Page 7 of The Good Bad Man

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In the end, she does not have a shower. I decided that keeping her wound dry would not be possible with a shower head or even the wand thingy that is installed in my shower that I’ve never used. I give her a sponge bath instead.

“This feels good,” she says drowsily.

I laid her on the bench in my shower and proceeded to wipe her down. It’s torture, but I’m the victim, not her. Sweat beads on my forehead. My hand shakes as it moves along each one of her honey-colored limbs, cleaning off the grime from the bottom of the cage she’d been in. Her ankles are delicate. Her thighs buttery soft. Even her toes are attractive. She has a small callus on the outside of the balls of each foot, suggesting too-tight shoes. The asshole was probably too cheap to get her new gear. I had no idea how beautiful a creature could be. I can understand now why so many wars were waged over women. They are powerful enough to bring men to their knees.

“I saw this on YouTube once,” she murmurs.

My hand freezes. “You saw what…where?”

“A girl was at a spa thing. With a bed. And her head was in a basin. Like a hairdresser place. And there was someone scrubbing her arms and neck. It looked real relaxing. I would’ve liked to have gone to one of those places.” She inhales deeply and smiles as she exhales. “This is heaven, isn’t it? If I have to be tortured, at least I got to experience this.”

“I’m the one who’s being tortured,” I mutter and toss down the rag. I get up and walk over to where the wand is attached to the wall. I turn the cold water on full blast and hold the wand over my head. The chill does nothing for my raging hard-on. I hold the wand to my dick and after about five minutes, I’m functional enough to walk back to the little bird and pick her up.

She snuggles into my arms, rubbing her sweet cheek against my chest. Like I said, torture.

I get hard. I am after all a human male, but never have I been drawn to sating that need with a single person. I can handle it myself. Or I could.

I place her in the middle of my bed and cover her with the comforter.

“Nice,” she says and then rolls over on her side and tucks her hands under her face. I let the back of my hand trail over the curve of her cheek.

“We’re more similar than you think.” She’s the only woman who’s ever laid in this bed. I don’t like people in my personal space, but it doesn’t bother me that she’s between my sheets, a place no one has touched but me. She looks like she belongs in the big mahogany bed more than I ever did.

I check my watch. The drugs will wear off in about six hours. That gives me time to dig into little bird’s background. After changing, I drop into my home office chair and power up the laptop. I send a couple emails out, poke through some files, and then get up and check on little bird, who hasn’t moved.

That process is repeated about five times before I rip the laptop away from the charging cord and stomp into the bedroom. There is a lounge chair and two metal and leather aviator chairs that weigh about 500 pounds. I drag one of them over to the bedside and take a seat.

If someone asked me why I can’t separate myself from her side for more than five minutes, I wouldn’t have an answer. Fuck. I don’t even like people. What am I doing? I snap the laptop shut and force myself to exit the room.

My cell phone rings. “What?” I bark into it.

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I have some information on the girl,” Ned reports.

“Fine. Shoot it over.”

“Ahh, I can’t. It’s a person. A girl, actually. I think she might be—ouch—sorry, she is a friend. I told him you’re a friend, can you stop hitting me?”

“Send the girl up.”

“Thank you.” Ned sounds pathetically relieved.

A few minutes later, the elevator bell dings, and the doors slide open. Out steps a girl about little bird’s age. She marches straight up to me and thumps her small fist against my chest. “Where is she?”


“Laurel! That’s who.” Another thump.

I catch the girl’s fists. “And what would you do with her? Send her back to her father to be put in the cage?”

The girl stops, and shock flickers across her face. “Wh-what?”

So little bird hid her pain. I release the girl’s hands and walk over to the elevator. This one won’t be staying long.

“Never mind. Laurel is sleeping.”

“It’s the middle of the day, and Laurel doesn’t nap. Where’s her dad?”

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