Page 37 of Outcast

Mom left when Dad’s recreational drug habit turned into a dangerous addiction that drained their savings, dried up his work, and brought unsavory characters to our home. Even though it would leave her destitute and penniless, she took herself and five-year-old me out of the dangerous situation. She had stayed with friends, rented shitty apartments, and tried to get work, but I’d been a millstone around her neck. Mom had never explained any of this to me, but our fortunes only changed when she remarried, but that guy eventually left her for someone younger and without a surly kid.

Henry glanced down at me. “It was a simple question, Hobson. Your mother married an extremely wealthy man.”

“And yours didn’t?”

After a pause, he inclined his head. “Touché.”

Maybe it was the chocolate, or the remnants of whatever the kidnappers’ drugged me with, but my eyes became heavy, and a yawn ripped from my lips. I blinked several times to try and stay awake, but I felt myself falling fast. I turned to Henry. “Let’s talk about sleeping arrangements.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t even suggest I take the floor or that rickety chair.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I snapped. My mind scrambled for ideas because that’s exactly what I’d thought of proposing.

His gaze lingered on the queen-sized mattress. “Good, because if you’re not amenable to either of those options for yourself, we’ll share the bed.”

“Fine.” I eyed the bitten part of the Snickers bar. Did they usually look this messy? “But we’re sleeping top to tail and back to back with no wandering past the halfway dividing line.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t dream of pouncing on you in the middle of the night. I intend to be the perfect gentleman.”

A flush bloomed down my entire front, and I jerked my head away and folded my arms across my chest. The image of a shirtless Henry and his treasure trail pouncing on me in the middle of the night brought a wave of heat crashing between my thighs. I squeezed my legs together and harrumphed. My mind was taking me to strange and dark places, and it was all because of the concussion and the kidnappers’ drugs.

Chapter 13

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when I awoke, sunlight still shone through the gaps of the boards covering the window. Henry’s booted feet lay two inches away from my face, and I shoved away his ankles, making him snort in his sleep. I propped myself on my elbows, letting my gaze linger on the fabric pulled taut against his muscular ass. A tiny growl of appreciation rumbled in my throat. At least he’d kept his promise and mostly remained on his side of the bed.

Later, one of the kidnappers let me out into the darkened hallway for a bathroom break, telling me to go to the door at the end. On my left was the handrail, which led to the top of the stairs. I made a mad dash for freedom, but two balaclava-clad men standing halfway up the stairs blocked my path and shoved me back up to the third-floor landing. Even though they mocked my pitiful attempt, I held my head high and strode to my destination. At least I’d tried.

The bathroom was a tiny, avocado-colored room with a threadbare, burgundy brocade carpet that hid the rotten floorboards. I tried not to look into the toilet bowl as I squatted over it to relieve myself, but I couldn’t help glimpsing decades of built-up grime around the walls. Dust covered the bathroom mirror, which I wiped off with the sleeve of my waterproof jacket.

A cerise-pink, straggly-haired mess stared back at me, looking like something out of a Stephen King novel. The blue insults TROLLOP, WHORE, and YANK still stood out like words on a whiteboard. I sighed and turned on the rusty taps with my fingertips. Brown water spluttered out.

I shook my head and left the water running until it turned yellow. I muttered, “What else should I have expected from this dump?”

Someone banged on the door. “Hurry up. This isn’t America’s Top Model!”

“Clearly.” I glowered at the filthy water swirling around a plughole clogged with limestone.

Eventually, the water turned a less poisonous shade, and I stuck my fingers under it and tried rubbing the crap off my face. The color, along with the epithets, remained fast.

This routine continued into the next day. Our captors had been kind enough to supply us with a bar of soap, a tube of toothpaste, and a washcloth, making getting clean in cold water a little more pleasant, even if it did mean brushing my teeth with my index finger.

Henry and I maintained a truce of sorts. We’d lie side by side on the bed, and the heat of his body caused my own to rise. He had revealed that most of the pranks had been instigated by Edward and Charlotte, with Patricia and Blake providing assistance. Whenever I’d ask why he did nothing to stop them, he’d draw away, clam up or change the subject.

About a week into our captivity, it was Henry’s turn to bathe, and he’d been gone for nearly three hours. The photographer was late arriving with breakfast, and my heart flipped summersaults. I paced the room and clutched my stomach to still the nausea churning inside.

Something had happened. Perhaps his parents had paid the ransom, and the kidnappers had let him go. My mind whirled. Had he escaped and left me behind? Or… or his parents refused to pay, and our captors had decided to kill us.

My breaths became shallow. Anything could have happened. I knocked on the door for attention. “Hey!”

Nobody came.

I banged on the door with both fists, pounding to match the rhythm of my heart. “Somebody, help!”

Still, nobody came. Not even to tell me to shut the fuck up.

My eyes shuttered closed, and I rested my head on the wooden door, thumping my fist against it until my arm ached. Palpitations reverberated through my chest and my head swam. Something terrible had happened to Henry, and when they had discarded his body, they would come after me.

Even though I resented him for standing by the bullies, I couldn’t survive captivity without his company. When my knees buckled, I staggered back to the mattress and lowered my spinning head between my knees. I gulped as much air as I could fit in my lungs and gave myself a mental slap. Panicking wouldn’t help me ensure this torment. I had to stay calm. Had to survive so I could escape and tell the police everything I knew about the kidnappers.