Page 18 of Room Ten: Praise Times Three

Time means nothing, although between my adrenaline fading and the hot water pounding my back, a weariness unlike anything I’ve ever felt takes hold. I lean my head back against the shower wall and let my legs slide forward until I press my feet against the glass. The bruising on my thigh is dark and fresh, with none of the yellowing that comes with time. I suppose not that long ago, after all.

“I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe,” I chant the words over and over as I grab the soap and take stock of my limbs, sliding the bar across my skin.

Tears fall down my cheek without sound at the memory of my father calling me Lambchop. That was my mother’s pet name for me, and I haven’t heard it since she died. I need to call him, let him know I’m okay. He’s probably worried sick, and although I don’t want him to see me like this, I need to make sure he’s okay, too.

Who will take care of him while I’m away?

Deep down, I know it’s not my job. He’s never relied on me. He’s barely aware of where I am from one day to the next, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take care of him from the shadows.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Leti?”

I’m not sure whose voice that is, but I bring my knees back up to cover myself. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

The question makes me realize the water is barely lukewarm. I’ve been sitting here long enough to drain the water heater, lost in my mindless wandering, for far too long. “Yes. I’ll be right out.”

I quickly wash all my parts, getting the soles of my feet and then stand up and under of the now cold spray, rinsing as quickly as possible. I don’t wash my hair, which is fine considering I’ll pull it up into a bun, anyway. Turning off the water, I hear a noise on the other side of the door. “Hello?”

“It’s just me, Caiden. There are clothes for you on the bed. I’ll be waiting for you in the living room. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Once I hear the door close, I grab two towels—one for my hair and the other for my body—before I gently open the bathroom door and peek out into the bedroom. I’m not afraid of these men, but I’ve never been the type to walk around naked in front of strangers. Hell, I barely lounge around my pool in a bikini without covering up. I always throw on something before going in the house where my father or any of the staff might see me.

That’s one of many ways my sister and I differ. She’s always been comfortable in her body and embraces her curves, while I’ve always hidden mine. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my body, because I’m not, but I never have been comfortable with people looking at me.

On the bed are a pair of soft, well-worn gray sweatpants, a black ribbed tank top, a Townsend Security branded T-shirt, and an oversized Loyola sweatshirt. More layers than I need and yet, I’m thankful for them.

Dressed, I crack the door open and peer down the hallway. I hear the men in the kitchen milling about as they fix a midnight snack.

“As soon as she comes out, before we sleep tonight, we need to see if we can get a confirmation of Claudine’s accomplices.”

I’m not sure who is talking. They all have low, deep voices. Sexy and sensual, like the kinds of voices I’d love to have read me to sleep at night.

“That might be traumatic for her,” another voice says.

“No choice,” the gruffer of the three voices says, and I’m thinking that is Reese. He carries himself like the de facto leader of this group, although every one of them seems like they are in charge.

“Leti?” Caiden, the man who carried me out of that awful house, steps into view at the end of the hallway. He gives me a gentle smile and waves me forward with a tilt of his head. “Come have some tea or hot cocoa.”

I walk toward him and follow him into the kitchen where Reese and Soren also stand around the island with a loaf of bread and an assortment of lunch meats, peanut butter, and jelly.

Reese motions to the food. “How about a PB&J to help settle your stomach?”

“We’re sure you haven’t eaten in a long time,” Caiden adds.

“How long?” I ask. “How long since they took me?”

Glancing from man to man, I realize how big each of them is. Soren is the smallest, but he’s still a good four inches taller than I, with broad shoulders, a thick neck, and a dark, trim beard. His blue eyes are the most striking, and the permanent blush reddening his cheeks gives him a boyish charm.

Reese is the biggest. At least six foot six with a massive chest his T-shirt struggles to contain. He has the hardest face, the shrewdest, dark gaze, and a crooked nose with a small scar on his cheek that tells tales of past fights.

Caiden has a bit of Calvin Klein underwear model to him, with high cheekbones and a five o’clock shadow darkening his cheeks. His eyes are hazel, or maybe gray. Honestly, it’s hard to tell in this light, but he has dark thick eyelashes—the kind every girl goes gaga over.

They glance at each other, and Reese says, “A little over eighteen hours.”

“That’s it?” It feels like a lifetime.

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