“Where’s Dominic?” I ask bravely, barely daring to breathe.
“Shhh now, darlin’.” His sour breath heats the back of my neck, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a sob claws its way up my chest.
Outside, the sun hides behind a cloud. The room darkens further, and shadows elongate and thicken.
“You smell like a summer’s day.” He breathes me in, his sweaty hand engulfing my waist, squeezing tight as he pulls me back against his oil-stained overalls.
His cock digs into my lower back, so I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, hoping, wishing, and praying for this moment to end.
“Please let me go,” I plead, but it falls on deaf ears.
He slips his hand between my legs and drawls, “No more talking, darlin’.”
A sob tears from my lips, and I fist my hands so hard that my nails elicit a sharp bite of pain. I relish it, preferring the sting to his wandering, filthy fingers that move my shorts aside.
He huffs a breath when he finds me dry. His hand disappears, but the relief is short-lived. My heart rate spikes as he spits on his fingers and dips them beneath the fabric.
“Please don’t?—”
Stiffening, he breathes in my ear.
Time stands still. Seconds extend into eternity. Dread hammers in my chest.
He shifts his grip on the shotgun, spitting the toothpick to the floor, his prickly beard rubbing against the side of my neck. “You want to see your friend again, darlin’?”
Hope flares in my chest, dancing the tango with icy fear.
“He’s still alive and will remain alive as long as you are a good girl for me.”
“Okay,” I whisper, forcing myself to unfurl my fingers.
“Hands on the wall where I can see them.”
Steadying my nerves, I press my palms to the peeling wallpaper and swallow down the terror that’s constricting my throat. I can’t save Dominic if I’m scared. I’m no good to anyone if I’m trembling like a leaf in the wind.
I need to get myself together.
For both our sakes.
“Where is he?”
His finger trails the length of my slit, and he exhales against the shell of my ear. “No talking, darlin’, while I play with this pussy.”
Gritting my jaw, I bite back a retort.
Anger is good.
Anger is better than fear.
He inches his finger inside, chuckling when my body stiffens at the intrusion. “I wonder if I can make you come harder than the boy?”
“You wish,” I spit before I can stop myself.
This time, when he stiffens, I fear the worst. He’ll kill me. Put a bullet between my eyebrows. No one will ever find me again.
He does neither.
“You’re tight, aren’t you, darlin’?”
