I jump a mile high when Travis suddenly places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward an exam table against one of the walls. The treatment room looks like any other in a doctor’s office. At least the room looks sterile; it sure as hell smells like it. It has beautifully-framed landscape pictures on the walls, and I wonder again why these people even remotely care about decor here. I scold myself for gazing a tad too long at a particular piece of art hanging on the wall. Why can’t I focus? I need to be agile and ready to run at any given opportunity, and I sure as hell can’t do that by being enamored by a piece of art. This must be one hell of a high-class sex traffic club.
Travis’ voice jolts me from my thoughts, breaking through the silence of the small exam room. I’m strung so tightly right now, any little noise or movement sends my heart racing. “Have a seat on the table.” His tone brooks no argument, so I cautiously slip onto the table, swallow hard, and decide to sit on my hands to keep them from visibly shaking. It’s only the second thing he’s said to me all morning. He’s been short and abrupt, and his behavior has my nervous system wrought with tension. I wonder what happened to the sweet, caring man from last night. I chastise myself for thinking there was anything human and compassionate about these men, especially Travis. I feel tricked.
“You need to get undressed.”
Licking my lips nervously, I shake my head, not wanting to believe this is happening. I want to go back to my prison cell, be anywhere but here. He closes his eyes, obviously searching for the patience to deal with me. He lets out a deep breath, and when he opens them, he has a determined look on his face. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Shit, he means business.
“Either you can do it, or I can do it. The choice is yours.”
I arch my brow to portray a boldness I don’t have. “No,” I say firmly, lifting my chin bravely. I have every reason to expect I will be violated here against my will, and that thought has me stiffening my backbone. I’ve never had a gynecological exam before, and I’m not going to have my goods invaded here under duress, especially for strange men to see.
He lets out a slightly exasperated sigh, and says, “Have it your way.” He then moves toward me, and I immediately jump from the table, sprinting for the door. With my hand on the doorknob, I twist and pull at the same time, but nothing happens. Shit, it’s locked! The knob won’t turn, and my gut ties itself in a knot. I try again, just in case I was imagining things, but it still won’t open. Looking back over my shoulder, I see Travis has his arms crossed, and one eyebrow raised, looking half-bored.
“Are you done?”
“I’ll never be done trying to escape. You have no right to do this to me,” I hiss.
He begins stalking toward me, and I find myself shrinking away from his advancing form; so much for renewed determination. With my back pressed into the wall, I try my damnedest to meld into it, to disappear, but it doesn’t work. I start sliding my body along the wall to try to escape him, until he has me caught in the corner. My heart begins to pound loudly against my breast bone. He’s taunting me with his dominating power as he slowly trails me; his eyes portray a hungry wolf getting ready to devour his trapped prey.
“Even if you thought you could escape, which you can’t, we have cameras in every place imaginable,” he states matter-of-factly. “We’re so good; we can hear you devising a plan before you can even act on it.”
I blink hard, shaking myself from the shock, and start running scenarios through my mind of where they would hide cameras. I gasp, horrified to think...no...I shake my head and whisper with incredulity, “You guys watch me use the bathroom?”
Travis chuckles, finding my mortification amusing, and lifts a brow. “I did say everywhere, sweetheart.” He then takes another step towards me, and I can do nothing at this point. Being pinned in the corner, with my back to the wall, I’m a helpless victim. My heart sinks to my toes as I slide my body down the wall and curl myself into a tiny ball, trying to feel safe. The fear I feel has me losing my breath, and the moment my bottom comes into contact with the cold tile floor, I hug my knees to my chest. It’s my only defense at this point.
He steps into my personal space, squatting down in front of me on his haunches, his fingers laced together, his elbows resting on his thighs. His thick, muscular thighs are outlined perfectly in his form-fitting jeans; he looks breathtakingly handsome. Everything about him is perfect, right down to the way his biceps bulge from underneath the short sleeves of his tight-fitting t-shirt. The desire to touch him is overwhelming. He’s freshly-showered, and I smell his unique scent of leather and soap again. He has an unspeakable amount of control over me, and I hate him for it. I despise the effect he has on me, and I find myself glaring at him. I will him to touch me so I can scratch his eyes out.