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“Jesus, Alan,” I squeal, pressing a hand to my chest as if to contain my heart from flying out of it.
Alan smirks. “I’m not Jesus. I’m much more than that.”
If he’s God, I don't want to live on this plane of existence anymore.
“You startled me.”
“I’m sure I did. I like watching you work, Boo. Almost as much as I like watching you squirm while I fuck you.”
I open my mouth to respond, but stop myself before the snark can flow past my lips. I can’t be punished, not today. I need to get to a phone, and I can’t do that if I’m locked up.
Alan shoves off the counter, and with three wide strides, meets me on my side of the kitchen. “Playtime, my little mouse. Gonna be a busy few days. Come with me.” He reaches down, removing the wet dish towel from my hands, and drags me out of the room.
He leads me down the hall and into his room, locking the door behind me after he pulls me inside. The second the door locks, he’s on me. His hands grip my waist, shoving me back against the doorframe. His lips descend onto my neck. I’m already chanting my regular mantra in my mind as his hands roam over my body.
He shifts us to the bed, throwing me onto it with a bounce while he stares down at me. I meet his glare, knowing I have to play it cool, and act like I always do. I can’t back down. I’ve never backed down. Not once in all these years have I ever let him see what’s going on in my head while he rapes me. I won’t give him my emotions. I won’t let him see that every time he does this, he steals a part of my soul. I must have so little soul left now.
“Fuck, I love it when you stare at me like that.” This is the only time he allows me to go against him. He gets off on my disobedience in the bedroom. “Those eyes of yours are so full of fire.”
He tugs at my jeans, not even bothering to unbutton them. The material bites into my hips as he works them down with my underwear, then throws them onto the floor. Without warning, he flips me onto my stomach. The sound of him unzipping his pants behind me is the only warning I have before he’s inside of me.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four….
One hundred… One hundred and one.
Time blurs as I let my mind drift away from reality. I block out what’s happening, because I learned a long time ago that it’s the only way. My own version of self-preservation. If my mind isn’t here, it’s only my body that must be present. I think of good things, like puppies and beaches, and the little boy I barely remember from my childhood. Anything I can think of that makes my heart smile, floats through my mind until finally, he grunts and rolls off of me.
Without a word, Alan marches off to his adjoining bathroom, leaving me naked on the bed. I wait for the door to close before going in search of my jeans. I find them by his nightstand, and when I bend down to get them, I notice something odd. The drawer where Alan keeps his cell phone is ajar. The corner of his bedding is caught in the corner of the drawer, preventing it from latching.
My heart flutters as I peek inside. His phone is there. There’s no gun, but the phone is what Ireallyneed right now.
Oh my God.
The blood in my veins whooshes through my ears as I slip my hand inside the drawer, my eyes glued to the bathroom door. Hands trembling, I wrap my fingers around the phone and pull it out of the drawer when I hear the shower turning on.
The screen lights up, but it’s asking for a password.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I don’t have the slightest idea what it could be. I don’t know his birthday, or any other number that would be special to him. I study the greasy screen, but no pattern is left on the glass. It’s a fucking mess.
Think, Boo… Think!This could be my only shot.
That’s when it hits me—Alan’s tattoos! Mostly a mix of naked pin-up girls and biker shit, but the one on his chest? The one all his other tattoos are centered around? Aren’t there numbers inside of it? Yes! His mom’s birthday. He’d mentioned it once, how it was his first tattoo.
My hands tremble as I press those numbers onto the screen. One. Zero. Two. Four. Five. Four. The lock screen disappears, and the background with little squares pops up in its place.
Holy fuck, it worked! I’ve never used a phone before. I’ve never been allowed to use any kind of technology, other than a television remote. How do you make a call on these damn things?
With the shower still hissing from the other room, I scan the screen. Finally, I see a small green square with a phone on it, and when I touch it, a telephone touch pad pops up.
My entire body quakes with nerves as I dial the number Priest had given me. It rings and rings, but on the fifth ring, a gruff voice answers, “Hello?”
“They have Priest,” I whisper into the phone, my hand cupping the receiver to muffle my voice.
“Speak up,” he growls. “I can barely hear you. Did you say Priest?”
My heart pounds faster as I remove my hand from the receiver, trying to calm my nerves so I can speak more clearly. “Screwballs MC. They have Priest. They’re going to kill him.”
