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Maybe he stole something. A loaf of bread to feed his family.
I have to stop myself from chuckling humorlessly. This isn’t Les Misérables.
More likely he got involved with a bad crowd, maybe drug dealing. Some sort of nonviolent offense. Maybe he felt he had no choice but to do something like that. Just like he feels like he has no choice but to work here.
I tug on my lower lip with my teeth. “What were you in for?”
“An armed robbery gone wrong,” he says matter-of-factly. “I drove a getaway car.”
That’s…not terrible. At least he wasn’t the one doing the robbing.
“How long were you locked up?”
“Only two years. I got lucky. My public defender got me a great deal.”
“And how old are you now?”
He doesn’t respond at first.
“I’m nineteen,” I offer.
“Twenty-five,” he says then. “And now, no more talking.”
CHAPTER NINE
I close my eyes, brace myself.
When I hear the door click softly closed, I open them. No training? All he did was check between my legs and then leave?
I scramble back into my underwear and grab the People magazine. I know it by heart by now, but at least it’ll give me something to do.
A few hours later, he brings my next meal. He doesn’t speak to me, but on the tray is a small bottle of hand sanitizer, some wet wipes, a toothbrush, and a small tube of toothpaste. I haven’t had a shower in days, and I’m sure my hair must look disgusting and greasy. There isn’t a mirror in here, so I’m not entirely sure. At least I have a toilet that flushes. I don’t have to do my business and then be forced to look at it and smell it.
“Clean yourself up,” he says before leaving.
With hand sanitizer and wet wipes? I eat my meal—two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a bag of tortilla chips—and gasp when I find a tiny piece of chocolate under the chips. A chocolate truffle. The first time he’s brought anything like that. I pick it up, take a bite, let the creaminess slide over my tongue.
It’s like a cocoa oasis in my sea of captivity.
Once I’m done, I brush my teeth, and boy, does that feel good. I rinse my mouth with some of my bottled water and spit it into the toilet. Then, with the wipes, I clean my whole body and top it off with hand sanitizer.
It’s nice to feel clean. But at the same time, I can’t help feeling dirty in this dingy cell.
If I’m to be presented to some lustful wealthy man to be violated in every sick way imaginable, then he probably wants me clean.
Is that why I was brought these wipes? Am I preparing myself for my first…client?
More like owner.
But he said he had to break me first. And he failed to do that, at least as far as he knows. He doesn’t know about Big Tammy, does he?
I don’t know what he has planned for me, but I’ve cleaned myself as well as I can with what he’s offered.
Then I wait.
I sit on the bed, my heart pounding. I can’t even read the magazine. I’m too on edge.
Because he’s coming.
