Page 31 of Proof

A small part of me had wanted to get up and leave. To walk out of that club and never return. But I’d needed a different kind of escape that only liquor and the ugly, rough, foul-smelling, ponytailed biker could give me.

I couldn’t remember much after that. There’d been a lot of strange hands grabbing different parts of my body and biker guy had tried to force me to kiss him, but I’d simply used the bottle in my hand as a shield. We’d been moving after that and then everything got hazy. There’d been catcalls and words of encouragement, but they hadn’t been aimed at me. I’d been pelleted with ugly names and promises of how good it would feel when this guy fucked me and the other guy shot his load down my mouth. By then I’d already started to leave my body so I could float through that delicious cloud of quiet.

Whatever had happened after that only came to me in bits and pieces.

The smell of rotting garbage, cool air against my ass, warm liquor sliding down my throat.

God, what the hell had I done?

I rubbed my face with my hands. I didn’t feel any crusted semen around my mouth, my ass didn’t hurt, and there wasn’t any spunk inside of me, so either I’d been clear-headed enough to clean myself up or…

Or someone else had done it for me. I automatically looked down and saw that I was wearing a pair of sweats and a loose-fitting T-shirt. I didn’t have any underwear on, and my hair was damp.

Had my brother cleaned me up when I’d gotten home? If so, why wasn’t I in my room?

Get your ass out of bed and find out why, you asshole.

The voice was the same one that had tried to tell me to walk out of Tank’s the second I’d handed free use of my body over to biker guy.

This time I listened. It took a while to get my aching body moving. It felt like I’d been run over by a semi. Every muscle burned; every bone ached.

I stumbled to the nearest window and saw nothing but green.

Everywhere.

Pine trees.

Pine trees weren’t something one saw a lot of in Los Angeles.

“Where the fuck am I?” I breathed. I went to look through the first open doorway and saw that it was a small bathroom. I made use of the toilet and then went to check out the second doorway.

I was greeted with a small landing attached to a wooden staircase. Even with a handrail, I wasn’t sure I’d make it down the steps in one piece.

Since I didn’t have a lot of options… or any, really, I began my descent. I really wanted my gun because I had a bad feeling about what—or rather,who—I’d find on the lower floor. I told myself over and over that it would be my brother who greeted me and then explained what the hell had happened and where the fuck we were.

The first floor of what I assumed was a cabin was just as barren as the bedroom. Even though I didn’t have my gun, I cleared each room slowly as if I were armed.

Unlike my house, the cabin didn’t really have any rooms. To my left was an open living space with more mismatched and very outdated furniture. I didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about it because my only concern was seeing if the space was empty or not.

It was.

There was a door in front of me that led outside but when I tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge. It had a deadbolt lock on it that required a key to unlock it. I swallowed down my fear that I was locked in the cabin and looked to my right. I was greeted with a long but narrow dining room. The table filled most of thespace. It was made from the same kind of wood as the stairs. At the end of the room was a wide opening leading to what looked like a kitchen. Based on the layout that I’d already seen, it was a good bet that it was the last room in the place.

I tried to listen for any sound that would confirm I wasn’t alone, but there was nothing. I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad about that. Being ditched at the cabin with nowhere to go was one thing, but being in the cabin with the person I suspected had brought me there was another.

God, I was being ridiculous. I wasn’t in some slasher flick, and I wasn’t some dumb teenager who hid themself in the darkest room which also happened to have dozens of sharp pointy objects and no way out. I was a cop, damn it.

Correction.

I’dbeena cop.

My inner voice told me to stop stalling and move my ass.

His back was to me when I stepped into the kitchen. He was sitting at a small table. It looked like he was reading. All I needed was a heavy object and I’d be out of there.

“There’s coffee,” Cass said.

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice. Of course the asshole would hear me. I took a quick look around the kitchen but didn’t see my gun or phone. I didn’t see anything except for the coffee pot and an empty mug sitting in front of it.

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