Page 85 of Hunt for You

I wanted to make a joke about that. But my brain wasn’t working. I couldn’t think of one.

Then he leaned down to sit me carefully on the countertop.

He stepped away for a second and I saw his head turn to the shower, then the bath, like he was trying to make a decision, and I tried to drum up some adrenaline.

He decided on the bath, figured out the faucet and got it loudly pouring into the enamel bath before turning back to me.

“You gonna get n-naked too, Cain?” I whispered through numb lips, keeping my arms bent up and against my chest because I felt cold. “You c-could untie me so I could t-trace the lines of your muscles. I p-promise n-not to touch anything I shouldn’t.”

I wished my voice sounded more alive and my teeth weren’t chattering, but Cain snorted and I tried to smile.

Then he stripped me in short, efficient tugs at my clothing. He muttered curses when the bonds made it impossible to get my clothes off, so he was forced to untie them, and hold my wrists in one hand while he stripped me with the other.

I considered fighting, but my entire body felt like a wrung out rag.

And when he had me down to my underwear, he stopped.

He was staring at me through that mask. I could tell. Though I couldn’t see his eyes.

“You gonna fight me now, Bridget?”

“Are you g-gonna k-kill me?”

“No,” he rasped firmly. “No way does that fucker get a vote in our arrangement. That’s between us.”

“I c-can’t decide if I’m f-flattered, or off-fended.”

“You aren’t offended,” he whispered, then picked me up off the counter and lowered me into the still-filling bath. “You are in shock, though. So let’s get you warmed up.”

Once I was in the bath, the water lapping around my stomach, he hesitated. Then he straightened and that masked face turned like he was meeting my eyes.

“I’m going to get you something to eat—you need sugar. And where’s your after-care kit. Can I trust you to stay here? Or do I need to tie you again?”

“You d-don’t need to tie me. And it’s in the hallway cupboard.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, just stayed there, very still. Then, as if he’d made a decision and wasn’t going to let himself examine it, he turned on his heel and marched out of the bathroom.

I considered getting out and going after him for about three seconds. Then my throat pinched and my body panged, and I just… I couldn’t.

He was probably going to steal something. Or put a camera in to watch me.

And I couldn’t drum up the energy to care.

With a heavy sigh, I let my head sink back on the edge of the tub, closed my eyes, and asked God why I still wanted to cry when it was all over and nothing bad had actually happened.

But, unsurprisingly, God didn’t answer.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke to the soft sounds of little plastic wrappers being opened, and found Cain, still dressed and masked, opening some of the medical supplies he’d had me buy.

“Whatcha doin’?” My lips didn’t want to move so the words were a little slurred.

“You’ve got some scrapes. I’m going to clean them.”

“I do?”

The mask bobbed up and down as he nodded, laying out bandaids, a gauze, a sticky bandage, a little bottle of disinfectant and some cotton balls in an extremely neat row on the countertop.

“Oh, God. Are you OCD?” I groaned.

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