Her heart thundered as if she’d just sprinted a mile. Terror, she thought. But there was more—a sick kind of thrill that goose pimpled her skin. What was up with that? No way she was appreciating anything about this guy. She groped for something snarky to say. The best she came up with was, “Th-that was one helluva fancy costume.”
The jaws opened, and he bellowed a laugh. “Yeah. Whatever you have to tell yourself, my pretty. You’ll know the truth soon enough. Or not. Depending on whether you survive.” His eyes narrowed. “Personally, I hope you do. You’ve got fire. I like that.”
What the hell was he yammering about? Jessie clung to her focus. “I need water. And antiseptic.”
“We have water. No antiseptic.”
No antiseptic? “Do you have any liquor?”
He eyed her. Perhaps he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. “Yeah.”
“I can use that.”
“Seems like a waste of good booze, but whatever.” He shrugged and turned away.
Troy called after him. “Hey. Braden. What about the others?”
“What about them?” The big man waved a hand over his head. “If you want to dump the buckets, go ahead. Otherwise, just watch them when you take them out.”
“That’s a lot of extra work,” Troy objected.
Braden twisted to focus his gaze on his underling. His eyes glowed gold. “I can get someone else to look after them.”
Troy hunched a little. “No. It’s fine.”
With a satisfied nod, the bigger man continued down the hall and vanished around a corner.
The interaction was one more bit of weirdness in a whole crap pile of it. Jessie needed to last a month? And what others? Were there more captives?
What the hell was going on?
Troy’s brows lowered as he glanced at the bucket. He peeled his lips back from his teeth before clearing the doorway and gesturing to her. “Get moving. I don’t have all day.”
Jessie wanted to stalk past him into the hall, but her legs quaked. She had to steady herself. Any thought of running for it went out the window.
Or it would have if there had been a window. The hall was as featureless as the room—more dented drywall. And a concrete floor so filthy she was grateful she was still wearing her runners.
Troy took her in the opposite direction to which Braden had gone. Multiple identical doors lined the hall. A number on a metal plate hung on each one. All were closed. Did each open to a room with a bed, a bucket, and a woman?
As Jessie passed a door, she paused to hammer her open hand against it. “Hello?” she yelled.
A powerful hand seized her arm, wrenching her injured shoulder. The wave of pain and nausea almost dropped her on the spot.
“Get your damned hands off me, you bastard.” But it didn’t come out with the bite Jessie wanted, because her voice trembled.
“Hello?” The words from the other side of the door were weak, but clear. “Is someone out there?”
“Don’t mess with the residents.” Her captor yanked Jessie’s arm again. She gasped and her vision swam as he dragged her along the hall like she weighed nothing. Finally, he opened a door, shoved her through, and slammed it behind her.
It was a bathroom, but any thought of sterilizing the wound went out the non-existent window. This room hadn’t been cleaned since the dark ages. If the dark ages had bathrooms.
After examining the tiny space for cameras and ascertaining the door lacked an internal lock, Jessie tiptoed through the process of using the disgusting toilet.
She’d just finished when the door opened.
Her reaction was as much due to shock as anger. “What the—Can’t you knock?” She yanked up her scrubs.
“Cuts down on the scenery.” He smirked. Then he pushed a bottle of cheap rum at her. “Your antiseptic.”
