Chapter Ten
Marlee paced the floor of Ratchet’s room, every step bringing her nerves closer to the edge. She was confined. Just like she’d always been. Stuck. The damn door wasn’t locked, but she wasn’t able to leave.
All the same.
She woke to the sun streaming in through his blinds. They’d been slitted halfway to let the light in, but keep the eyes out, and it was a nice change from waking in the dank dark basement. That little bit of access to the outside world had anchored her. Convinced her she was okay here in his room, by herself.
But now the sun had set and the light was gone.
Darkness was encroaching, reminding her of days on end in the basement without light. When her captor used her fear to persuade her.
All it did was cripple her.
The same as it was doing now.
And she couldn’t turn the lamp on because it would draw suspicion to Ratchet’s room. Which was supposed to be empty.
When Leah brought her lunch, she’d reminded her to keep quiet. Watch TV on low. Mind her steps because the offices were just below her on the main level of the warehouse.
But she’d needed to move when the sun sank so low she could barely discern the shadows. So she kept to the thick rug that covered the floor, hoping her footsteps were quiet enough.
The more minutes that ticked by, the darker the room became. Like every breath was dragging the sun further below the horizon. And those breaths were coming faster as her panic grew. She tried to slow them, but it only made it worse. Tears built in her lids as she chanted, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t forget, don’t forget…”
You are Marlee Benson. You are twenty-eight years old. You were last free on your eighteenth—
The thump of heavy boots approached, stopping right outside the door, and Marlee slammed her mouth shut.
Seconds ticked off and her tears spilled over her lids, her heart thundering with adrenaline.
Fight or flight. Run. Scream.
The handle rattled, twisting slowly… and then the door eased open, streaming light in. The sudden change blinded her and instinctually, she cowered backward, hoping like hell this wasn’t Felix. Or the ones she’d met in the lounge. Or Leah with more warnings about staying quiet and in the dark. Or anyone except Ratchet who could turn on the lights and make sure no one found her.
The door clicked shut and the boots came closer. But her eyes hadn’t adjusted, and the unknown had her fear soaring to nuclear levels. She pressed her lips together to hold in a whimper that was guaranteed to transform into a scream if she let it free.
The boots stopped in front of her and she blinked over and over, trying to make her eyes work.
“Marlee?”
The voice was Ratchet’s. And the relief of hearing it was so crushing she moved without thinking.
She flung herself forward and he let out a soft oof as she connected with his chest. Her arms went around his waist in the blackness of the room. He smelled faintly of ash. More campfire than cigarettes. And the spicy scent of the shampoo she’d used. She pressed her face into his chest so she could cry without worrying who heard her.
And she let it all out.
What are you doing? Too close. Too close.
Her mind screamed at her to stop. To move away. But her body couldn’t listen. In that single confusing moment, captor or not, he felt too… safe.
The sounds of her fear were muffled by his shirt as his big arms eased to circle around her. He moved so carefully. Like he was afraid of breaking her. Ratchet didn’t know how to hug, but she didn’t care. Because he felt good. Solid. A brick wall. An oak.
Steady.
One palm smoothed up her spine to gently grip her neck. She’d been grabbed by the neck before. Usually rough, reminding her she was owned by a bastard. But Ratchet’s hand on her neck didn’t scare her. There was no threat to it. It only said, I’m here, I’ve got you.
“What is it, lamb?” he ground out. “Tell me.”
“It got dark,” she whispered. She wasn’t supposed to break down so easily. She’d been strong for so many years. Held her tears in when the others lost it, because she’d been there the longest and knew they were pointless. Now here, with nobody around to see but him, she couldn’t do it anymore.
“Shit, woman. Don’t cry,” he croaked, regret coloring his voice dark.
As if she could make it stop. As if she had a choice. She never had a choice.
“You can’t tell me that!” she cried into his thick chest. “It doesn’t help.”
“I wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. We got hung up at one of the stops and then I wanted to get food to bring you. But Skittles got a call and we came on home. I’m… shit… I’m sorry.”
The word sounded odd on his lips. Like he didn’t ever say it. He didn’t seem like the type of man who apologized for anything. But he was doing it for her.
She nodded against his chest, pushing back the terror. Gulping air to stem the tears. The deep breaths helped.
Lights. Turn on the lights.
She couldn’t say it. All she could do was beg silently.
“Won’t happen again,” he promised. “Shhh.”
His thumb pressed into the side of her neck, smoothing up to the pressure point behind her ear while his other arm tightened a fraction to pull her in even closer.
“I know something,” he said roughly. “It might help. You wanna hear it?”
She didn’t answer, but he went ahead anyway.
“When I was a little cub and very afraid, I learned how to beat any fear. Back then, I was afraid of tight spaces. My father found out and he taught me a lesson.”
His voice had gone harsh even though his hands on her were still gentle. She held on tighter.
“He said the only way to conquer a fear is to fear something bigger. He made sure I feared him more than anything else.”
A chill rolled from her head to her toes. So Ratchet had a lousy father too. Was it a Memphis thing?
“That wasn’t the way. But it taught me how. There’s really only one way. And that’s to face those fuckers and do battle with ‘em.”
She’d done a lot of facing the darkness. It hadn’t helped. Ratchet was wrong.
“You have to make your courage greater than your fear. Until your fear feels little and you feel only… brave.”
Her tears slowed, even though it was still dark. Ratchet’s story had distracted her.
“I had to do it alone,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to. Face it here, with me. Open your eyes, lamb.”
How did he know her eyes were shut?
“Can we just turn on the light?” she begged.
“Yes.” His hot breath hit her ear. “We can. But you won’t feel any stronger. Open your eyes.”
She didn’t want to do it, but he was right. If he turned the lights on now, she’d feel like a failure. This little breakdown will have meant nothing.
His hand moved to her chin, tilting her face up. With a shuddering breath, she forced her lids open. She saw nothing but shadows. Exactly as she expected. And again, that familiar panic climbed her spine.
But Ratchet’s growling voice anchored her. Kept her from spinning into an anxiety tornado.
“Your name is Marlee Fucking Benson. You are twenty-eight years old. You had a dog named Jem,” he began. “You were last free on… it doesn’t matter. You’ll be free again.”
She let out a sob of a different kind. She had to believe it or she had nothing to live for. If the darkness was all she had, then she had nothing.
“Someone has found you,” he rasped. “And he cares. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Don’t forget.”
Her eyes stayed open. And maybe it didn’t count because she didn’t feel brave at all. She felt like this man was holding her up, making her strong when she didn’t want to be.
But it didn’t matter.
Because she stood. She stood in the dark. And her tears dried up. Her fear faded. It wasn’t gone, it was just less. She’d battled it back, like he said she could.
Eventually, Ratchet pulled away, and she heard his boots thumping on the floor. It wasn’t so easy keeping her eyes open with him not right there, but she was determined to do it.
Moments later, she heard the click of the lamp and the glow of the light blinded her. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust.
Ratchet was there when she could see again. He stood so close. Practically pressing into her. He reached forward as if to touch her face.
Too close, too close.
Marlee jerked away from his touch. Mostly out of habit. But in the light, being this close was difficult.
He let his hand fall and looked away to the door.
“Did you eat the breakfast I left you?”
She nodded. He’d left muffins and milk on the night stand. Something homemade. Probably his mom’s because they were good, like the cake.
“And my mother brought you lunch?”
“Yes. She said I needed to turn off the TV if it got dark. So I did.”
He eyed her silently.
“I have a surprise for you.”
Marlee frowned, her stomach somersaulting. And not in a good way.
Her captor always had surprises for her and the other dolls. They were never good ones.
Surprise, no food tonight. Surprise, I’m turning the heat off. Surprise, I heard from your father… or rather about your father. He’s dead. And you’ll be mine forever, doll.
She hated surprises.
“A surprise?” Her mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.
Would Ratchet really turn this victory into something twisted? Was he like that? Her captor had been.
Ratchet nodded. “I need to wash work off first, and hunt us down some food. Then I’ll show you. Okay? Give me an hour.”
“Okay.”
“I think you’ll like it,” he said, unsure.
And then he said things like that. Like he cared whether or not she liked what he was doing.
His lips pressed into a tight line and then he nodded, as if he was giving himself some internal pep talk.
She swallowed hard, trying to remember that Ratchet hadn’t hurt her. Not at all. In fact, he’d only taken care of her. And had kept his promise not to touch her. Until she’d flung herself at him.
He pushed around her, strolling to the closet. She watched as he gripped the bottom of his shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head, tossing it on the floor. He missed the laundry basket by an inch, and she had the fleeting thought that he was like any normal man.
Or maybe not. Because his body wasn’t simply normal.
His strong muscles rippled as he moved, capturing her attention. She’d never seen a man so perfectly built. Like he was sculpted from some artist’s clay with care. Every ridge, perfected. Every dimple carefully put in place.
But then she got a good look at his powerful back and gasped at what she saw there.
In his skin, was a roughly shaped S that stretched across his shoulder blades, slanted to his ribs, and curved around to end as waist. Small cuts of healed scar tissue formed the letter, thought she couldn’t guess what it meant.
Ratchet twisted, finding her horrified gaze, and frowned.
“What happened to you?” she whispered.
He looked away, pulling a fresh shirt from the dresser before he answered. “The scars, do they bother you?”
Again, worried about what she thought?
She could tell him yes. Maybe it would help him keep his distance.
But he seemed to be hanging on to her answer like it was keeping him from falling over some edge. And she’d never liked liars, so she wasn’t going to be one now.
She shook her head, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. “Do they bother you?”
He shrugged. “I used to be proud of them. They made me strong. Hard. But now…”
“Now what?”
He stared hard at her, his gaze going raw and stealing her breath for several beats.
“Now I wish I wasn’t so hard.”
Marlee nodded. She understood what he meant. She knew how it felt to wish you hadn’t gone through hell. To wish you could have stayed the person you were before life broke you into pieces, and then shoved you roughly back together, making you something completely different. Something jagged and frayed. Something hard to handle, hard to love.
It made you hopeless.
But at least she wasn’t alone.
Ratchet had gone through a hell of his own. And somehow, it helped knowing she wasn’t the only broken one in the room.