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I look down at my clothing, or lack thereof, and decide that’s as good a place to start as any. If I do get the chance to get out of here, I’ll need to be wearing more than a T-shirt. Shoes would also be good.
I know my bag isn’t in my bedroom. I looked for a weapon, so I’d have spotted it if it was in there. The fact that my toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bathroom suggests they brought it with them. Besides, leaving it behind would be suspicious.
I start moving around the kitchen, opening cupboard doors—being careful not to overstretch and cause myself more pain—before closing them. They’re full, mostly with canned soup and chili. Staples that last a long time. Shit, how long are they planning on keeping me here? Creed’s right about me not having friends, but that doesn’t mean my absence won’t be noticed.
I keep looking, finding cleaning products under the sink and some plates, cups, and bowls in one of the other cupboards. But no bag.
I walk out of the kitchen and back into the living room. It’s not particularly big. Large enough for a worn sofa and chair to sit on a faded rug along with the scarred wooden coffee table. Behind the sofa, in front of a grimy window, is a four-seater table and chairs that look like they’ve seen better days. On the far wall is a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with an assortment of books that at any other time would perk me up, but not today. Today, it’s going to take way more than books for me to find any kind of inner peace.
Looking around, I see there is nowhere to hide a bag. Not one the size of mine, anyway. So where else could it be? Is there a second room?
I freeze in the middle of the room, my eyes flicking to the door I exited from earlier. There's only one room. Which means…
“Holy shit.” They must be planning to sleep with me. “Oh no. No, no, no, no.”
Hoping I’m wrong, I hurry to the door and gaze into the room I woke up in before. There is no hallway with an extra room or even an additional bathroom. What I see is all there is.
I swallow, pushing the panic aside for now, and move to the bed, checking underneath it for my bag, but there’s nothing there. There’s no dresser, no closet, not even a trunk for bedding. I run my hand through my hair in frustration.
Where the hell is everything?
I hear the sound of an engine and hurry over to the window, watching as a truck parks in a dilapidated barn.
Not stopping to think, I take off running through the house, out through the front door, and over to the barn, ignoring the fact that my feet are bare and my shoulder is throbbing. I slap my hands on the back of the truck and run toward the driver’s side just as the door opens.
“Oh, thank God. You have to help me. I—”
My words die in my mouth when Hawk climbs out of the truck and crosses his arms over his chest with a smug smirk on his face.
“You were saying?”
I shake my head in confusion. This isn’t the car they usually come to the diner in.
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? I was moving my truck out of the sun.”
And yet, it’s more than that. I feel like I’ve somehow failed a test they set.
“Did you want something, Avery?” Creed asks from behind me, making me whirl around.
I open my mouth but close it again when I feel tears prick my eyes. He watches me, his expression never changing. I can only assume he’s taking pleasure in giving me false hope before snatching it away.
Once I’m sure I have my emotions under control, I straighten my shoulders, biting back the wince of pain, and wipe my face clean of any expression. If he can do it, so can I. He has no idea who he’s messing with.
“I was just looking for my bag. I’d like to take a shower.”
“Everything you need is already in your room.”
“There is nothing in there except a toothbrush and toothpaste.”
“Like I said, everything you need.”
I take a step back but refuse to show anything on my face except for cool indifference. “Very well.” I turn and walk away, ignoring Hawk as he moves behind me.
I don’t ask about clean dressings for my shoulder or if they have my sling. I refuse to let them see the tears gathering in my eyes. I walk into the house and head back to the bedroom before making a beeline for the bathroom. I close and lock the door before sliding down the wall, not caring about the pain I feel radiating from my shoulder. Only now do I let my tears fall.
I don’t make a sound. Not one whimper or sniffle to give away my distress or pain. These are not the men I once knew, so I need to stop treating them as if they were.
