She lets out a long breath, stands from the chair, and climbs into bed as if she’s crawling into a casket. I fight back a chuckle. She wouldn’t survive a night in prison. Not one single night. She’d stroke out at intake when they made her pretty little ass strip before searching every single hole for hidden contraband. I smirk at the idea and pretend I’d be the one searching her body.
She lies as far away from me as she can, nearly falling off the side of the bed to keep from touching me. She looks up at the cracked and stained ceiling, her arms crossed over her stomach like she’s rehearsing her own funeral. A tear wells and slips from the corner of her eye. I wonder what the tears are for.
Is it the room? The situation? Or whatever waits for her at home?
* * *
Selena
The room bothersme and the man beside me disgusts me, but I can’t get my mind off my husband. I raise the sleeve of my blouse and rub the painful bruise on my right wrist. The stranger leans over and drapes an arm across me, and I flinch as he grazes the bruise that runs across my abdomen. I grip his wrist to push it off me, but he tugs me into him before I can. My body tenses, the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I worry for a moment that he’ll try to sleep with me, but he keeps his crotch tilted away from my body.
I hate being in bed with him, but I’m not as afraid of him as I should be. The real devil waits at home. If this adventure doesn’t end in a death sentence, my return home will. Bryce will fucking kill me.
At least the man beside me would make it quick, unlike my husband.
“Goodnight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he says with a chuckle. I shiver at the thought of those creepy crawlers.
“Will you at least tell me your name?” I ask, knowing I won’t fall asleep anytime soon, especially with the imaginary bugs crawling all over me now. Or real bugs. Real ones seem more plausible.
“Sure,” he says. Sleep punctuates his voice. “Just not tonight. Go to sleep, Selena. We have a long drive tomorrow.”
* * *
I don’t knowhow I fell asleep or when I snuggled up to him, but when I wake up and realize the warmth against my body is his, I jump out of my skin. Panic shakes me to my core, and I rip away from the bed. Breathless, I grab my jacket and rush for the door. I have no idea what I’ll do if I make it out, but I can’t miss this opportunity. It might be my only chance.
A metallic sound rings out, and I stop with my hand still firmly gripping the door handle. I look back and meet his dark and dangerous gaze. His pistol is trained on me.
I was stupid to think I could get away from him. Three elephants with a sinus infection breathe quieter than I do when I panic, and they’re probably stealthier when climbing out of bed, too.
My stomach churns with fear, and I let go of the door, dropping my hands lifelessly to my sides. He climbs out of bed, never letting the barrel drop from me. He steps into me and fists my hair. I whimper against his rough grasp and reach for his wrists.
“I was trying to be fucking nice to you, rabbit.”
“I’m sorry.” I strain to get the words out. Am I sorry, though? I’m not sorry for trying, but I should have slowed down and forced myself to be quiet like the little rabbit he thinks I am.
His nostrils flare, smelling my fear as he tugs me into his body. His hand rides up my stomach, snakes between my breasts, and stops at my throat. I strain against his touch as he squeezes and threatens to block the air from reaching my lungs. My chest heaves against his huge hand. He groans and leans over, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent like a certifiable creep. “You have no idea the willpower it’s taken to stop myself from touching you.”
“I’m married,” I choke out. He doesn’t seem like the type to care about the sanctity of marriage. Or laws. Or human life. It’s worth trying, though. Anything is. Including my escape, I guess.
“Do you really think that fucking matters?” His breath heats my ear.
I swallow hard. “Please don’t.”
“Something tells me your husband doesn’t deserve someone like you.” His kind words contradict his harsh voice.
He’s right, though.
Bryce doesn’t deserve me, but I didn’t have a choice. It was an unofficial arrangement between our families—a business transaction at best and my nightmare at worst. The bruises which paint my skin remind me how much he haunts my dreams. Not just my dreams, but my reality.
“Does he deserve you?” he asks as he kisses my neck. His affection chokes me more than his hand around my throat. I’d rather have his hand on my mouth than on my neck. I’d rather he kill me now than try to sleep with me.
“If you do what you’re thinking of doing, I’m dead,” I tell him. It’s true. Even if I don’t end up six feet under in some half-assed unmarked grave courtesy of this man, if I go home to my husband, I’ll end up that way if this man uses me. My husband will know. He always knows everything.
“You said he’ll kill you anyway,” he says as he wraps a hand around my throat once more and pushes me against the wall. “So why not let me fuck you?”
My throat tightens from his words, not his touch.
“Tell me, rabbit. How many men have you been with?” His thumb grazes my jaw.