my face, for the memory of us, for the intense feelings between us, whatever the hell they were. A dull ache clouded my head, and I couldn’t catch up with my choppy breaths. Anguish streaked through me along with a strange kind of anticipation, each pulling me in opposite directions.
Our discovery of each other, our stolen orgasms in the dark, had been nicks in the chains holding us both. The conversations, the small laughs and threads of understanding between us, had been moments of warmth and sun in that shithole dungeon. Med making us perform for him had been brutal. Fucking was something that we’d both wanted bad but hadn’t done. Having been forced to do it in the spotlit center ring of Med’s circus was all sorts of crazy.
But here she was, not a dream, not a phantom who’d visit my cell and disappear. Here she was making sure I got something to eat. Caring about me.
We had to see each other again. We had to. A wall of dark water towered over me, threatening to crush everything to bits.
I said, “My name’s Justin.”
Her brows knit together. “I’ve got to go.”
“Hey!”
She stopped in her tracks. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Please say it. Say my name. No one says it. Not ever. I want to hear you say it. I need to. Say it,” I begged. There was nothing more important than this right now. Nothing. “Say it.”
Her blue green eyes lifted to mine. They were heavy. “Justin,” she whispered.
A thrill spinning in the mud of misery, the vehicle stuck, going nowhere. Hello and goodbye. Whatever was between us was all over before it began, but somehow I felt as if I’d lived a hundred lives in this dungeon and now had to let them all go.
“Again.”
“Justin.”
My heart squeezed. Her saying my name was a touch, a hug. I didn’t remember being held before by anyone. Patted on the back, a clap on the shoulder, a ruffle through my hair, but not ever being held, the life squeezed out of me. Someone really psyched to see me, someone not wanting to let me go.
Now all I wanted was for her to take me in her arms, hold me close and whisper my name, whisper goodbyes in my ear.
Fucking goodbye.
“I’m going to miss you.” My voice broke.
She sucked in a tiny breath. “Me too.” She grabbed the mug and the spoon. “I hope you can forget all this. Maybe someday you will. Maybe one day everything that happened to you here won’t matter. It’ll just be a story you tell around the fire over a few beers to impress people. A wild piece of your club history.” Her teeth scraped her lips. “You go and have a good life.”
“Forgetting this means forgetting you. And I’ll never forget you, Serena.”
“I’ll never forget you either, Justin.” She scrambled for the door.
Something bright and sharp slid through me. “When I come back for you, will you come with me?”
She stopped in the doorway and turned. Her lips parted as if she were listening to beautiful music, astounding music.
“Hell yes.”