Page 48 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 23

Malia

Admittedly, there was a part of me that considered it. As soon as I closed the door, my eyes zeroed in on the possible escape route–the window straight in front of me. The bathroom is on the first floor, and it faces away from the backyard where Nate taught me how to shoot. Trees shield the valley in the distance, but but would also allow me to stay hidden once I made it outside.

I seriously considered making a run for it. It would have been stupid for me not to.

But I know that it would be even more stupid for me to try. I may get farther than any of them expect me to, and I may even be able to put some distance between me and the house before they even noticed I was gone. Maybe.

But it wouldn’t take very long and they would notice that I was taking too long in the bathroom. And they would come after me. With guns. Even if I could get some distance on them in the meantime, they could just point a gun in my direction and let the bullet do what their legs couldn't–catch up with me.

Would Nate shoot me? I don't want to believe that he would. But the other two wouldn't hesitate for a second.

No, trying to run wouldn't bode well for me. I would only be risking my life.

But it’s not just that. There’s something else holding me back. Something that I hate to admit, even to myself.

Obligation. Obligation towards him. I don't want to betray Nate's trust, and I hate myself for that. After what he did to me, how could I even take his feelings into consideration? No matter how he made me feel before the punishment, no matter how much I pleaded for him to touch me, how much I yearned to be closer to him—this doesn't justify the fact that he only did it to humiliate me and made me suffer through the longest night of my life.

Still, I don't betray him. I don't try to run. Instead, I make proper use of the first time I have been allowed to be by myself since waking up. I take a long, hot shower without having his eyes locked on me, taking deep breaths as I try to organize my thoughts and regain some of the strength I've lost. I let the soothing, hot water run down my body in a warm embrace.

That is, until someone starts banging against the bathroom door, and I hear a muffled voice yelling at me to stop. It's not Nate’s voice but one of the other guys, and it fills me with dread.

But when I step outside the bathroom wearing the same pair of ugly grey sweats, it’s Nate who is waiting for me. I see the other guy, though—I believe it's the one he called Mike—retreat down the hallway.

"Wear this," Nate says, holding up a folded pile of clothes. "These should fit you better."

I cast him a cautious look before accepting the clothing outfit he's given me to wear. It's a pair of dark blue jeans, a casual red blouse, a black cardigan, and a pair of underwear, a matching bra and socks.

"Are these...?"

"No, they are not Lailah's," he responds before I even finish asking my question. "These were bought especially for you. I can't promise they will fit, but based on my close observations of you, I'm assuming they will."

Once again, my cheeks start burning as I recall last night. He has seen more of me than my last date did, and he took it all in as if we were actually an item.

As if I belonged to him.

The fact that he's picking out and giving me clothes to wear doesn't minimize that feeling. If anything, it intensifies the possessive nature of his attitude toward me.

"Go, change." He turns his back to me. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen."

I hesitate for a moment, bewildered by the set of mixed feelings that rush through me, but then I do as I'm told.

From there, the day proceeds similarly to yesterday, beginning with an awkward breakfast under the watchful eyes of the three men.

It's not like I feel at ease when I'm alone with Nate, but when the other two guys are around, I feel downright terrified. There's a rugged brutishness about them that Nate lacks. I couldn't really put my finger on it at first, but this morning, as my eyes rove back and forth between the three of them, I notice there's a visible difference between him and the others.

Despite Nate’s intimidating nature and the rough way he interacts with me, there's something about him, something I would almost call virtuous if I didn't know any better. Initially, I thought that it was just because he might be younger than them. There are fewer stress lines accenting his handsome features and he doesn't look worn out the way they do. But I now realize that there's probably not much of an age difference, if at all, and the noticeable difference in appearance is most likely due to their different backgrounds. That, and Nate likely takes better care of himself.

I came to that conclusion when I noticed that he's the only one who starts the day with a shower, while those two goons don't seem to be at all bothered by the stench they bring to the table.

It only adds to my relief when Nate guides me outside to continue our training session from the day before.

"Only a few quick rounds," he announces as we step into the yard. He hands me the gun so nonchalantly, almost as if it was a broom and he'd just asked me to sweep the floor with it. I take a deep breath as my fingers close around the handle of the gun, trying to at least pretend that I’m comfortable holding a gun.

But there's no pretending with Nate. He watches me pointedly, noticing even the slightest trembling motion as I weigh the weapon in my hands.

"And I thought this would be the easiest part," he comments, arching an eyebrow at me.

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