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“I’m not,” I say. “But you look worse.”
His lips twitch into a smirk and he grunts, his eyes holding mine. He opens his mouth, and I’m not sure what he’s going to say, but he doesn’t get the chance. The door flies open again, and instead of just Elvis’s father, four men march into the room. I don’t recognize any of them except Atomic.
Elvis’s father sinks down in front of me again, then I watch as he reaches for the lock, and I notice he’s got a key in his hand. I almost weep with joy. He turns the lock slowly, then opens the door. I don’t wait even a second. I crawl out of the cage and land flat on my face on the cement floor—freedom.
“Get her in the truck,” Elvis’s father growls.
A man I know crouches down and picks me up. He carries me like a baby out of the metal building, and for the first time in days, I close my eyes and suck in the fresh air. I know I’m acting as if I was kept in that cage for years. It was less than a week, but it felt like a lifetime.
My entire body relaxes as soon as I’m placed in the back of an SUV. My eyelids become heavy, and I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake. For the first time in days, I finally feel safe. I’m not sure what is happening or why, but I don’t care. I’m with people who I trust.
I’m startled awake when arms lift me and carry me out of the SUV and toward another brick building, but it’s one I recognize. When I’m placed down on a bed, I let out a sigh and curl into a ball. I’m gross and dirty. I’m sure I stink, but I don’t have the energy or strength to even try to shower.
“Sleep,” a deep voice murmurs.
It’s Elvis’s father. I can identify him by voice now, even though I’ve only heard it a few times. It’s seared deep into my brain. He saved me. I know that Elvis was there, too. I know rationally that it was Elvis who came for me but wasn’t able to actually make it across the room for whatever reason. But his father physically saved me, and this is something that will probably bond us together, even though I don’t know him. He will always be my rescuer.
I want to ask him where Elvis is, if he’s okay, because clearly, he was hurt in some way. But I can’t. Nothing comes out except a sigh before sleep takes over. I don’t even hear him leaving the room.
What feels like hours, days, weeks later, my eyes open. I’m drenched in sweat, and I sit straight up. I don’t know what’s happening, if it is a nightmare or if something is going on somewhere in the clubhouse that woke me up.
Glancing around the room, I half expect to see Elvis somewhere, in the chair in the corner, beside me, somewhere. I find the clock on his nightstand and frown. It’s about four in the afternoon, though I’m not sure which day.
I’m drenched in a sheen of sweat, and I stink. I’m definitely going to have to wash the bedding after sleeping on it with these dirty and sweaty gross clothes. Standing, I look around the room and smirk.
He kept it neat, the way I left it. I’m not sure why that surprises me, but it does. Moving around the room, I open a couple of his dresser drawers and look for some clothes to wear. I find a black T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I can probably roll them up at the waist enough to keep them somewhat on until I can get home and get some clothes.
Home.
The thought of going there again, of doing anything there again, makes my entire body break out in chills. But I have no other choice. It’s the only building within walking distance to the bakery, and it’s within my price range.
My landlord likes me. Maybe I can switch to a different apartment. I think about all these things as I wash myself in the shower. I use man soap, man shampoo that is an all-in-one and makes me smile. I would use this all-in-one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash every day for the rest of my life if it meant I was safe with Elvis.
Once I’ve showered, my wet hair is combed, and I’ve donned the oversized man’s T-shirt and very oversized sweats, I move toward the door. I reach for the handle but pull my hand back, wondering if it’s going to be locked.
Glancing at the dead bolt, I notice that it’s unlocked. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to be in a locked room again in my whole life. That could be a problem. How am I going to lock myself in my apartment? How am I going to lock up the bakery?
Shaking my head, I turn the handle of the door and tug it open. As I move into the hallway, I listen for the loud music, for the girls giggling, for all of the normal signs that I’ve come to know from this group that tell me this place is up and running.
But there is nothing.
It’s quiet.
I hesitate to move down the hall and toward the bar. Sucking in a breath, I glance around the hallway for any sign of life, but it’s not there. I force my feet to move, to walk. I need to find Elvis. I need to know why he looked like he was in extreme pain. I need to know why he didn’t come to me. And I need to meet his father officially.
When I step out of the hall and into the bar, I am surprised to see that it’s full of men. It’s far too quiet. When they sense me, all their heads swing over, and their eyes find mine. I open my mouth to ask what’s happened, but Elvis’s father steps in front of me, obscuring my view.
“We need to talk, darlin’,” he murmurs.
I don’t ask what we need to talk about. I can tell it’s serious. Instead, I stand where I am, tipping my head backward as I look up into his familiar eyes. Elvis’s eyes. They’re gorgeous, although they’re a bit more weathered than my man’s.
“Come on,” he says, lifting his arm and sliding it across my shoulders before he guides me toward an empty conference-looking room.
He closes the door behind me, and I watch intently, waiting to see if he’s going to lock it. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and when he walks away from the door, I can relax. Sinking down in one of the many chairs that surround the table, I turn to him as he takes the one beside me.
This is serious, and this is about Elvis.
My heart slams against my chest, my entire body freezes, and I hold my breath as I wait for whatever it is he’s about to tell me. I’m bracing myself. Thinking the absolute worst and praying for the best.
