12. Amorette #2
This was some type of warehouse with less glamor than the other place. The block walls and concrete floors reminded me of an old school or an armory. More an armory.
His footsteps echoed through the hall until we reached that open part where the stairs climbed from the first to the second floor. Instead of heading upstairs toward the apartments, he led me to the back left hallway.
Where the others were open, this one was barred by a set of heavy double doors. He scanned his hand on a hanging tablet and the doors popped open.
This was the only indicator I needed that he was someone important.
Determination flared up inside me. He was my key. I’d watch him, get to know him, and appeal to whatever piece of him that would let me go.
I could give him a sob story. I could easily be the fighter if he loved the violence. Then I gulped. Or I could try and barter with him, since he had been aroused.
The cold metal under my back stung as the orgasm rippled through my limbs. Uninvited and unwanted, the pleasure soured my stomach.
I turned my head away, blinking rapidly to dislodge the thought. Deciding when I had sex wasn’t the same as what happened at the warehouse. It would be my choice. Nevertheless, trading sex, if he would even accept it, though I didn’t believe he would, didn’t appeal to me at all.
Maman always said my moral high ground would be my downfall. And Grace…my sister couldn’t be bothered with such problems. For the first time in my life, I wished I was a little more like her.
The nice sister.
This hallway was more elegant than the others, but nothing like the warehouse where the girls were kept. Abstract art hung on painted walls instead of the bare stacks of blocks we’d just come through. Someone tried to make this into a home, even if it was cold and impersonal.
Short, dark gray carpet spread through the hall, masking our noises as we headed toward the end of the hall. The very end.
He came to a door and punched in a code, swinging it wide open before turning to me and quirking a brow.
A dare.
Straightening my shoulders, I walked ahead of him, trying to ignore the sudden patter of my heart as he twisted the lock behind me. A mechanical beep followed from whatever alarm he’d set.
He wasn’t a rapist. Nor did he want to hurt me, as long as I didn’t fight him. I had to hold onto those thoughts now that I was locked in.
I stopped walking and stood just inside the living room. He stepped up behind me and cupped my shoulders, the warmth of his hands burning through my shirt, and I hated the effect he had on me.
For some god-forsaken reason, my mind was trying to forget he was my enemy and remember how long it’d been since I’d been truly intimate with anyone.
Then Randall’s face popped up in my head splashing hot water on any desire I felt.
Gritting my teeth, I stepped away from his touch.
Pointing over my shoulder to a door closest to me, he gave me a nudge at the small of my back. “Through that room, there are some clothes in the dresser. They won’t fit you, but they’re better than what you’re wearing.”
Then he left me standing there as he moved toward the kitchen.
His rooms were different from the apartment I’d been in.
That place had been on the smaller side and completely open outside of the bedroom and bathroom.
His home was bigger, what I would call sprawling, as the rooms glided into each other.
Though I could see through the glass windows taking up the entire outside wall, I could also see through to the kitchen, dining room, and study.
All rooms were just off the living room.
Shaking my head, I went into the bedroom and straight to the dresser. I didn’t care about the layout, except from a clinical perspective. What would help me escape? Not what his home said about him.
At least he had more personality here. Dark, warm tones made up the entire space, and the artwork consisted of moody landscape photography. There were still no photos of him or people he might love, but it was better than what we’d passed in the hallway.
Did these people think they were robots? Like they didn’t need friends and family?
Perhaps they didn’t. How could you traffic people—women, when you knew they had thoughts and feelings, dreams and fears? It could be that they needed that separation to avoid the crushing guilt that came with their sins.
I barked out a laugh. That was giving them too much credit. Of course, they didn’t have the capacity to feel the softer emotions like empathy and compassion, or even the more painful ones like guilt or regret.
The clothes I found in the dresser were all women’s, folded neatly and organized by article type.
I grabbed a pair of sleep shorts and a shirt.
The underwear and bras were too big, otherwise, I would have grabbed those too.
Whoever normally stayed here was built much differently than my short, slim stature.
My bust was the only thing I really had going for me, but even if the cup fit, the band wouldn’t.
At least the sleep shorts had a drawstring.
When I joined him back in the living room, he was carrying a container of rice and chicken with huge bottles of water tucked under his arm.
He motioned for me to sit on the couch and for once, since I’d been taken, I didn’t fight. The leather cushions depressed under my weight and he pulled the coffee table close and set my food down in front of me.
“Eat,” he ordered as he sat beside me and dug into his own meal. The normalcy of it all struck me as weird. Here I was, digging into a healthy dinner, most likely meal-prepped, sitting in a comfortable setting in this man’s home.
The feeling that I was living someone else’s life had never been stronger.
After devouring almost the entire thing, I pushed my plate back on the table and grabbed my water. My ribs twinged from the extended motion, and I winced. After several days of recovery, I hardly noticed the ache, but getting slammed on the mat didn’t do me any favors.
Once he was finished, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned to face me, bringing one leg up against the back of the couch.
“I think I’ve been more than generous. Your turn to hold up your end of the bargain.” He draped his arm over his knee as he leaned back, with no sign that he was worried I’d do anything other than answer his earlier questions.
His arrogance grated against me, but he was right. I was going to hold to my promise and pray he was different.