What we have is passionate. It’s extreme.
I’m fucking Rowan, a kingpin biker.
Oh, God, maybe I have lost my mind down here.
Worst part is, I feel lucky to have him right now. He’s given me more than enough to occupy my time down here.
When I get bored, I read through my magazines, and I suddenly have something to think about other than the time not passing in front of my eyes. I have enough whiskey to keep me satisfied for a day, and every so often I smoke a cigarette, despite the smoke filling up a bit too fast.
It’s not luxurious down here, though. I’m not trying to give that impression by any means. And I am resilient. I’ve come up with a plan to escape, when the time is right.
Jeffco and Andy take me out every morning and every night.
One of these nights, I plan to fight back. If I heat up this lighter enough, I might be able to lodge it into one of their eyes.
Yes, I’ll take the bottle of whisky and break it before they come through. I’ll slice Andy’s throat if I have to. This is my life we’re talking about.
I want to rely on Rowan, but how much do I really know the guy? For all I know, he could just be playing the game, as men do.
Whatever the case is, I have to rely on myself. I need to escape.
At night, I hear footsteps, coming toward the roof of my underground prison. I hear the boots stop, but it’s not the same sound that Jeffco or Andy makes. I don’t hear him hack a cough or anything.
I just hear that knock, and a deep voice says, “You still down there?”
Of course, It’s Rowan.
“I’m here,” I whisper, throat dry. They give me water, but it’s never enough.
He opens the door and takes one look at me, and shakes his head. “I’m really sorry about all of this,” he says. “It’s not fair to keep you down here.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ve managed worse.”
“You? I doubt that,” he says.
I take offense to his response. “What? A woman like me hasn’t gone through anything bad in her life? What makes you so sure you know what you’re talking about?”
He jumps down in the hole, wearing a white wife beater and the same jeans he’s been wearing all week. His arms are strong and his chest presses against the fabric of his shirt.
I smile when I see him. I can’t trust anyone, but he still feels like a breath of fresh air. He’s all I have.
He holds up something for me. This time, I can’t help but laugh with joy. It’s one my dresses, as well as a pair of lingerie.
“Don’t you dare get cocky with me,” I say. “I’m grateful for the clean clothes, but I’m not wearing the other get-up. Did you go through my whole house or something?”
He throws me the dress, but he continues to hold up the lingerie. “Only a few drawers,” he says, smiling like a creep. “Come on, you don’t want to wear this for me?”
I grab the pair and hold it to my body. “Only certain people get to see me wearing something like this,” I say. “Besides, I’m in my 30’s. Who’s going to want to see me in that?”
He walks closer to me and places his hand around my cheek. He leans forward and kisses me slowly, sensuously, and full of passion.
My heart flutters to the point where it feels incredible to be near him. Everything changes in that instant.
“I want to see you in that,” he whispers. “I want to see every bit of you.”
I choke on my saliva, unable to say anything. Finally, I manage to get out a phrase. “Get hard for me then,” I say.
It just comes out.