Page 23 of Ravaged
CHAPTER 7
Teagen
I picked through the cleaning supplies. Glass cleaner. Dusting spray. Leather wipes. This was the kind of thing Iris knew: the preferred household chemical to use as a self-defense weapon. My guess was that bleach would have been the best, but I didn’t see any in the boxes. A piercing noise echoed above the house. I flinched, but didn’t let myself think about it. I had to focus on my situation. Iris had once taught me how to pick a lock, and though I had thought it was fun at the time, I hadn’t practiced or tried to remember it. An eternal optimist, it was hard to imagine being locked away where no one would find me. But here I was, trying to figure out a makeshift weapon and find a paperclip to get out of the only door. But whenever they left, there was another click on the other side of the door; it wasn’t just the lock on the doorknob, but some sort of swing bar or security loop in addition to it.
So it was up to me and the chemicals. Something had to work.
It’s not like I needed to kill him. I could blind him temporarily and hope to my lucky stars that maybe, just maybe, the front door or the back door was directly within my line of sight, and that no one else was watching as I ran as fast as I could. I thumbed through the chemicals again and selected the one with the direst poison warning, but as soon as I picked it up, nausea crawled in my stomach. I wrapped my arms over my abdomen. He was a criminal, for fuck’s sake. This was survival. Why did I feel guilty for what I was about to do?
The additional lock shifted open, then the doorknob unlocked. I peered from behind the cardboard boxes. Ethan barrelled down the stairs, booming with each step, a towel clutched in his hand. He flexed his arm muscles, then cracked his neck as his eyes landed on me, naked, practically in the fetal position, like a feral cat hissing behind a bunch of boxes.
I rubbed my chest. My lucky charm was gone. Damn it. What had he done with my necklace? Would I ever give it back?
That was the least of my worries, but it was easier to worry about the little things, rather than the big picture, like whether or not I would survive.
He threw the towel at me. “Let’s go,” he said, motioning for me to follow him.
“Go where?”
“To the bathroom.”
I eyed the puppy pad in the dog kennel. It was there, I assumed, for a specific reason. But I would rather hold my bladder for as long as possible, than to dothat. Luckily, I was rather dehydrated. It hadn’t been hard.
“Really?” I asked. “The bathroom?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Do you want to go or not?”
I wrapped the towel around my body. “You’re not going to—” He flexed his fingers one by one, the knuckles bulging. I suppose questioning whether or not he was going to restrain me again was a stupid question. I shut my mouth and followed him up the stairs.
Wood panels covered the walls, polished, decorated with modern paintings. Swashes of color. Landscapes. Shadowed still life. We went down the hallway, to a wooden door. The bathroom. The walls were covered in a pink floral paper. A porcelain dish sat on the counter, cupping a rose-shaped soap with a few specks of dust, a glass soap container to the side of it with bubbles on the pump from the last user. A clawed bathtub. The toilet was curved in its own little stall, separate from the bathtub on the other side of the wall. I shuffled towards the toilet and Ethan leaned against the sink counter, cracking his knuckles again. Was it boredom, or a tick? Was it a way not to look at me?
I stood in front of the toilet, staring at him. Waiting. He didn’t move. He kept his eyes trained on his own hands, avoiding me. He had the decency to get me a towel to cover myself, but he was going to stand there while I peed? Wasn’t he going to at least turn around?
“The bathroom is pretty big,” I said.
He didn’t budge. “Your point?”
“Are you really going to stand there while I pee?”
Finally, he looked at me, his onyx eyes hardened. “I’m not just going to stand here. Now, I’m going to watch you.”
How would I be able to pee with an audience?
“You’re serious?” I asked.
“Do you want to pee in the cage?”
Fine.Fine. I could do this. I inched the towel up over my hips, careful to keep the towel over my breasts, as if he hadn’t seen them before. He kept his eyes on me. Go pee, I thought, Just go pee. But it wouldn’t go. I flicked my eyes away, staring at the ceiling. A shiny wood-colored bar covered all of the corners, an edge that must have once complimented the wallpaper, but looked ridiculously out of place now. Finally, I felt relief and sighed.
When I finished, Ethan was back to looking at his knuckles. At least he didn’twantto actually watch me pee.
I cleaned and flushed. Ethan moved aside, letting me wash my hands. I looked in the mirror; the makeup around my eyes had smeared, making me look more sultry than I usually liked. Like I was about to do the walk of shame, heading back home after a rough, meaningless fuck.
Which gave me an idea. In a way, that’s exactly what I needed to do. I needed to stay out of the basement. If I was up here, there were more chances to get out.
I swayed my hips, letting the towel hang a little further down, above my nipples, exposing my sides. Ethan’s lips parted, his gaze exploring my body. I flushed with heat underneath those eyes. I batted my lashes.
“Isn’t this what you want?” I asked. I pulled his hand into mine, pressing his warm palm against the tops of my breasts. He stiffened for a moment, but kept it there. “I want you to fuck me again. Like you did before.” I stepped closer, and his chest tightened. “Let me be your slut. Your dirty, filthy fuck toy.”
