Page 6 of Filthy and Dirty with my Captors

The bedroom door closes and the man with a spicy scent tugs off my mask slowly, then palms his giant hand down over my frazzled hair.

What the hell is up with this dude?

I flinch backward and stare up at the long, dark circles that represent his eyes. For some reason, I expect him to back away, but he doesn’t. He stares at me long and hard, stroking my hair as though he’s trying to tell me something he can’t.

“Okay, well…” I break eye contact and scan the space, hoping to see a weakness right away, but the one window in the room is boarded up.

The man clears his throat before saying, “The bathroom is over here, and you should have everything you need. If there’s anything missing, write it down on the notepad by the bed and one of us will get it for you.” He picks up the remote by the television. “You have all the stations, except premiums. You’ll have three meals a day, and someone will be by to take you for exercise in the morning and again in the late afternoon,” the man continues.

My brows narrow as I glance back at the masked man who’s crossed his arms firmly over his chest, which accentuates his biceps. “Okay, but why am I here?”

“Believe it or not, you’re here for protection. We’re not going to hurt you.”

I laugh. “You’re protecting me? Oh, wow. Thanks… umm… from what?”

The man shakes his head and turns toward the door.

“Wait.” I stand taller and recollect my thoughts. I need to keep him talking. “If you’re here protecting me, can you take off your masks? They’re scary.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They’re forourprotection.”

“Okay…” I step forward with my hands knitted together in the most helpless stance I can muster. He seemed to like petting me. Maybe he has a weakness for helplessness. If I can look small and pathetic, maybe he’ll have mercy. “Then what do I call you?”

The man looks away, then back again. “You can call me Zee. The big guy is Moose, and the one in the doorway is Hawk.”

I hitch my hand up onto my hip. “Seriously?”

Zee nods. “Yeah, what’s wrong with those names?”

“Well, why two animals and one letter? Why not three animals? Why not three letters?”

He shakes his head and stalks out into the hallway, grabbing the doorknob behind him. “I’m getting you food. I need you to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” I bite, clearly still confused on my approach.

“You’re eating,” the man groans.

“I can’t eat alone. My anxiety is bad right now. I’ll feel better to eat with someone.” Clearly, I’ve taken a third attempt to figure out what type of escape I want to make. I guess the new option is annoyance.

“Can’t happen,” the man responds, standing in the doorway with one hand still on the knob.

I shake my head and look away before glancing back again. “Please. One person for one meal. It would make me feel a whole lot better to talk while I’m eating.”

The man tilts his head to the side before hanging it down as though he’s been defeated, easily so, if I’m being honest. He’s the one I should watch. Downstairs, he seemed to have the edge over the guys on what they did with me, and right now, he’s caved to a dinner date without much effort. “Fine, I’ll send Moose in with dinner. You eat, you talk, he leaves. The end.”

My chest tightens. I don’t know why I thought dinner would be with Zee. I need dinner to be with Zee.His vibe is soft, and I know I could get him talking. Moose came off more like a brick house. Hell, I’d even take the quiet one over the massive one.

The bedroom door closes before my rebuttal is made and I’m left with my thoughts again. I might have bitten off more than I can chew. My body is exhausted. I’m not thinking straight. In fact, I’m all over the map. I get the feeling that the big Moose guy is not, though I could be wrong. Maybe he’s the sweetest of them all. Maybe getting alone time with each of them could get me pitting them against each other. I could promise Moose my virginity. I could make his great big body salivate with need over sinking into my tight, little pussy.

I bite the inside of my cheek and lay back on the neatly made king size bed. The patchwork quilt has been recently washed and smells floral and fresh. The headboard is solid wood and matches the dresser where the TV sits. In the corner is a birch rocking chair that looks handmade, and another quilt is laid on the back with patchwork resembling different animals in the woods. I’ve always admired people who can quilt—another hobby I’ll never get to try.

I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly before standing to investigate the closet on the other side of the room. Inside, extra bedding sits stacked neatly on the top rails alongside a clear tote of emergency supplies, which look fromhere to be batteries and flashlights. Aside from that, the racks are empty.

No clothes, no shoes, no boxes filled with memories. The closet, like the men, has been swept of its identity.

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