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"Keep moving, baby." The hand moved up my arm to lightly grip my plump bicep. I felt his big body behind me, his free hand finding my other arm as he led me from the garage into the house. Cold air filtered through the hood, clearing my head as it chilled my flushed skin.
I could hear Condor in front of me, sounding a few feet away but facing me. "Here little piggy. C'mon, little piggy."
"One step up, baby." With his hands still gently guiding me, Dean’s voice sounded like salt on an open wound. Condo must have decided the tone was meant for him because his taunting ended abruptly.
Tentatively, I lifted my foot, the toe of my shoe searching for where the elevation ended. I took a step forward and then a second. The hard plastic soles of my shoes clicked dully along the floor for a few feet before carpet muffled their sound. Steered right, I could tell we were moving down a narrow hallway because walls brushed against both of my hips.
Voices, all masculine, drifted from the doors we passed. Catcalls surrounded me but they died out at the soft growl of the man guiding me until the only audible noise was a mix of heavy metal and country from the different radios playing.
At the end of the hall, Dean snaked an arm around my waist and opened a door. Stepping into the room, the music from the hall faded. The door shut. Two locks clicked, each sounding as final as the grave. Another switch-like sound and I sensed the room brightening, a ribbon of light suddenly visible at the bottom hem of my hood. A final click and a radio or television started playing. A weatherman warned listeners about the evening thunderstorm rolling in.
Dean navigated around me, his body brushing against mine until his broad chest rubbed once against my breasts. Standing in front of me, he lifted the hood. His keen gaze studied my face as I looked at my surroundings. The room was small, a twin bed taking up half the space. Blackout curtains covered the single window. The only light came from a bedside lamp. A clock radio rested atop a decrepit dresser. Clothes, papers and a few drink containers littered the floor.
Not quite a pigsty, but a mess.
My gaze returned to Dean. Alone in the room, with no audience, he looked more warm than cold, more human than animal.
Afraid to ask the question sitting on the tip of my tongue, I cast my eyes down. My chest tightened, robbing me of the capacity to breath and I knew I had to ask while I still had enough air to form the words. "Getting out of the van, the way your hand shielded my head?—"
Dean placed a fingertip against my lips, stopping their movement. I looked up in time to see his gaze narrow, the effect a stern warning.
"For someone who looks so soft, you're very tough, baby." His body almost touching mine, he took a step closer. "You've kept your wits, kept calm."
I was anything but calm, especially with him so close to me. Shaking my head, I moved to my left, away from the bed and toward the window. Dean intercepted me, maneuvering our bodies until my back pressed flush against the wall. Untying my hands, he leaned close and whispered in my ear.
"The sooner they believe you’re trained, the sooner I can get you out—alive."
Shadows bruised his face. I couldn’t read his eyes or his expression in the low light.
"What are you saying?" My near hysterical pitch reached above a whisper.
Once again, he placed a finger against my lips to silence me. He jerked his head toward the door. When he spoke, his words were loud enough to carry beyond it. "It's time to train you, bitch."
I shook my head. My mouth quivered against his finger. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks to no avail. Extending his free hand, Dean turned up the volume on the radio and then his mouth brushed against my ear.
"They are going to see you naked, see me touching you. I can't leave you with them to get help, and I can't leave with you until they think you're brainwashed."
He kissed my cheek, his fingertip trailing from my mouth down to my collarbone. "You don't believe me. You're going to struggle. You have to. But it's going to happen anyway."
I prayed he was telling me the truth—not about what he planned to do, but that he could get me out. That he wanted to.
"There has to be some other way," I stuttered softly.
"Maybe with time." Dean palmed my breast, manipulating the flesh with gentle squeezes that warmed my muscles and brought a sensual ache to the stirring tips of my breasts. "Do they seem patient to you?"
Closing my eyes, I shook my head. Was it crazy to think Dean was telling me the truth? That, whatever he was, he didn't want to see me dead and was trying to help me?
"Wh-who are you?" I rested my cheek against the crown of his head, willing him to answer. "Are you?—"
He stopped the question with a hard pinch of my nipple. "You don't have to trust me, baby. You only have to obey me."
Wasting no more effort to convince me he was one of the good guys, Dean stripped my raincoat and blouse away. I struggled as he peeled the fabric from me, fighting him and my body's reaction to his touch. He was too strong, too agile in evading me. It took mere seconds before I stood in front of him with only my black bra, its clasp undone, shielding my torso. I raised my hands to cover my breasts.
"No!" His tone sharp, he grabbed my wrists and forced my hands down to my sides. Bending, he nosed the bra cups off. He straightened, his gaze hot on my exposed flesh as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Fuck," he groaned. Pressing his chest against mine, he pinned me to the wall. "You're going to get me killed but all I can think about is having you completely naked beneath me."
Keeping me pinned, he kissed me again, this time on the mouth. His tongue curled up under my top lip and sucked at it in between gentle bites. Heat shot through me, frying my brain cells. I didn't even realize he had recaptured my hands until he tied the sash around my wrists once more.
