Page 35 of Filthy and Dirty with my Captors

“The guys are dying to talk to you.” He brushes his calloused hand up and down my arm as he talks. “We didn’t want to wake you last night, but everyone took turns sleeping outside your door in case you needed anything.”

“You did?” My brows narrow inward as I turn toward him. “That’s the sweetest thing ever.”

“You’re our girl, Birdie. We take care of you. Now and always.” I lean into his mouth and kiss him slowly, savoring the sweet coffee on his lips. “Why don’t you come out and get some breakfast. I’m sure you’re starving.”

I am quite literally starving. My stomach has been making grumbling noises since I woke up from the nightmare, but I’m not sure I’m ready to eat yet. “I think I might rinse off first. I’m covered in sweat from that nightmare, and my stomach is still a little queasy too.”

He brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. “Okay. I’ll go get that address for you then. The guys at the shop are holdingeverything down today. I figured you’d need the extra support, anyway. I’m all yours. Whatever you need.”

Part of me wants to lay back down, cuddle into Owen’s arms, and lose myself in the sound of his breath. Another part of me wants to invite Hawk and Moose in and cover myself in a pile of man warmth. But the rational part of me, the part that thrives off a sense of justice, knows where I need to be today—at the home of a woman whose fate was about to be my own.

Chapter Fifteen

Rosie

My stomach tightens with anticipation as Owen holds my hand steady. April only lives twenty miles from the farmhouse, but it feels like we’ve been driving for hours. It’s hard to explain, but somehow, I feel tethered to this woman. Sure, I wasn’t held captive for a year, but we dealt with the same person. We share a similar shame, a parallel set of questions that no one else can understand.

Owen turns right and we wind up the old dirt road toward the little craftsman style house at the end of the lane. It’s a cute place on a small lot surrounded by trees and berry bushes. There’s an oak in the front yard with a tire swing blowing back and forth in the wind, and two people sit on the front porch in worn white rockers as though they’re expecting us.

I stare at the house for a long moment, wondering how the scene could look so peaceful given what’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours. The flowers are blooming, birds are singing, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. “Are you coming with me?”

“You want me to?” Owen squeezes my thigh gently, his gaze focused on me.

I hadn’t thought this part through. I want him next to me. I want him holding my hand, reminding me that he’s right there and I’m okay, but I know it would be hard on April to have somestrange man around right now. “It’s probably best if I do this on my own.”

Owen nods as he pulls up in front of the house, tires crunching the stones in the driveway. “I’ll wait right over here in the truck. Don’t leave the front porch, okay?”

Normally, I’d push back if a man were trying to tell me where to stand or what to do, but I know he’s only trying to protect me, and from now on, I’m going to be insanely thankful for that. Leaning over, I kiss his lips softly, drag in a deep breath, and step down from the truck, trying to settle the knot that’s built in my stomach.

“Hey.” April’s mother stands from the rocker and meets me at the edge of the porch. She’s older with long gray hair, and her face tells the story of a woman who’s confused and broken. She leans in, and with a low tone says, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

I reach out toward the woman, then hold her soft hand in my own. I hadn’t thought about the exact words I’d say, or how I’d say them. I should have. I really should have.

“Thank you for having me,” I manage, my throat closing as I speak. I’m not sure why this is proving to be so difficult.

Her mom nods and steps inside the house, letting the screen door slam closed behind her.

April jumps, and I get my first glimpse of the broken girl I could’ve been.

“Sorry!” her mom cries. “It’s a habit. Just the door.”

Maybe this was a mistake.

“Hi,” I manage as softly as possible, sitting in the rocking chair beside her. “I’m—”

“You’re the other girl. Rosie, right? The one he bid on.” Her face is sunken as though the weight of life has carved out pieces of her. Her orange hair is tied back with long flyways blowing in the breeze. She looks frail. Frail and exhausted.

“He talked about me?”

She nods and leans in. “A lot, like every night. He’d talk about how excited he was to deflower you. He had this whole ceremony he was planning with candles and music, and I was supposed to watch.”

“Watch?”I swallow hard, and for a second, I wonder if maybe she has Stockholm’s. Maybe she misses him. Maybe she was looking forward to this weird night of sex. Then again, maybe the situation made her jealous of me and my being here is only causing her more pain.

“Yeah. It’s fucked up, right? He was planning to hold you with me. He’d show me the videos you made for him onFantasy Driver,and he let me read your profile.” She shrugs. “I wasn’t looking forward to you getting trapped with me, but I was looking forward to not being alone.”

My heart squeezes tight and the breakfast I had earlier pushes up my esophagus. “I get it. That’s not fucked up. It’s survival.”

She pushes a tear off her face. “It’s weird to see you like this, in real life. The cops told me what happened. Are you okay?”

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