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I lifted my gaze back up to his and shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
He groaned, then leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would you stop worrying about bothering me? Goddamn it, I gave you a phone for a reason.”
Explaining to him that I had been trained not to bother a man because of Hill was hard. I didn’t like admitting it. The more I was away from the life I had been living, the more my eyes were open to just how brainwashed I had been. Hill had changed me completely. He’d taken away my personality. I had lost a part of who I had been, and I didn’t know how or if I would get that back. I could very likely end up in prison.
“I will make a mental note of that,” I replied, then put a piece of biscuit and gravy in my mouth. If I ate, then perhaps he would leave. Having him watch me was making it difficult.
“You do that. And don’t hand-wash your clothes again. I’ll be fucking insulted.”
I nodded and continued to chew.
“About what you said last night,” he started, and I swallowed, then shook my head.
“No. We do not have to talk about that.”
He sighed, and then a small grin played on his lips. “You called me mean and accused me of hurting women. I explained it, but you were drunk, so I wanted to make sure you remembered it and understood things.”
I set my fork down beside my plate. “Yes, I understand. I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey, like the rest of the world. It’s just…I guess, with what I’ve experienced, it makes that seem fictional to me. I never really considered people really liked that.”
A deep rumble came from his chest, and he cocked an eyebrow at me. “Not the rest of the world. For the record, I’ve not read it. But I did see the movies. And that isn’t exactly what I do. I don’t have a special playroom, and I don’t keep a submissive. That’s too much commitment and work.”
That confused me a little. I’d loved the books, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. They were better than the movies, but then that was always the case. The reason I had loved them was because of his commitment and the way he took care of her. He made it something I could understand her wanting. But if King wasn’t giving that to the females he did these things to, then why would they let him do it? Just because he was gorgeous?
“I can see your mind working over there. Ask me. Say it,” he coaxed.
I pressed my lips together for a minute and studied the table before meeting his gaze. “I was just trying to figure out what was in it for them. If you aren’t in a committed relationship and you don’t take care of them, protect them…” I trailed off, not able to find the right words to say this.
He smirked. “Not everyone is looking for a commitment. Some of them just enjoy sex that way. What you read is a romance novel. It’s not reality.”
No kidding. I’d already learned that men in books were better. The real kind let you down, betrayed you, hurt you. I much preferred the ones created from the mind of a female.
When I said nothing more, he stood up and tapped the table twice with his knuckles. “Eat up. Rest. Text me or call if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I replied, realizing I didn’t want him to leave. I had thought I did, but when he walked out, I wasn’t sure when I would see him again. Bad train of thought, Rumor. Very bad.
He turned and headed for the door. Didn’t glance back once—and I would know. I watched him through the window, all the way to his truck, before looking back at my food.
Picking up a piece of bacon, I ate it slowly, wondering about sex with someone other than Hill. Women seemed to enjoy it. Did sex with someone who was good at it make it better? Was sex with King so good that it was worth all the pain involved?
• twenty-three •
“I didn’t know you’d come down for playtime.”
King
Churchill Millroe barely lifted his head to stare at me through his swollen and busted face as I entered the underground cell he had been kept in for the past eight days. This wasn’t my first visit down to see him. I’d been the one to break his nose and all ten of his fingers—one by one—and pull out five of his teeth. The more brutal stuff had been Thatcher, but we’d all had a go at him. It was amazing how much torture the human body could withstand before finally giving up.
“Kill me,” he begged—or at least, that was what I thought he’d said.
It was hard to decipher after I took out so many of his teeth. But Thatcher had sliced off the tip of his tongue, and that really hindered his speech.
He had stopped asking why, pleading for his life, his attempts at bribing, threatening—all the different phases a man went through while being strapped up and tortured. He cried silently most of the time now. I leaned a shoulder against the concrete column and crossed my arms over my chest as I studied him. This past week had been a living hell for him. It wasn’t nearly long enough. That was the only reason he was still alive. I wasn’t satisfied yet. I was wondering if I ever would be.
The more I got to know Rumor and realized how he’d abused her so deeply, the more I found myself being drawn back down here. To make him scream in pain. Hear him wail and beg. If he hadn’t abused his wife, he’d probably be able to live. Sure, we would have taken his fingers or an ear. Maybe his balls. But once we had all our money, he’d have been set free. Living in fear for the rest of his life that we’d return, but still living.
“She’s better. Smiling,” I told him. “She’s got the best damn laugh. I don’t get to hear it often, but when I do, it’s worth it.”
I walked over to the pack of cigarettes that Thatcher had left and tapped one out of the package. I wasn’t a smoker. Not really. I had one every once in a while when drinking, but I didn’t need them.
