Cassie
We drove for a little over an hour, maybe, before we finally pulled off into a secluded driveway. The track was dirt and not well kept, with lots of bumps and potholes. Mason drove slow and careful, but every now and then I could feel him stiffen and hear him groan. He was hurt, and it served him right. If he hadn't taken me, neither of us would be in this predicament.
Why send me to the auction house just to buy me anyway? God, how would that process even work? It's kind of weird to buy something that you're selling!
I had so many questions piling up in my mind that I felt like I’d have to start writing them down soon or else I’d forget them. I just wanted some answers. That wasn't much to ask for, was it?
I looked around Mason's hulking frame when a building of sorts came into view. It was a cabin made from big timber logs. The place was pretty bare aside from the building: a garage attached to the side of the cabin, and a small garden type shed off to the far-right side.
I didn't need to ask why we were here. I assumed straight away the place was a hideout. Fear took me over again, and I wondered how I would get out of there when I didn't even know where I was. To escape and run the risk of running into the Cartel was plain stupid. I needed to get to the police somehow, or to call them. They would help me.
Scenes from books and movies ran through my mind. In some crime genres, the evil people had pockets so deep they were paying law enforcement to help them. It was corrupt, and the thought that Mason might be paying off law officials disturbed me. If it was true, or even if the Cartel was in with law enforcement, I stood no chance at all.
But who was worse? Mason or Ruiz?
Mason sold me, then bought me. Ruiz wanted me, but what for?
We pulled up outside the garage and I waited for Mason to cut the engine before saying anything.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Somewhere safe,” he answered, as he climbed off the bike and walked towards the front door. “Hurry up.”
I sighed. He was still being mean, and it made me feel so pathetic and weak. I wasn't sure how I should be acting or feeling, but it couldn't be stupid for me to be scared.
I did as he said anyway and climbed from the bike. My legs protested at the movements and I felt horribly sore and stiff in my lower region. I hoped he didn't have plans on having sex again tonight. Or ever again.
We walked into the dark cabin. I couldn't see a thing until Mason turned the lights on.
It was tiny, just like a mini apartment. The kitchen, living and dining spaces were combined. There was a door that went outside just off the kitchen, another door that I thought would likely lead to the garage and laundry, and two doors down the hallway. I could best assume they were a bathroom and a bedroom.
“Where are we?” I asked again.
Mason didn't answer. He continued to ignore me as he moved around the place stiffly but seemingly comfortable in the space. He opened and closed cupboards, pulling a few things out. Canned food, water, a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, a couple of forks and spoons, and an old-fashioned emergency medical kit.
He opened the medical kit and started rummaging around it. He looked up and glared at me.
"Close the door," he ordered.
I nodded and closed the door quietly.
"Lock it too," he added, just as I was about to turn around.
I locked it and felt a single tear roll down my cheek. I quickly brushed it away. I wasn't going to start crying now. He’d probably ignore me and tie me up like he’d said he would.
I continued to stand near the door and watched as he tried to clean his wound. It was from a gunshot. And although it likely hurt, he would survive after giving it a thorough clean and a few stitches. I could have fixed it for him, but I wasn't going to volunteer for the job.
I looked around the place again, trying to find a way I could escape without getting caught. I spotted his bike key on the small dining table. If I took the key and fled, he would have no bike to find me with, and I would stand more chance of getting away.
Before I thought any more about my plan, I edged slowly to the table. I watched him carefully as I reached behind me and felt the keys. I squeezed the three keys on the ring tight in my hand to stop them from jingling, before carefully slipping them into my back pocket.
I jumped when I heard Mason curse. He glared at me. I gulped down, thinking I'd been caught red-handed, and prepared myself for whatever was going to happen.
"You’re a doctor, right?"
“No, a nurse,” I stammered out nervously.
“Whatever. Get over here and fix this,” he growled. “Be useful.”
He was angry. I wanted to argue back, retaliate to the insults he threw at me, but I knew it wouldn't be a bright idea. I didn't know what he was capable of when he was angry, and I didn't want to find out. I walked over and, without looking at him, took the first aid box from him.
After finding what I needed to get the job done, I told him to sit on the couch and get comfy. There was no argument. But I hadn’t really expected one, given the situation.
"Remove your shirt."
He didn’t say anything as he took off his shirt and jacket, tossing both on the lounger next to him. Out the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me. I ignored him as I got the needle ready, along with the bandages to patch him up after.
“You’ll probably want to take a painkiller for…”
“Sorted,” Mason said.
He cracked open the whiskey bottle and took a long gulp. I hadn’t even seen him bring it over to the couch. I shrugged the thought off as I started cleaning the wound.
Mason held the bottle out to me.
"Sip?"
I looked up at him through my messy hair and lashes. I raised my brows.
“Do you honestly want the person stitching you up to be drinking?”
“Don’t want your hands to shake.”
"Oh, how super kind of you," I mocked, rolling my eyes and giving him a thumbs-up. "You truly are too kind."
He grabbed my wrist and started squeezing it tight until I dropped the disinfectant cloth. I grabbed his hand and tried to pry it off me. He only squeezed harder. My breath caught in my throat from the piercing, searing pain he was causing.
"Please, Mason. Please."
“Please, what?” he sneered.
Tears started wetting my cheeks and my teeth clamped shut. I didn't know what would happen first, whether my teeth would shatter from being clenched so tight or Mason's hand would snap my wrist before I got a chance to say anything more.
“Please. I’m sorry. Please,” I whimpered.
He loosened his grip long enough to grab my face. He pulled me toward him roughly and glared at me.
"Let's get something clear right now, pet."
I swallowed.
"You are alive because I want you alive. You are safe because I make you safe. You are fed, clothed and have something to drink because I allow it, because I give that to you."
He glared at me before lifting his wounded arm. He ran his other hand down my face, neck, and chest before dipping it lower to my pants. I tried to flinch away from his grasp, but the hold on my face was painfully tight.
"You are mine. I own every inch of you. You do not tell me what to do. You do not disrespect me. Okay?"
I nodded.
"And you should know that this gunshot wound is because of you. Understand?"
I nodded vigorously.
“I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, I understand,” I choked out.
“Yes, I understand what?”
“Yes, I understand that I’m yours,” I quickly answered. “Yes, I will do as I am told, and I will be respectful.”
He let go of my face and smirked.
"Good. Now wipe those tears, quit your crying and tell me how thankful you are that I saved your weak ass."
I did as he said, choking back the sobs.
“Yes, Mason. Thank you. I am grateful that you saved me.”
He smirked again.
“Drink?”
He held the bottle out again.
Is this optional or compulsory?
My eyes widened, scared at whether or not this was a trick question. I gulped. It would be a trick question and there would be only one right answer.
Mason’s threat had knocked the wind right out of me. He had made himself very clear. But he hadn’t said what the punishments would be if I didn’t do as I was told or did something wrong. He had left that to my imagination.
My hands shook. I looked down at the disinfectant cloth on the floor. I’d need to get another one.
“Drink,” he told me. “I need your hands steady.”
I nodded and, my hands still shaking, carefully grabbed the bottle from him and took a small sip. I choked and coughed a few times as the burning liquid trickled down my throat. He laughed and took the bottle from me. He swallowed another mouthful of the fiery liquor and smiled at me.
“Not a drinker?”
I shook my head.
“I can’t hear you.”
"No, I’m not a drinker."
I sounded almost robotic. But the answer seemed to please him, and he nodded anyway.
“Get back to your job,” he grumbled.
“I need to get another swab to clean the wound,” I whispered to him.
"Right… Well, go get it then," he shrugged as if he didn't care at all, as if he didn't care about my discomfort or fear in the least.
He did not care. There was no way he did and would ever in the future. My future, however long it may be, was dark and bleak. I couldn’t see an end to this tunnel of darkness called ‘Mason’, and it was terrifying.
'You are alive because of me.'
I didn't have to be a genius to know what that meant. My life was in his hands. He could end it at any moment, and he could do whatever he wanted with me until then.
I patched his gunshot wound before moving onto a few of the smaller cuts and scrapes. They didn't need much, just a bit of cleaning to stop any infections. There was some bruising to his ribs, and I carefully felt them to make sure they were okay. I already knew they weren't broken, just bruised from being hit a little too hard. But among all his tattoos, I wanted to get a closer look at the one on his side.
It was a single word.
Dana.
There was nothing else tattooed on that side of his body, apart from that one four-letter name.
I wondered who Dana was and the temptation to ask was near unbearable. But one look at my already bruised wrist reminded me that Mason didn’t care for questions.
He was a tough and brutal man. I knew that much already. Maybe if I were tougher and more brutal with him he would be nicer. Kind of like with schoolyard bullies. They say that, nine times out of ten, if you stand up to a bully, they will back off. I shook my head and giggled at the thought. Must be the alcohol, I told myself.
“What are you laughing at?” Mason asked.
I looked up at him in alarm, before standing up and moving back a little.
“Nothing,” I answered quickly.
"Don't lie to me." He took another drink. "Tell me what made you laugh."
I thought quickly of an excuse, because the truth would surely make him angry again.
"I was just thinking how boring tonight would have been at work."
He nodded.
“And that’s funny?”
“In comparison to how I am spending my night, it’s funny.”
He looked confused.
“Look, if I don’t laugh, I am going to break down and cry.”
“More than you already have?”
Silence descended for a moment before I answered.
“Yes, more than I already have.”
He nodded again.
“You’re scared of me.”
It was a statement, but I answered him anyway.
“Yes, I am scared of you.”
“You don’t need to be scared. If you’re good to me, I’ll be good to you.”
"Right," I nodded.
“Why don’t you ask me something?” he said, after a pause.
My brows knitted in confusion.
“Like what?”
“Ask me something. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
“Yes. Whatever you want, pet.”
I thought for a moment before answering.
“Where are we?”
"Safehouse. We'll stay here for the night and move out early in the morning to another location."
“Oh,” I replied. “Where?”
He narrowed his eyes, as if he was trying to read my mind.
“Why do you need to know that?”
I shrugged.
“Just curious, that’s all.”
He considered me carefully for another few moments.
"About an hour from Eden,” he replied eventually. “Further into the desert than anyone needs to go. To a place that’s safe. No one apart from a few people knows where it is."
“Okay.”
“And there is no chance of escape if that’s what you’re thinking.” He reached his good hand out. “So, when you’re ready, I’ll have my keys back.”
I bit my lip nervously.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
“Your back pocket. My keys. Hand them over.” He gulped down another mouthful of whiskey. “Right now, pet.”
Feeling deflated and embarrassed, I pulled the keys from my pocket and placed them on the coffee table in front of us.
"That wasn’t so hard, was it?" Mason asked.
There was no point saying no or trying to run away. As injured as he was, he was still more than capable of keeping me under his command. I picked the keys up again. Walking over to the lounger I dreaded what was going to come.
Would he grab me again and actually break my wrist?
He held out his hand. I hesitated for a moment before putting the keys flat in his palm. He didn't grab them or my hand, and I slowly retreated backward two steps.
"Thank you."
The words caught me by surprise. I wasn’t sure how to react to him thanking me.
“First door along the hallway is a bathroom. Go and have a shower. I’ll leave something for you to sleep in outside the door.”
“Thank you, Mason.”