Out of the bathroom, he grunts at me. “There's a shower in there with hot water. You can take one if you want.”
The idea sounds good. Everything aches. It must be all the stress of the last 12 hours.
In the shower, I inspect my body, looking for signs of damage. I don't find anything wrong, and my head feels better. I have a Band-Aid on my neck.
The memory of how he tended to me comes back. I would never have guessed such a big man capable of such force could be so gentle. He’d washed me, cleaning my cut, making sure I was bandaged. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so taken care of. His hands are rough and large, but he’d touched the skin of my neck as if he were worshiping it.
I’ve felt alone my whole life, always bouncing around with my mom, never with a stable home, never an involved dad. I’ve changed schools so many times that close friends have never been an option. I’ve learned to keep everyone at arm’s length.
Until he handcuffed me to him. There'd been no distance between us this morning. I’ve never slept in the same bed with a man before. Somehow I know it wouldn’t feel as good with anyone else.
I rinse the shampoo out of my hair. He doesn't have conditioner, so my hair's going to get wild and full. I shouldn't care what I look like. The whole goal is to repel him. That's why I told him I'm a virgin. He shouldn't want anything to do with me, and I shouldn't want anything to do with him.
Reluctantly, I change back into the same clothes. My panties remind me of my secret shame, the way my body responds to this man, and my waitressing uniform reminds me the scariest night of my life, but I have nothing else. I brush my hair as best I can with the simple black comb I find in his medicine cabinet. I clean my teeth with the brush and toothpaste I know are his. It seems far too intimate, as if we’re lovers instead of captor and captive.
Hesitant, I step barefoot back into the main room of the cabin, the only room of the cabin. It's warm and cozy. He's built a fire in the wood-burning stove and it’s heated the place up. My stomach grumbles as I smell him frying sausages and potato wedges.
He sets a heaping plate down at a small table with two chairs. I consider refusing, but my stomach grumbles again. Who am I kidding? I need food. The first bite may be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
He eats, too, but seems to pay more attention to me than to his food. He seems to enjoy the fact that I'm eating. But I'm not going to give him any complements. The man has taken me against my will and kept me tied up so I wouldn't run. Although my hands are free now, I realize. He hasn't tried to tie me up again.
“So, how long are you going to keep me here?” I push my empty plate away.
He sits back in his seat, his arms crossed against his massive chest. “Do you understand what I explained to you this morning?”
“Not really.” I rub my head. It's a lot to process.
“There are people looking for you. They want to kidnap and torture you.”
“Torture?”
He just keeps looking at me with a level gaze, like these are the kinds of things people talk about every day. “It sounds like your father owes someone some money. My guess is they were collecting you as collateral, figuring he'd pay up to get you back.”
I shake my head. “I barely even see my father,” I whisper. If they’d kidnapped and tortured me, what would my father have done? Would he have come up with the money for my release? He hadn't exactly come through for me much in my life.
And then I think of something else. Knox told me he'd stopped the attack, but why had he seen it? Had he just happened to be walking down a dark alleyway at 11 o'clock at night? “Why were you there last night?”
“I’m one of the bad guys. I work with them.” He stands, takes our plates and brings them over to the sink
I stay seated, cold, heavy dread anchoring me to the spot. Knox was no good Samaritan. He worked for the mob. He’d only taken me himself so he could do what he wanted.
And I’d felt myself softening to him. The way his body felt against mine, so hot, hard, and right. He'd fit against me like a puzzle piece and my traitorous body had attached to a criminal.
“I’m going to go chop some wood. Don’t try to run away.” He heads outside and I’m left still sitting at the table in shock. I have to get away from this man, this cabin, but how? Car keys. If I can find the keys to the SUV parked outside I can drive away. He’s faster than me, but if I pick the right moment I can make it there before him, start the ignition and slam on the gas pedal before he even knows what I’m up to.
Thirty minutes of searching the one-room cabin and basically all I’ve found are food, clothes, flashlights, a few books and a pack of playing cards. Of course he wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the car keys laying around for me to find them. He probably has them in the pocket of his jeans. Where I’d have to dig to find them, right next to…
OK, I need to think, and not about that. What’s going on back home? Are people looking for me? My mom and I only talk about once a week, so she won’t be worried. She doesn’t even live in Chicago anymore. She moved us there when I was 17, but left the week I turned 18, moving back to Arizona. I still had to finish high school, so I’d stayed behind and did it on my own. I wanted that diploma, and I’d gotten it. Plus I was done being yanked around by my mom, her “grass is always greener” approach to life having moved us around too often to count.
There’s a good chance my roommates won’t notice my absence for a while. We all come and go at odd hours, no real routines, and they’re used to me keeping to myself. It might take a few days for them to realize no one’s seen me. Even then, what will they do?
They’ll probably call the restaurant where I work. None of them have my mom’s phone number. Neither does my employer. My boss will notice my absence for my shift tonight, starting in a couple hours, but what will he do about it? He’ll call my cell phone sitting in my jacket pocket with absolutely no service. I fish it out and turn it off, preserving what little juice it still has in it. If—no when—I escape, at least it’ll have some battery life left.
But where will I go? How much danger am I in? I believe Knox; that attack seemed planned and there’s no reason any mobster would be out for me other than my dad. Could I cross over into Canada without a passport? Would I have to change my identity?
My head hurts and every minute I spend trapped in this cabin my anxiety only rises. I decide to take a look around outside. Slipping into my shoes, little flats made for walking four blocks along a city street, I wrap a blanket around me. I have the jacket I wore after my shift, but it’s no good for keeping warm in the wilderness.
I venture out. It’s a sunny, clear afternoon, the sky blue and clear above the tree tops. But it’s cold and stark, the leaves mostly off the trees. And there are nothing but trees everywhere I look. I’ve lived in a few cities in Texas and Arizona, plus Chicago, of course. I’ve never been anywhere so remote.
The sound of wood getting chopped and split draws me around the side of the house. Knox is standing there with an axe, a chopping block and a pile of wood, looking like a poster for all that is Man. He’s in a T-shirt while I stand there shivering under a blanket. Sweat plasters it to his incredible muscles. He’s all hard everywhere I’m soft. I’ve never been much of an athlete, never on any teams. Cooking and baking are my sports, and they tend to bring out my curves. He’s the exact opposite.
He looks up, wiping the sweat from his brow across his powerful forearm.
“Where are we?” I find the courage to ask. I’ve never been more aware of his ability to overpower me.
“Wisconsin, near the Canadian border.” We both look around into the vast wilderness. I don’t see anything even resembling a path. “We’re the only cabin for ten miles in any direction. There are wolves, pumas and black bears out there.”
We lock eyes and I swallow. I feel it now, what he’s been telling me. There’s no escape.
I turn away, not knowing which is worse, the monsters he tells me are
outside the cabin, or the monster I’m trapped with inside. I don’t want to believe what he’s telling me about my predicament, but here I am stuck in it. Those men were definitely going to hurt me.
Knox could have by now. If he intended violence, he’d had his chance. He hasn’t hurt me at all.
He’d felt so good in bed this morning. I want to turn around and watch him chop wood. I want to see his muscles strain as he raises the axe and brings it down. I want to look at the sweat glistening on his arms and neck.
His scent, that’s a big part of the problem. Sharing a bed with him, I’d responded on instinct, breathing him in all night. He smells so good, musky and clean, and now he’d smell like work and the outdoors.
Damn it. By the time I’m back in the cabin I’m wet all over again, my pussy clenching at the memory of how good it had felt in his arms, his massive cock pressed up into my ass.
I’m not going to run. I have nowhere to go. But I need to get my head screwed on straight. Running like a chicken with its head cut off from one set of bad guys into another isn’t a good idea.
I need to figure out a plan. And stop lusting after my captor.
6. Knox
There’s plenty to do to get us all set up. There’s wood to chop, traps to fix and my fishing equipment needs a good wipe-down and prep. Good thing I can do it all with my eyes closed because my brain is on a constant loop.