Page 19 of Filthy and Dirty with my Captors

“In love? Yeah, I don’t think this is love.”

“Then what is love, little girl? Last I checked, it was doing whatever the hell you need to do to keep someone safe, and you were boardin’ a crashin’ train.”

I blow out a heavy breath and stare at the giant man in front of me. “It wasn’t crashing. It was going exactly as I planned. And no offense, but I don’t need a protector. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He laughs under his breath. “Clearly.”

Rolling my eyes, I smirk and say, “What? You don’t think I can take care of myself because I’m here?”

“No. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but you’re missing the point. Love makes you want to care for someone. If I’m taking care of a woman, I’m doing it for me, not her. I want to know she’s safe. I want to know she feels loved—”

“And how do you let her know what a psychopath you are?” I seethe, twisting my hair to the side of my shoulder.

He groans, and the annoyance is back. “Look, all I’m sayin’ is the man talks about you every day. I know you were sad when the flower shop closed. I know you like Oolong tea after dinner with a shortbread cookie. I know you love to watch the sun come up after a storm because the colors are brighter, and how you cried during a boxing match because you felt bad for the old guy who couldn’t fight anymore. Hell,” he laughs, “I know so much about you I feel like I know you. Give him a chance to explain. He wants to protect you. That’s all. Let a man, be a man.”

I shake my head and fold my arms over my chest as I stare toward the prehistoric-minded male in front of me. “I see why you’re single.”

He lifts his brows and laughs before clearing his throat. “You and the rest of humanity. Talk to Owen and I’ll let you feed the chickens before dinner.”

“You really like making deals, don’t you?”

He stands from the bed and the mattress creaks. “I think there are some eggs that need collecting too.”

Before I can answer, Hawk steps back into the room with a basket of snacks, drinks, and a bottle of ibuprofen. There’s nothing this man can’t do that doesn’t look attractive. I mean, he hasn’t done anything but step into the room, yet he’s done it with this wide shoulder assurance that would make any woman wild.

Moose glances toward me. He’s attractive as well, though his look is much rougher and grizzlier than Hawk and Owen. “Last chance. Do we have a deal?”

I glance up toward him, studying the dark wrinkle across his forehead and the lines of ink that travel down his arms and onto his hands. He’s big, rough, and rugged, which I didn’t think was my thing until last night.

I can’t believe I had his cock in my mouth. His big, thick, pulsating cock. My clit throbs as I think back, associating his face with the moment.

“What are we doing, little girl? We have a deal or not?”

I nod in agreement, my stomach tight.

It’s only feeding chickens, and I’d have talked to Owen, anyway. At least that’s the story I tell myself, but deep down, I have a feeling I’m a little excited for some alone time with a big, grizzly giant.

Chapter Seven

Rosie

I can barely unbend my knee, but I’m able to hobble around the house with help from an old crutch Moose had out in the barn. It’s not in perfect shape, but he’s cleaned it off and wrapped it with the cushion from an old tractor seat and duct tape for me.

I was only blindfolded and confined for twenty-four hours, but it was enough sensory deprivation that I’m thankful for the free rein of my body and senses again. I’ll be even more thankful when I get my cell phone back, which is exactly what I plan on doing as soon as possible. I need to talk to Jen. I’m sure she’s worried about me. Besides that, I could use a conversation with someone other than these three men and all their over-the-top macho thoughts.

The farmhouse is a lot bigger than I’d imagined. There’s a massive kitchen with an old gas burning stove, and an island and sink that looks over the barn. To the left is a separate dining room with a long, hand-built table that looks to seat at least twelve people.

To the right is the attached living room, which doesn’t look updated since the house was built. Ornate wallpaper lines the walls and a worn leather couch sits in the center of the space near a large, roaring fireplace where two matching chairs sit on either side. Antique farm tools hang on the wall next to an arrayof horse paintings that look like they were done with oil. I have so many questions about this place. The bedroom is so modern, but the rest of the house leaves a lot to be desired. Clearly, the place was inherited, but why didn’t Moose ever put any personal touches on it?

Owen sits in front of the fire, staring at the flames with a downtrodden expression of a guilty man. It’s only been a few hours since I ordered him out of the room, and I’m not sure if I have the empathy to deal with him yet, but seeing him like this helps his case.

“Hey.” My voice is a near whisper as I lean against the frame of the living room entryway.

He bounces up from the chair where he’s sitting and makes his way toward me, hooking his arm behind my waist to help me to the sofa. “Birdie, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting.”

“I know,” I say, reaching for the comfort of his hand. “I… thought we should talk. I’m really pissed off at you, Owen. I can’t believe you did this. I mean, what was the plan here?”

He rolls his head side to side then looks toward me. “I know. I shouldn’t have done this. I get it. I just… you’re so innocent, and I didn’t want anything bad happening to you.” He wets his lips and looks away, before brushing his hand over his face. “You’re my best friend, Birdie. I love you.”

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