Page 102 of Savage

At least here, Hunter cares about me.

Doesn’t he?

Dylan uses his other hand to slide down to my breast, and I wince as he tweaks my nipple.

“Yeah. I heard you got sold—and at quite a markup.” Dylan keeps groping me, his hand going underneath the apron.

My lip wibbles as I try to stave off tears.

“Why the fuck shouldn’t I get a piece of that pie, huh? You were mine first.” Dylan growls and suddenly squeezes my breast, hard enough that it’ll probably bruise.

I let out a quiet yelp, but I don’t dare try to pull away.

I don’t doubt that he’d choke me and leave me here if I fight.

“He won’t… He won’t pay anything for me,” I say, and the tears start to fall as I wonder if that’s the truth. After the last few days—after everything—would he?

“Maybe.” Dylan’s expression turns nastier. “But before he makes a choice, I figure I should let him know the consequences.” He lets go of my breast and reaches into his coat pocket. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t a gun.

The sight of it makes the tears fall faster, and I think of my blood splattered across Hunter’s perfect white kitchen. It would be the only color besides the fucking red, red stand mixer.

“Please don’t kill me,” I whisper. “I’ll… I’ll go with you. I’ll earn for you. I got really good, Dylan, I promise. I can make you money.”

Dylan snorts in disbelief. “I heard you were a total crybaby, which didn’t surprise me. Fuck, you cried for ages when Alicia died. Only thing that got you to stop moping were the drugs.”

I swallow hard, the pain of the loss almost more than I can stand. It makes my veins itch, the need to fill them with something to erase the misery becoming something immediate. “Please,” I try again. “Dylan, I’ll behave. He won’t care if I leave.”

I hope I’m wrong, but I just have no idea.

“You can start by showing me where the valuables are.” Dylan lets go of my throat, but he doesn’t move off me. “If you try anything funny, you’re dead. Got it?”

“Yes,” I say, nodding quickly. “But I don’t know where the valuables are.” Tears continue to stream down my face, but I don’t wipe them away. “He doesn’t keep them out anywhere that I’ve seen. They’re probably in a private safe in… in the bedroom.”

Which is where the phone is.

But trying to call him would be doing something funny, as Dylan put it.

“There’s got to be something valuable around here. His fucking golf clubs! His laptop! His…” Dylan looks toward the living room and starts smiling. “His video game systems.”

It’s like a stab to the gut.

I swallow hard, nodding. “Y-yeah. His tablet is there. The laptop is in his office. And…” Why does the idea of him selling yet another gaming system out from under my nose hurt so much?

Dylan slowly gets off me and jerks the gun. “Get up. Find a bag, pack everything up for me.”

I don’t want to do this. So badly, I don’t want to do this.

“And get some fucking clothes on,” he adds.

I stand up, not bothering to try to dodge him when he grabs my arm.

“Not that you’ll need them for long.” Dylan leers at me. “Now go on. Get the shit together.”

I nod, swallowing hard as I wipe at the tears on my face. I don’t even know what to think. Is Hunter watching this on the video feed right now? Is he with a patient? Is he on his way home?

I don’t hear the phone in the bedroom ringing, though, which means… either he doesn’t know, or he doesn’t care.

Dylan follows me to the bedroom, staying on my ass the entire time. I glance helplessly in the direction of the side table, where the phone is charging, and he follows my gaze. His expression gets uglier. “I thought I told you not to try anything.”

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