But instead, standing there like some demented host waving me inside with a flourish, was the pockmarked, toothless face of the old gardener, grinning as if the moment he’d waited ten years for had finally arrived.
And this wasnotpart of the plan.
“Oh, don’t look so worried.” He chortled. “You’re right where you belong.”
Obadiah.
That was the name embossed on the shiny, elegant name badge pinned to the front of his crisp, brand-new security guard’s uniform. Not that it mattered. I knew who and what he was, and a new name didn’t change that.
And I couldn’t say I was pleased to (re)make his acquaintance.
He’d been standing right there behind the door when I opened it, no warning, no time to react. Just the instant, stomach-dropping knowledge that I’d walked straight into a trap. Especially when he grabbed my wrist with all the glee of a pervert’s wet dream and cackled with that gaping idiot’s rictus that had always made me queasy. If Langer or whoever had freed this bastard and bought him that fancy uniform, wouldn’t you think they could have at least paid for him to get his fucking teeth fixed, too?
The house itself was enormous, far bigger than it had appeared from outside. At least three stories, with wide hallways, tall ceilings, and an eerie, expensive, tomblike quietthat managed to feel both empty and claustrophobic. A musty mothball aroma like half a century of decrepitude.
Ten minutes. It had to have been ten minutes by now at least, I thought. Enough time for me to still accomplish my mission if I didn’t freak out or die first. After all, I had come here to create a distraction—and running, screaming, or fighting back might save me, but it wouldn’t necessarily help Maeve or the girls. After all, I didn’t even know where I was going. There was nowheretogo.
I could do this.
In all the years this guy had terrorized me, he’d never actually touched me—he’d valued his life, even though it was shit. But now, I had to face the disgusting fact that his greasy paws were all over me as he dragged me stumbling behind him, one hand locked around my wrist, leading me down a long hallway lined with sleek gray molding, walls bare except for one huge, baroque mirror that made the space feel endless. We passed two closed doors before he turned and shoved me through the third: a room decorated with Greek columns, carved like bleached bone. About the size of a master bedroom but colder. The floors were polished stone overlaid with plush carpet. A light odor of incense and eucalyptus wafted through it, a potpourri to mask fear. A bed in the middle, like a white leviathan. The whole thing was clean, sterile, eerie, like a temple intended for human sacrifice.
Guess what I was about to be?
He unzipped a black bag on the dresser and pulled out a sheer chemise trimmed with lace and red satin ribbon. New. Expensive. “You’ve been requested to wear this.”
“By who?” A stupid question. I knew he would just laugh. I was right.
“People know where I am, you know,” I said. “Not to mention that when Daddy finds out about this, he’s gonna cut your dick off.”
He laughed again. “Is that so? Remember, you’re not the princess here, princess. And Daddy isn’t the king.”
Choking in the stuffy, airless room, I slowly, clumsily pulled the soft fabric of the hoodie I’d had since I was twelve over my head, a security blanket being ripped away. I let it slip off my shoulders and glide down my body to slump helplessly at my feet. There had to be some way to do this with dignity, but I couldn’t kid myself. I was about to be forced to undress in front of the most disgusting pervert I knew, and nobody was going to burst in and stop it.
My fingers trembled against the fabric of my T-shirt. I slowly slid it off my shoulders and stepped out of my shoes, my jeans and panties now the only barrier between me and pure exposure. I didn’t meet Obadiah’s jaundiced eyes as they followed my every move, reveling in his own refusal to hide his lust. He stood at an angle by the dresser, close enough to block the door, not touching me, just watching. Smiling. My pale, vulnerable body screamed for me to protect it, to not let this happen. As if it sensed something that, if violated, could never be put right.
And that was only being forced to undress. Not whatever might happen after.
Don’t think. Don’t panic.They’d realize something was wrong. They’d come for me.Someonewould come for me. If not Maeve, then Erica. Or Milagros. Yes, they had their futures to think about, but this was mylife.
The alternative was unthinkable.
My finger slid down to my jeans, then stopped. I physically couldn’t do it. Tears, as usual, ran down my face and dripped onto the carpet.
“Take your time, princess,” he said, looming closer. “I like it slow.”
I wouldn’t give himthat satisfaction.Growling, I yanked down the zipper on my jeans, ripped off my pink lace panties,angrily kicked them off my legs, and pulled the stupid, lacy, embarrassing piece of shit over my head as fast as I could, the gardener cackling at me all the while.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but they might as well have been open for how aware I was of his eyes drinking me in as if through a straw, like some suction force, pressing down on my exposed body and prying into every inch of me, divesting me of everything good and holy.
“Good girl,” he said with a chuckle, pulling two pairs of shiny handcuffs from his pocket. “On the bed.” He pointed.
No.My eyes darted like a trapped animal in a cave.Idiot.I should have run while I had the chance. Why hadn’t Irun? I’d agreed to create a distraction. I hadn’t agreed todie. My body stiffened as if to flee, but I only backed up in a daze. The truth was, there hadn’t been anywhere to run to then, and there wasn’t now, and I guess that reassured me somehow.
That I’d been doomed no matter what.
My breath hitched as the unforgiving steel dug in, cold and alien against my flesh, and didn’t release. He’d cuffed my wrists to the carved, decorative headboard, one on each side. I was trapped upright against the pillows, knees trembling beneath me. My body clenched as he pulled the cuffs tighter—as tight as they would go?Not like I would know—trapping each wrist in place and immobilizing me. My breath did not release, however. I just lay there, as choked as if his hand had been clutching my throat.
And there I stayed, shivering against the rich, silken comforter. The air seemed to congeal as raw, unfiltered horror washed over me and my throat closed in panic. My senses sharpened, the dread I’d held back when I’d been convinced rescue would come now pumping unbidden through my veins.
