Page 29 of Dizzy

Grinder grunts. “Yup. Danielle bunked with me for a spell. Took care of the dogs. Ate me out of fuckin’ house and home. I ate her out, too,” he cackles. “We ended up even.”

Danielle’s a sweetbutt. She’s a dancer. And at least thirty years younger than Grinder.

“You know Dizzy has kids. We’d need to be able to trust you around them. We’ll need a last name. ID. We’ll run a check. Make sure you’re solid. It’s an opportunity. Get you back on your feet.”

They’re going to let me out of this basement. I’ll be a house mouse. I’ll be whatever they want. And as soon as they turn their backs, I’ll be gone.

“I don’t have ID. Chaos left with all my shit.”

“We can work around that. What’s your last name, Fay-Lee?”

“Parsons.”

“You’re good people, aren’t you Fay-Lee Parsons? You just found yourself in a bad situation.”

I don’t know what’s happening here. Heavy’s black gaze is boring into me. I squirm. I can’t help it. I can’t tear my eyes from him, though. I’m snared. He’s hypnotizing me.

Huh. I thought I was too stubborn for that.

“Yeah.” I am a good person, and this situation does suck.

“It’d be good to have a soft bed. Warm food. Rest.”

My chin wobbles. I clench my jaw to make it stop. But he’s right.

A bed would be really nice. I’m tough, but my body feels a hundred years old. I could use a break.

“I’ll make a few calls. I’m sure you’ll check out. You can go home with Dizzy. Deal?”

A flood of relief busts loose in my chest. Yes, I want to go home with Dizzy. Which doesn’t make any sense. This whole scenario isn’t right. Ten minutes ago, I was in the hot seat. Now I’m a charity case? Something ain’t right.

But does it really matter? Heavy’s offering me a way out of this basement. I can go along with it long enough to fill my belly.

And a night in a soft bed before I hit the road again wouldn’t be the worst.

I don’t trust this man. I don’t trust any of them. They’re working really hard to convince me to go quietly to a second location. I watch missing person shows. You never go to a second location. That’s where they kill you.

But what choice do I have?

And they want me to go home with Dizzy. The guy who ten minutes ago was wailing on my ass. I shouldn’t agree. It hurts like hell to sit right now, and that’s due to him. Why aren’t I steaming mad?

I find myself looking up at him. His stone-face falls for a moment, and his eyes seem to want to tell me something. He nods almost imperceptibly.

There’s no real reason to trust him. Yeah, he seems to have a possessive streak when it comes to me, but possessive is how all manner of ugliness begins. My sisters love the jealous type. Until they’ve got to call in every hour, and they get in trouble for going to the male teller’s line at the bank.

What’s the option though?

“All right,” I say.

There’s no way these guys are on the up-and-up.

I pray I’m smart enough to bail before whatever trap this is springs shut.

* * *

Dizzy hustlesme out of the basement right quick. He drags me to the kitchen and bellows for his boys. Takes him more than a few shouts to round ‘em up. Then he leads us to his truck and barks at us to get in. He opens the door for me, and he snaps at Carson when he shoves past me to climb over the passenger seat to the back row.

Some of the awful tension seeps from my body. He’s not taking me to a second location to kill me with his kids in the truck.

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