Page 88 of Unveiled

My face lights up at the thought, but the light quickly dulls as I realize his intentions. He wants to take pictures of me. Naked.

Thinking fast, I blurt out, “You’re really going to give people a free show? Aren’t you trying to sell me? Leave a little mystery, or they’ll lose interest.”

He looks at me suspiciously while I fight the urge to chew on my lip out of nervousness. I shuffle on my feet, still trying to get used to standing, as I avoid eye contact with him.

“Fine,” he huffs out finally, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Knowing that he won’t be sending naked pictures of me out into the world is like a weight lifted off my shoulders, though I know he’ll still be sending pictures of me. “Now stand still and do your best to look pretty.”

My teeth clash together as my jaw flexes, refusing to smile as he holds his phone up. I listen as he snaps pictures, hoping everyone can see the threat in my eyes.

Cain will find me and kill you.

If he doesn’t, I will.

I won’t be the same innocent girl that fell victim to a man like Carlos. I will protect myself this time, and if that means killing someone for the first time, I will gladly pull the trigger.

Once he’s satisfied with the pictures he’s taken, no doubt giving up on me looking like a submissive little doll, he struts toward me. I back up until the back of my knees hit the bed, making me stumble down onto it. As soon as I’m sitting, he reaches behind me for the chains, ready to tie me to the bed again.

“Wait, don’t chain me again,” I beg him. He pauses, which I wasn’t expecting, making me wrack my brain for any excuse I can come up with. Of course, from everything I could say to keep my arms free, what falls from my mouth is, “If you keep me tied up like that for too long, with no blood flow to my arms, my arms are going to become useless. And who wants to buy a girl that can’t even jack them off?”

I want to smack myself. I’m mortified at the words that fall from my mouth as I look at him with the most serious expression, refusing to let him know I wanted any other words to come out of me.

“Besides,” I rush out, trying to convince him while he’s still willing to listen. “There are no windows for me to escape through, and if I’m free to move throughout the room, you won’t have to chaperone me every time I want to go to the bathroom.”

He’s thinking it over, I can see it in his eyes, but he’s not sold. He’s running through every possible solution, trying to decide what the risks are and if they’re worth it. I’m right, and he knows it. If his buddies get here and I can’t even move my arms because they’ve lacked blood flow for so long, why would they want me? He’d be stuck with me, and then what?

“That’s what Cain did, when he kidnapped me,” I tell him, words just falling from my mouth now. “He had the window in my bedroom barred so I couldn’t get out, and he always kept the bedroom door locked unless he was with me.”

I could smack myself for reminding him to lock the door, but that’s a problem for another time. A locked door doesn’t matter if my arms are tied up. One problem at a time.

“What’s stopping you from drowning yourself in the bathtub or using a razor to slit your wrists?”

What is stopping me? I could end this situation before it ever really starts, and then I’d be free.

“Cain will save me. And I wouldn’t miss watching him put a bullet between your eyes for anything.”

My words are full of spite and truth, but instead of flinching from my cruelty, he only chuckles. After a moment, he backs away without chaining my arms back to the headboard, but I don’t let the relief show on my face yet.

“You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you? Maybe that’s why he can’t let you go. I’m leaving the chains off because I don’t want to watch you wipe your ass, but don’t mistake that for me going soft. If you try anything, I’ll make Carlos look like a fucking prince, got it?”

I nod quickly, willing to agree to anything if it’ll keep my arms mobile and get him away from me. He sits there for another minute, staring at me and waiting for something to happen, like I’m going to just stand up and dart around him to get out the door.

I can’t lie and say the thought didn’t cross my mind, but I’m not that stupid. I can play this smart. Cain taught me better than that.

Satisfied that there’s not a plot brewing in my mind, he stands back up to his full height and gives me his back and he walks to the door. If only I had a knife, I could end this all here and now. Or, if only he had set his phone somewhere when he went to tie me back up and then completely forgot it.

The possibilities run through my head as he closes the door behind him and I listen to the lock click in place. At least I didn’t have to worry about the lock being on the inside, because that would have been an immediate no for setting me free. Now, I can finally take care of myself.

Warm water washes over me as I sit in the bathtub with my knees hugged into my chest. I managed to get all the blood scrubbed out of my hair, which was no simple task, as well as the blood and dirt that lingered on the rest of my body.

Despite my head throbbing more from tugging on the knots in my hair to get it clean, the stuffiness of the steamy shower is helping me feel better. Besides, I don’t have to worry about paying the water bill, and the thought of running it up to anger Cain’s father brings a small smirk to my lips. It disappears almost as quickly as it appeared, but it was there, and for just a second, I was happy.

“Don’t worry, little one, you’ll be happy again. I promise,” comes a voice from somewhere behind me. The sound falls over me like a blanket, promising comfort and protection in my darkest hour.

I don’t react to it, though. It’s not real. If it were real, I would be able to feel the arms I’m imagining around me, and he would lift me out of here with the intention of rescuing me and bringing me home.

“How can you promise that when you’re not even here?” There’s more venom in my voice than I intended, but I have to take my anger out on someone, and imaginary Cain was always there to wipe my tears and take the sharp sting of my words.

He sighs and walks around, sitting himself inside the tub with me. He looks awkward and uncomfortable as he tries to adjust his long legs to fit in a tub with another body, and his imaginary clothes are wet and sticking to him, but he doesn’t care.

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