AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re going to get hyperthermia.” I scoop Blakely into my arms and, eyes wide, shivering, she allows me to carry her back onto the trail.
I realize, out here with her, sheltered by darkness and towering monuments of time, I haven’t felt the need to count the seconds. The constant, maddening compulsion to check my watch hasn’t once stolen my attention.
She is more consuming than any madness.
17
COMMITTED
BLAKELY
Lukewarm water beads down my back, washing away the frigid river. I turn the tap all the way to hot, hoping it will scald, but the degree barely changes. I feel like I’ll never be warm again, my body and extremities hardened into ice.
A completely inappropriate laugh slips out at the thought. I am ice, that’s why I’m here. Hard, cold, dead ice. Alex chose me out of a club full of narcissistic, shallow and superficial people. There had to be another option that night, but he selected me.
This bathroom is a new addition, added on to the basement but set apart from the area where he holds me. I pick up the shampoo bottle and notice it’s some generic brand. I suppose scientists who spend their days and nights torturing their victims don’t have time to formulate a preference for haircare.
I lather the shampoo into my hair, letting the suds slide down my body until the water starts to run cold, my thoughts turning inward.
Over the course of my life, no matter what situation I found myself in, I’ve considered myself the most intelligent person in the room. It was like a superpower, to know what everyone else was thinking, what they’d say, how they’d act and respond.
I’m good at what I do because emotion doesn’t hinder my process. And yet, out there at the river, with Alex baring his vulnerability, I couldn’t see past him—I couldn’t exploit any weakness, and I don’t understand why.
Frustration simmers under my skin, hot and achy. I grip my hair at the roots, a scream lodged at the base of my throat.
I know what men look like and how they respond when they’re attracted to me. When they want to fuck me. But I’ve never had a man look at me the way Alex was tonight.
I wasn’t only confused, I was petrified.
He’s fucking with my head. Literally. Regardless of what I thought I had figured out about him, he can’t be underestimated. I have to keep focused, stay smart.
I twist the lever to kill the now-cold water and ring out my hair. I drape the towel Alex left near the tub around my body, tucking the corner under my arm. As I step out, I notice the clothes set on the white granite counter. There’s nothing else in this room. No toilet. No mirror. No personal effects. Nothing I can use as a weapon against my captor or to harm myself.
I dry off and toss the towel to the tile floor with my discarded clothes, then hold up the white Oxford button-down. There’s also a pair of nude panties and jogging pants. Despite still being cold, I forgo the pants and dress in the shirt and panties only.
I test the door. It’s not locked. As I enter the narrow hallway, I hear Alex typing on his computer. I hover in the entryway, and I know he’s aware of me. His fingers halt briefly over the keys before he resumes typing.
Despite my desperate actions earlier, I knew there was little chance of escape. I wasn’t trying to get free so much as test Alex and get a better sense of my surroundings. Right now, he’s still vulnerable. Worn. Tired. Fragile.
After my stunt, I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to be outside. I have to utilize this rare chance to push him even further.
As I enter the room, I eye the cart with the metal box and paddles. A feral need to destroy it all takes hold.
“I need better shampoo and conditioner,” I say to him.
Alex stops typing, but he doesn’t turn around. “That’s what’s important to you?”
I drag my fingers through my damp strands. “I have highlighted hair. Your off-brand shit makes it feel like straw.”
He hums his dry amusement. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I ease closer, taking note of the closed curtain. “Why do you wear a lab coat?”
This gains his full attention. He closes the laptop and spins the chair around. He’s wary about my questions and demeanor. He should be. His gaze travels over me—my bare legs, wet hair saturating his white shirt, making it nearly transparent over my breasts—and a hard swallow drags along his throat.
His body language states he’s in no mood to play, not after chasing me down in the freezing river. But all we have is this game. One winner, one loser.
And I refuse to lose.
