Page 14 of Defending Van

“Maybe later,” he said distractedly, keeping his eyes on the screen before him.

“Got to live more in the real world, my friend,” Hank said as he shoved himself into Makayla’s mouth.

Actually, if there was one thing that Van would love, it was to live in a different world than the one in which he existed. A world that didn't abuse innocent children, that didn't snatch women off the street, torture them, and then sell them to men who would do even worse to them. A world where he wouldn't be curling his fingers into fists because he fought an internal battle that he’d never experienced before.

Life had taught him to be selfish, to set his own goals and do whatever it took to achieve them, shutting out everything else. But Makayla didn't deserve to be here, and that bothered him. More than he thought he was capable of feeling, and that was a problem.

Chapter

Six

August 27th

5:28 A.M.

“Wake up.”

The words slightly penetrated the exhaustion-fueled slumber that had claimed her a couple of hours ago.

Makayla lifted her head groggily, caught in that moment between sleep and awake, unsure of where she was or what was happening around her. It took a moment to filter back in, but the tightness around her wrists and ankles, which had caused numbness in her hands and feet, reminded her that she was still in the chair, being punished for refusing to get down on her knees just for some food.

Although her stomach thought it was a terrible idea as gnawing hunger pains roused her further from slumber, she knew she’d made the right choice. If they wanted to sell her, they needed her alive, so chances were they would cave before she died, and besides, she’d seen the code for the door to the room where she and the other women were kept.

All she needed was to be put back in there, and she was getting the hell out of this place.

“Hurry up, I don’t have all day, and I've already wasted more time on this nonsense than I should have.”

The irritated voice belonged to black eyes. She’d learned his name was Van during the hours she’d been bound to this chair, but she still thought of him as black eyes. Makayla had learned the names of the other men as well. There were William, Adrian, Hank, Henry, Deacon, Marvin, and Josh. Knowing their names meant she had actionable intel to take to the cops, because she was going to make sure every one of these men paid for their crimes by spending the rest of their lives in prison cells.

See how they liked being locked up.

“Would you⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm awake, okay? I'm awake. Excuse me for not bursting with energy when I haven’t eaten since lunch two—no, I think it’s three now—days ago,” she muttered as she lifted her head and pried open her eyes to find Van standing before her.

There was annoyance in his dark eyes, sure, but other things were there, too. Because the men had taken their time coming in to this room that appeared to be some sort of hang out space for them, to stick their disgusting penises into her mouth, obviously thinking that leaving her sitting here not knowing when they were coming would make her more upset, she’d had plenty of time to study this man.

It hadn't taken her long to figure out why he left her feeling off. She was afraid of him, there was no doubt about that, but she also saw through the empty veneer he showed to the world. It was one she’d seen countless times before among the children in her care, and she had to wonder if he’d also grown up in the foster system. There were so many angry kids in the system, and some of them just … gave up. They embraced the darkness that circled around them and invited it inside.

But despite her instincts that told her to save him, find a way to convince him that just because he’d been surrounded by darkness didn't mean he needed to spend his whole life that way, she wouldn't waste her breath. Van wasn't one of her kids, he wasn't a kid at all. He was a fully grown adult, who had made bad choices about how to live his life, and he wasn't her responsibility.

“I see that lesson didn't teach you anything about controlling that mouth of yours,” Van grumbled as he crouched before her and began to unbuckle the leather straps binding her ankles. Because they were leather and not plastic or metal, they hadn't caused much damage to her skin, but they had still done an effective job at cutting off the blood supply to her feet.

“Told you it wasn't going to,” she reminded him. Thankfully, he’d removed the mouthguard hours ago. At the time she’d expected that he’d return her to the room, but he seemed content to leave her right where she was. Maybe it was supposed to make her think that he was going to do more to her, and the thought had, of course, occurred to her, but instead she’d just tried to rest, preserving what strength she had left in preparation for making her escape attempt once she was free.

“You're going to make my life harder, aren't you?” he muttered as he shifted to her other leg.

With his face so close to her spread legs, Makayla was sure he would have taunted her, made sexual innuendos, possibly touched her, or at the least, made sure she knew nothing was stopping him from doing whatever he chose to her. Instead, he barely looked at her center.

“Is it my job to make it easier?” she asked. “I mean, you did kidnap me after all, and you're intending to sell me to some sick pervert.”

Not offering her an answer, instead, he shifted to start undoing the straps around her wrists. When he was done, instead of yanking her to her feet—feet she wasn't even sure could hold her up as the stinging pain of pins and needles assaulted her—he surprised her by picking up one of her hands and massaging it.

Aching jaw falling open in shock, she stared at him.

What was he doing?

Well, of course, she knew what he was doing. He was working circulation back into her deadened limbs, but why?