He's actually going to let me wear something other than his shirt? I'm shocked, but I don't say anything. I don't want him to change his mind for whatever reason.
Staring at the mountain of material in front of me, I feel overwhelmed. Is that a…cocktail dress? Everything I see so far still has the price tag attached. From the quality of the material, I don’t have to see the tag to know it’s a higher amount than I’ve ever paid for any piece of clothing. I'm not a flashy person. Not at all. Give me jeans, t-shirts, and cotton panties and I'm a happy camper. I don’t even know if any of these will fit me.
And don't get me started on the rows and rows of shoes. Several of which have red soles.Red soles.I've never bought any, but I know of them. What woman doesn't? But why would I even need those out here if he says he’s never letting me go?Unless he wants to dress me like a doll.
Since I want the comfort of actual clothes on me instead of just underwear and a shirt, I pick something blindly and head for the bathroom.
"Where are you going?"
I stay facing the bathroom door. "To change into…this." Whateverthisis. Oh—it’s a sundress. Not my favorite, but better than what I have on now.
"No, do it here."
I bite back my frustration.Don’t rock the boat, Mercy.Fine.If he’s going to watch me undress, I don’t want to see his face when I do.
Keeping my sleep shirt on, I step into the dress and slide it up underneath. No peep show for the bad man. Pulling my arms inside the sleeves like a turtle hiding his head, I look like a little kid now that my arms are swallowed up by my shirt. But that's okay. Not a single inch more of me is on display than was before, and with a little fabric fighting, I manage to get my arms through the arm openings.
Still facing away, I pull off his shirt and let it fall to the floor.There.But now there's a cool draft on my back. What? God, I must have grabbed a dress with a zipper.Mercy, you have the best worst luck ever.
Twisting my arms behind me, I get it zipped up as far as I can. Which isn't as far as it needs it to be for me to finish fastening it from over my shoulders.
It's stuck. God, I hate zippers. I amnotasking him for help. He'll just turn it into another opportunity to get his hands on me and start something that I don't have the emotional strength to go throughright now.
He hasn't said anything, but I can just picture him back there holding in his laughter while he waits for me to give in and ask. No. I won't give him the satisfaction of turning around to see.
Gritting my teeth, I bite the bullet and do the dance every woman learns growing up—the Zipper Shimmy. A hop and dance in a little circle while trying to zip things up. Very undignified, but when I feel the catch release, I could almost cry tears of joy. Fully zipped now, I compose my face and calmly turn around.
Amos isn't here. He…left me by myself? Ohmigod. I should make a run for it, but is this a trick? I'm not a fast runner. I don't know how far I could get before he realizes I'm gone.
"Do you want sandals or cowgirl boots?" he calls from the closet. Stepping out fully dressed, he holds a pair of each in his hands. "Either of these will look nice with your dress. I like the boots, though."
There goes my chance. What little it was, anyway. I couldn't have gotten far with him still here in the room with me.
Still holding the shoes, he looks at me—really looks at me—and his face softens. "Your beauty, Mercy... It takes my breath away. You're so gorgeous, kitten, and so very much mine."
"Sandals, please." I can't respond to that. Are there any etiquette guidelines for what to say to your captor when he compliments you and then claims you in the same breath?
His lips tighten when I only answer his question and ignore the rest. "Come on. I want to show you the house."
He slips some shoes on, too, and takes my hand—why is he so touchy-feely withme?—to lead me from the room. It's different looking at my prison when I'm not under the influence of drugs or being dragged to and from the kitchen.
I'll admit it's beautiful. Extremely so, and built out in a modern farmhouse style with a family room, reading room, ginormous kitchen, five full bathrooms, four upstairs bedrooms and a game room that he says are for our nonexistent children, and the master bedroom downstairs.
But beyond the beauty of the architecture and style, it's the high-tech locks on every potential exit that jump out at me and cause my heart to sink in disappointment. It truly looks as if there is no way out. Even if I had managed to run just now, I wouldn't have been able to open a door or window.
I may as well make the best of it. As I told myself before, things could always be worse. I could have been kidnapped by a serial killer or a sadist.
He definitely put a lot of thought into this house, security aside. It's like he picked all of my personal tastes and preferences out of my brain and assembled it just for me. Which he did, in a way. He just so happened to guess right.
I think. God, I hope he just guessed and didn't stalk me on the internet or something. At this point, I don't even want to know.
Chapter eleven
Amos
"Wouldyouliketogo outside, Mercy?" It's not good for her to be cooped up inside all day, even if all I want to do is keep her by my side.
A curious look comes over her face before she tucks it away. "Yes, please."
