Page 26 of No One Has To Know

Shocker.

As I chew, I can’t quite hide how tasty it is.

He notices. Feeding me another bite, as though he’s taking pleasure out of seeing me enjoy it, he smirks. “Told you, angel. Good girls get rewarded.”

11

ANGELA

The cake isn’t the only thing Burns gives me that night. Though he insists on me sleeping in his cop shirt, he reveals that he made a pit stop at my apartment, packing me a bag full of my own clothes. Not much. He has to know my focus is getting him to lower his guard so I can escape him, but like getting him to remove the cuffs and having the chance to shower, he rewards me with something other to wear than a cocktail dress and the same outfit I’ve slept in for days.

I’m not allowed to change out of his SPD shirt. That’s fine. It’s actually pretty comfy.

However, in an act of total defiance, I grab one of the pairs of panties he actually shoved in the bag and pull them on right in front of him.

He laughs. Of course he does. “If you think that’ll keep me from my pussy, go right ahead, angel. But don’t be mad when I rip them off of you.”

Understandably, I’m not so keen on falling asleep next to him after that comment. I don’t have any choice about that, either. Burns doesn’t chain us together, but with the weight of his leg thrown over mine, his arm wrapping around me, I’m as good as tethered to him. I don’t move. It doesn’t matter. He’s hard from the moment he curves his big body by mine, though the only mention he makes of sex is his crack about my panties.

I still find it hard to knock out. The bliss following my orgasm has turned to confusion. I hate how easy it is for Burns to convince me to let him do whatever he wants to my body. Every time I decide to stand firm, to treat him like a deranged captor, he turns on that charming smile and that filthy, possessive mouth and I… I give in.

I wish I could explain it. I think it’s a new type of trauma response for me. After seeing how my life was ruined because I didn’t go along with giving Carter everything he wanted, I’m quick to offer it to Burns if only because he’s made sex so transactional.

I’m not letting him touch me because I wanthim. It’s what I can get out of him that makes me so fucking agreeable.

And I want freedom.

On my fourth day of captivity, I get a tiny slice of it.

Pity it doesn’t last.

* * *

In the fourdays that I’ve been trapped in Burns’s basement, I’ve developed a bit of a routine. He’s gone for the bulk of the daylight hours, so there’s plenty of time to kill. When my attention span allows it, I lose myself in my book about flowers. It’s the one thing saving my sanity, I think.

In another life, I would’ve been a botanist. In the quiet of this underground space, I convince myself I still can.

I pace a lot. Sleep, too. When the four walls seem like they’re closing in on me, I climb the steps and rattle the doorknob. It’s always locked, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t check.

The same thing happens on the fourth day.

After breakfast and another demanded kiss, Burns heads out in his uniform. Like I have been, I wait until enough minutes have passed that, even if he left the door open, I won’t run into him on his way to his cop car. Today, that’s about ten minutes.

Tiptoeing up the stairs, I grab the handle, fully expecting it to be locked.

It isn’t.

I don’t stop to think. I don’t stop to wonder if it’s a coincidence, or if it’s a trap.

It’s a trap.

Flinging the door open, I find myself in a homy-looking living room. I don’t see Burns, though my quick looks reveals a big screen TV, an unlit fireplace, a leather couch, and two pairs of shoes set side by side.

One is obviously a pair of Burns’s uniform shoes. The other? The boots I was wearing on my date with Dean.

A bubble of insane laughter wells up inside of me. The whole time I’ve been trapped in Burns’s basement, barefoot, I wondered what happened to my boots. All along, he’s had them set up right next to his, like they belong there.

LikeIbelong here.

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