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Damn, the guys would have loved that joke, even if it was pretty morbid.
Still in the middle of nowhere, the sun shines on the rough sand and patchy brush surrounding us. The heat during the day is still comfortable and warm, but nobody wants to get caught in this terrain at night when it drops close to freezing.
The car veers into the ditch near a patch of prickly bushes. Dust kicks up around us at his less-than-smooth park job. I scrutinize him, annoyed all over again when I take in his features. He'd be handsome for a mid-forty-year-old if it weren't for the monster he hides so well. His sharp jaw and salt-and-pepper scruff just make me want to claw his eyes out.
Kyle is a smooth man; he's a damn lawyer, so I suppose he has to be. But right now? He's unhinged and strung like a live wire, ready to short-circuit. I don't think he planned this at all. I haven't seen him eat or drink anything, either.
Clearing my scratchy throat, "I can't do anything unless you take these off." I motion my bound hands around and toward my secured feet.
His eyes narrow as though he believes I'm trying to pull something sketchy by asking to be released. Looking from me to the bush outside the window, he curses, realizing I'm right.
Shoving his door open, he rounds the car and yanks mine open as well. Gripping my thigh hard enough to bruise, he angles my legs and feet out of the car. I try to kick my legs up at him, but my drug-riddled body feels like it's moving through quicksand.
"Just your hands, bitch."
Wait what?
Before I can ask what he means, my hands are being snapped free, and I'm thrown over his shoulder. My aching stomach and bruised rib protest the hard shoulder shoved against them.
"What the fuck!" I screech and slap my hands uselessly against his broad back, careening us closer to the bushes.
This position has my breath catching, remembering how Ryan loves to throw me over his shoulder. He would say that someone so tiny should always be carried around. I would giggle and swat his ass while I enjoyed the attention, he showered me with.
I'm not laughing now.
Before I can truly spiral into sadness, I'm thrown right side up again. Wobbling on my bound feet, I swallow down the bile that burns my throat.
"Go."
I look up at him in confusion. "What?"
"Pull your fucking panties down, squat, and pee." His eyes heat, and I know I'm not going to like what he says next. "Or I can do it," he sneers, "if you'd rather."
Understanding sets in; he cut the ties from my hands so I could do my business myself. Yet he's not moving, still hovering over my woozy form next to the bush.
"I'd like some privacy, please."
"Nope. Last chance, or those panties become mine."
Shit!I scramble to push my underwear down with my heavy fingers. I'd rather he hover over this mortifying moment than lay his rapist fucking fingers on my body again.
I quickly drop into a squat, just wanting to get this over with. I lose my balance, unable to hold myself up with my feet restricted, and my hand flies out to catch my balance.
A garbled scream rips from my chapped lips at the searing pain spiking up my arm. My frantic gaze lands on my bleeding hand, where it clutches the prickly bush.
"You can hold onto me, Pet." Kyle's suggestive voice breaks through the pain. I look up at him with tears in my eyes and take in my position in front of his crotch.
Gulping, I keep my grip on this bush from hell and ignore the burning pain radiating through my shredded skin. I'd rather rip my skin off than touch him willingly. I take a shuddering breath and focus on getting my business done.
The relief of my empty bladder is short-lived; I don't have anything to clean myself with. With my free hand, I take a clean part of my dress and wipe; I refuse to get a UTI infection on this road trip to the fiery pits. God knows he would let me suffer without antibiotics.
Gritting my teeth, I shimmy my underwear back up my legs and try to stand. Another tear splashes against my cheek when I shift my grip on the bush, heaving myself up. Before I manage to right myself, Kyle has me thrown over his fucking shoulder again.
"You son of a bitch!" I hiss between the rageful thumping in my head.
"She was a bitch, actually. Good job, Pet." His words are punctuated by my ass hitting the car seat.
I clench my jaw when a new set of zip ties yanks at the scarred flesh of my wrists. Kyle's efficiency with the restraints left me no time to process what was happening.
