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aftermath. The chaos. The gore. The blood. The death.
He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Of course, you’re tired. Look at all you’ve done.”
* * *
I wakeup from one nightmare only to be thrust back into another.
Smoke is standing in the doorway. His hair is wet from a recent shower and combed back. He’s not wearing a shirt just his leather biker cut and jeans. His feet are bare.
“Get dressed. Something in there should fit you,” Smoke says, pointing to the large black storage container at the foot of the bed. “There’s food in the kitchen. Come out when you’re done. The windows are all bolted shut and the back door is bolted and only I have the key so don’t waste your fucking time. If you aren’t out in five minutes, I’m gonna come back and dress you myself.”
All the gentleness from the night before is gone.
My stomach growls with emptiness and twists with disappointment.
Smoke disappears from the doorway. There’s an open first aid kit on the side table. I raise my arm which is less sore than it was the day before. Band-Aids and butterfly stitches over my various cuts. Orange circular stains peek out from underneath the dressings and I spot an open bottle of iodine in the kit.
I slide to the edge of the bed and wince from the pain and soreness although today it’s bearable.
I dig through the large plastic container which is filled with women’s clothes and shoes of various sizes. Some items still have the sales tags attached. I find a simple and soft pair of light colored jeans and a white fitted tank top. For shoes, I find a pair of Converse that’s a half size too big but will work. At the bottom is a zip lock bag with various combs and brushes. I brush out my hair and dig through for a hair tie, pulling my hair on the top of my head in a messy bun. I also find something else that interests me in another small bag tucked into the side of the bin. Not knowing if I’ll need it, I tuck it away under the mattress in case I don’t have access to the bin again.
I go into the bathroom, and what I see reflected in the mirror doesn’t surprise me. My bruises and scrapes still ache but the swelling has gone down and they aren’t so purple or angry anymore. I find a new toothbrush in a small travel kit in the bathroom and help myself to it. I savor the feeling of brushing my teeth until my gums bleed.
Remembering that I’m on a time crunch I make my way through a small hallway where there’s one other door partially open. I peek in hoping to find a computer but I’m not that lucky and Smoke’s not that dumb. It’s another small bedroom, or at least I think it is, it’s so filled with black storage containers with yellow lids from top to bottom it’s hard to tell.
What the hell is in them? More clothes? For who? Why?
The main living area is almost as small as the bedroom. The entire house can’t be more than six hundred square feet total. A single loveseat sits against the wall with a brick fireplace lining the wall. It doesn’t look like it’s ever been used but then again, it’s a fireplace in South Florida, why would it ever be used? A little square two-person table is tucked into the corner of the open galley style kitchen. Everything out here is just like it is in the bathroom. Clean, but old. The sofa is a faded brown color and has a tear on the top of one of the cushions, exposing the stuffing. The dining room table has duct tape around one of the legs. The chairs are mismatched as well as the cushions tied to the seats.
On the table, there’s a glass casserole dish steaming with something that looks like biscuits floating on the top. It smells like salt and gravy. My eyes roll back in my head.
My mouth waters, and my stomach growls.
“Eat,” Smoke says, pointing to one of the chairs.
I don’t like taking orders, especially from him, but this is one order I can’t turn down. I don’t care if it’s fucking poison. I’ll go out with a full stomach, and right now a full stomach is all I can think about.
How long has it been since I’ve eaten?
I try to remember, but as Smoke ladles out a heaping scoop of biscuits with sausage and white gravy onto a plate in front of me I realize it’s been at least a day. Maybe two. Smoke drops a spoon next to my plate. “You’re not getting a fucking fork.”
I inwardly smirk. Oddly enough his comment makes me proud. I straighten a little more.
Smoke isn’t underestimating me or what I’m capable of. He knows I’ll use anything to my advantage, and he’s right. Him knowing this will make escaping harder, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
After breakfast.
Smoke nods to me, and I waste no more time shoveling the food into my mouth. The biscuits are hot and fluffy and the sausage gravy is salty and savory. My tongue rejoices, and when I discover the bottom of the pan is coated in sliced potatoes I practically jump out of my chair with joy.
Smoke’s standing in the kitchen watching me with those dark dangerous eyes.
The hair on my arms stand on end. Dr. Ida’s rules run through my head.
Escape. Befriend. Seduce.
“Did you make this?” I ask, with my mouth ful.
“No,” Smoke answers gruffly.
“Then, who made it?” I’m chewing and swallowing at record speed. “It’s really good.”
“Someone.”
How articulate.I’m reaching for more food from the dish when I feel his eyes on me. I look up.
“Listen, when you…” he starts, but he quickly shuts his mouth and pulls out his phone, tapping something out.
“What?” I ask, curiously.
“Never mind,” he mutters, shutting me down.
Friendship, even a fake one meant to secure survival, is going to be impossible with someone who won’t talk to me, but I’ll keep trying. Stopping means I’ve given up and I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not going to give up. I have more than myself to think about, and I’ll use the thought of them to keep me going.
I down the entire glass of water sitting next to my plate and put down my spoon when my stomach feels like it’s about to burst.
“Thank you for this,” I say, raising my bandaged arm and giving him a small, fake smile. It’s all I can muster. Thanking the man who kidnapped me doesn’t exactly come easy or naturally.
Smoke nods but doesn’t speak.
“Can I ask you why?”
“Why what?” he crosses the kitchen to stand over me at the table.
From this position, his size is even more intimidating. I almost lose my nerve, but swallow hard and find the courage to continue from deep within.
I crane my neck to meet his eyes. “Why did you take care of my cuts and bruises? Why are you feeding me or bothering if I’m to be tortured and killed in seven days anyway?”
“Six,” Smoke corrects.
My stomach sinks. My eyes fall to my empty plate. My chin to my chest. “Six,” I whisper to myself.
“Tell me where your old man is, and it won’t come to that.”
“I can’t do that,” I say.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
Smoke lifts me by the elbow and takes me back into the room where he cuffs me to the bed again. I don’t think he’s going to answer my question of why he’s doing all this when he turns to leave, but as he disappears down the hallway I swear I hear him say just loud enough for me to hear, “Because, you’ll need your strength, hellion.”
Chapter Nineteen
Crickets chirp.Frogs croak. A wolf howls in the distance. The old warden’s house creaks and groans with every shift of the breeze like a crotchety old man complaining about the weather.
