I stand up and nearly tip over. My heels dig into the carpeting on the floor of the office and I turn around to make my way over to the door.

If I end up with a bullet in the back of my head, would I realize it before I die? There’s no point in being scared. If I die, it won’t matter. I won’t know that I’m dead.

No one will miss me. My father is the only person who ever gives a shit about me, and he’s on the way out.

I don’t know if I’ll make it. And worse, if I don’t make it, no one will care or even notice.

I feel Sean’s uncle come up next to me. His hand comes up to my face and takes my chin in his hand, in his fingers. Two fingers lead my chin around so my eyes are looking right into his. I’m about as tall as he is while I’m wearing my heels, the one some anonymous voice on the phone told me to wear if I wanted to please the man I’d be meeting.

“Cherry red,” he says calmly, but with fire behind his eyes. “My nephew has chosen someone quite beautiful.”

He lets go of me with a lurch, nearly throwing my body away. I pull my lips into a tight line, because I know I have to seem happy to be here. I’m being introduced to my fiance’s boss.

Beads of sweat erupt on the back of my neck as Sean’s uncle moves away from me. I step forward and the doors open, and time is moving in slow motion again.

They say that time slows down when you feel threatened. I move through the hotel suite. I don’t know what is happening. Am I being sold to Sean? To his uncle? When I agreed to get down on my knees for the winner in the casino, I had control. Now? I have no control. I can’t help myself. I don’t know what I’m doing now.

“Just follow me,” Sean says as he ushers me down the hall as we pass through the final door away from the suite, away from his two cousins. Sean takes me by the arm above my elbow and rushes me down the hallway. I’m light on my feet because I have to be. I couldn’t keep up with him if I put my feet on the ground and walked for myself. If I put one foot in front of the other and walked for myself, I’d just be swept up again in his rush, in this skin. In the adrenaline that seeps through every single one of his pores.

We stop down the hall and he takes a keycard out of his back pocket, motioning it over the lock on the door and pushing us inside. He grinds to a halt as I stumble into the room and collapse onto one of the beds.

I can’t feel my body. My hands, my feet - I feel nothing. My body is a vessel for my own fucked up thoughts.

There’s two beds in the room, and Sean walks past it and looks out the window, his arms crossed against his chest.

“You should get yourself cleaned up,” he says, unmoving. His voice enraptures me, and I want to do what he says - not just because the way he says it is convincing, but because I want to get cleaned up. All I want is to get out of these clothes and get into bed. I want to be in my own bed, and I want to close my eyes, and I want this all to end. I want this day to end.

But I know that if today ends, tomorrow will be just as bad.

“You should really get cleaned up,” Sean says again. “If you want this to work, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” I ask in a small voice, though I feel my blood boiling in my veins. “What am I trusting you to do? What the hell was that?”

He turns around and crosses the room to me. He takes me in his arms and looks down at me.

I can’t help myself. His body is perfect, and I allow myself to indulge in looking at him. His fingers wrap around my arms and he holds me at a distance, but firmly. Heat arrows between my legs as his fingers dig into me.

“I told you you had a choice, Cherry. You can trust me or you can take your chances with those fucking people. And you chose to trust me.”

His piercing blue eyes stare down at me, his scent intoxicating me. His muscles flex and grind against his t-shirt. He lets me go and crosses the room again, tossing his jacket onto one of the beds.

“And now what?” I ask desperately, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “Are you going to fuck me? Is that how this works?”

I walk over to him. I’m weak. I can’t feel myself inside my head, inside my body. It’s still me - I know it’s still me. But it feels as though I’m animated by some outside force, and it’s not because he is so sexy. It’s because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.

He catches me as I press my body into his. I’m small, but my body feels heavy.

“If you’re going to fuck me, just get it over with.”

“I’m not going to fuck you, Cherry.” He chuckles and sits down on the bed, putting his elbows on his knees and scrubbing his face with his hands.

I swallow hard. I know this man has done some very bad things. I’m not stupid. I can see the outline of the gun on his hip.

“If you’re going to kill me, please just make it fast,” I tremble.

He doesn’t look at me. He just speaks simply, without emotion.

“You’re confused. You need to rest. Go take a shower.”

I stumble backwards away from him, my mind a blur of want and confusion. The way he said no to me makes me feel hot all over, embarrassed, humiliated. I say nothing as I make my way over to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I turn to look in the mirror.

God, I look like shit. I start to strip my clothes off, peeling my tight leather pants away from my body and then unhooking each of the hooks in the back of my corset. I take my hair down and allow my red waves to flow over my shoulders. I’m standing in front of the mirror in just my black lace thong and the push-up bra I chose for him, before I knew who he was. Before I knew what would happen. Before I knew what his name was.

I take a towel from the bar hanging on the back of the door and wrap myself up in it, and then take off my bra and panties. I don’t want to see myself naked. I already feel naked enough. Going over to the shower, I realize that I can feel the cold tile under my feet, and it feels good. It feels so good to be out of those shoes. I could sleep for days.

I reach into the shower and turn on the hot water. I adjust the cool water so the shower of water pellets falling down hard into the glass encasement aren’t scalding, and I step into the glass, vertical tomb.

His name is Sean. I don’t know if I’ve been captured or rescued, but it doesn’t matter. I squeeze some body wash into my hand and lather it over my body. The scent is calming for a moment. I think back to my ex, to the night when he swept me out of the bar where we met. He put me in the shower before anything happened between us. He wanted to wash away the night; he wanted to wash away me from myself. Make me forget. The truth is that I don't know if I could ever remember.

The hot water pelts down on me like a million tiny drumsticks, and I let the steam fill my lungs. I expect Sean to come in, but he doesn’t. I finish showering after lathering my hair with the nice products they have here in the hotel. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in a hotel this nice before, and I don’t think I’ll ever be in one this nice again.

Wrapping myself up, I dry off before putting my clothing back on. I can’t let Sean see me in a towel or a bathrobe.

When I step out of the bathroom, the steam billows out around me. My long curly hair is still wet, but I rub a towel against it gently, squeezing out the excess water.

Sean’s sitting at the desk, scrolling through his phone intently. He doesn’t look over at me as I perch on the corner of the bed nearest the door.

“We have to get a few things straight,” he says, not looking up at me. “My uncle is expecting me at a party tonight. We’re hosting a few people from Jersey. You need to stay here.”

I swallow hard and look up at him, feeling the blood inside my veins coursing through my body. I feel my blood pumping life into me, heating me from the inside. When Sean looks up and we lock eyes, I become warm all over.

“Why are these men in from New Jersey?”

“That’s another thing you need to understand. Don’t go around asking a lot of questions. You don’t know shit if anyone asks. You’re here as my woman. That’s it.”

He stands and approaches me, keeping his eyes locked on mine. But when he gets to where I’m sitting, he keeps going, walking past me. He opens up the closet and ticks in the combination for the safe hidden inside. From behind, I see him tuck a gun into a holster on his hip and slam the safe door shut.

“Do I get a gun of my own?” I ask, feeling my face go white. “To protect myself?”

“Baby,” he says, flashing a look at me over his shoulder, “that won’t be necessary. You’re with me. No one is going to fuck with you. I’ll protect you.”