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I dial a number I know by heart and wait for them to pick up. When I ask if anything is open for me to see Keiko, I’m not surprised to hear she’s available this afternoon. She doesn’t get many requests like the younger employees do. She’s the matriarch of the salon, quiet and set in her ways. She doesn’t take on just anyone. I forced my way into her approved circle of clients, and I don’t take it for granted.

“You ready?” Atom asks as he comes down the hallway that leads to his room. Or whatever is back there. I don’t look—no reason to. Would you go into your kidnapper’s room? I don’t think so.

“Got an appointment at two I need to make.”

He leans down and pets his cats before looking back at me. If he’s mad about the appointment or anything at all, he doesn’t show it.

“How long will it take to get to it from the clubhouse?”

I shrug. “It’s two streets over from downtown Kansas City.” I don’t drive, so I’m not going to pretend I know how long it’ll take to get there. He’s my captor. He can play the estimation game.

“All right, we’ll leave after lunch.” He gives one last pat to each cat, then grabs his keys and goes to the garage.

I follow because we’ve been doing this for a month. I know the routine. I fought him a few times over the last few weeks, but the result never changed. When he left the house, I left the house.

I could go willingly and end up on his bike. Or I could throw a fit, get put over his shoulder, tossed into his truck, and then driven to wherever he wants to go. More often than not, we go to the clubhouse. His job is in the garage attached to it, and when he’s not working, he’s talking to other Hounds.

The guy doesn’t even go grocery shopping. Someone else does it and stocks his fridge weekly. I think it’s a prospect. I’ve heard enough around the club to know they’re constantly on bitch duty, and grocery stocking is definitely not in the “overly fun” category.

Plus, I’ve got a suspicion that the Hounds don’t want me to be in public. Probably because it’d be easier for me to escape their clutches with witnesses around when I scream for help.

Maybe I should try today when we go to my appointment. See just how far I can get away. But I already know I won’t try.

I want to be set free, but not today. Not on a day that I need to get something done so I can feel normal. Like a regular person and not a freak.

When we pull up to the clubhouse, I get off the bike and walk in, sitting in my same spot and pulling out my book. It’s mostly a prop to keep others away. Without it, people think I want to talk. That if I’m not doing something, I must need them to fill the void.

Why would I want anything to do with anyone here?

They all have shit for brains.

Eventually, I’ll read when going over my life becomes too much and I need an escape. The same freaking thing I do each day. Think about my life, how fucked it is. At the start of this year, I was doing well. I rarely thought about my past life, just focused on the future and possibilities.

All possibilities are shot dead now, stomped over as I was dragged back here.

I don’t even think about ways to leave. Not really. Where will I go? What will I do? Every time I try something, I’m brought back to the bottom, so why fight it? If being taken is all I’m good for, I might as well stay where I’m at. At least I know I’m not being drugged or tortured.

Not in the physical pain way, at least, just the mental torture of feeling caged despite the walls around me being translucent and disappearing before my eyes. Playing games that I can be free but knowing I never will be.

“Lunch,” Atom says as he drops tacos on the table, waiting for me to pick two before he grabs the other four.

Noise across the room draws my attention, and I stiffen when I see it’s Ruby and Kooper talking with a few other brothers and their old ladies. Must be Friday. The days run together for me since nothing changes in my life other than this.

Every Friday, those with old ladies get together for something or other. They start as a big group and eventually split off into girls and boys, and then the real tragedy starts. Because it’s never a quick meet and greet.

Just an excuse to get off work early and party till dawn.

I hate Fridays.

It means after my appointment, we’ll be coming back here so I can watch them do whatever the hell they want with the freedom they have, and I get to see firsthand that I have none.

“Done?” Atom asks when he notices I pushed my food away, only getting halfway through my first taco.

He looks me over, turns his head to the group, then back to me. He shrugs and wraps his shit up. “We’ll take it on the road and beat the traffic.”

He stands, and for half a heartbeat, I want to say thanks. But I bite my tongue.

I’m not going to tell my captor that I’m grateful for him noticing my discomfort. He’ll use it against me, I just know it.