Chapter Three
Rosie
I can’t imagine having too many shots at this conversation, so I need to move slowly and carefully. I need to study each of these men. I need to make a profile of them psychologically and physically. I need to find their weaknesses, know their strengths, and use that knowledge to get me out of this hellhole.
At least that’s what I’ve seen victims do on those crime TV show commercials. I couldn’t watch the actual shows. There’s something unsettling about all the blood and drama. After I watch one, I go the rest of the day thinking someone is after me, too. And when I climb into bed at night, I’m convinced every noise is a break-in.
I prefer baking shows to most everything else. The most aggressive part of the series is a grumpy judge who hates the way a creampuff is baked. It’s soothing at the end of the day. If I’m in the mood for drama, dating shows fit the bill. Either way, I gathered enough from society to know that humanizing my captors is the way to connect with them.
I scan the line of masked men now standing in front of me. Judging by the height of the dog cage, I’d guess they’re all over six feet tall. I’ve seen this brand cage at the Tractor Supply in town. I like to wander through on days they have baby chicks and fantasize about starting a little hobby farm of my own.
Guess that’s not gonna happen.
The last man on the right is the biggest of them all. He’s at least five inches taller than the other men, and he’s wider, too. Conventional wisdom would tell me that he’s the one with the deepest voice.
The second tallest of the men, the one from earlier, steps forward and fumbles with a key at the lock to the cage door.
He’s letting me out? Is it for good? Maybe they realized they made a mistake. I should tell them I won’t tell the authorities. I should reassure them that I’m on their side, and I’ll keep all of this secret.
I open my mouth to speak, but the scent of something familiar catches my attention. I’ve smelled it before but can’t put my finger on it right now. Maybe it’s a cleaner or something.
The padlock unlocks, and the man slides it off the door and swings it open, reaching for my hand, almost like he’s going to be a gentleman, like he doesn’t want me to trip and fall over the edge of the cage entrance. I don’t know whether to go with the flow or swat him away. Swatting is my first instinct, but in an effort to humanize myself and the captors, I lean into his hand with grace.
“You didn’t eat,” he says, nodding toward the box of pizza still closed in the corner. “You need to eat.”
“Why? Don’t you want me slim and fit for whatever you're planning?” My tone is biting, which contradicts everything I just tried with the hand thing.
Really? I can’t even be sweet when my life depends on it?
The man shakes his head and lands his hand on the small of my back. Being that I’m of two minds right now, I consider flinching away, but apparently, my brain isn’t as offended by the touch. “You’re going upstairs,” he grunts.
“Upstairs?”
“Yes. You’ll wear a blindfold until we get to your room.”
“ My room? I thought this was my room?”
“No.” The man flashes a look at the taller of the men to the left. “There was a mistake.” He pulls a ski mask from his back pocket and turns it backward before tugging it over my face. It doesn’t create perfect darkness, but the scratchy fabric does make it hard to breathe, and I’m sure it’s messing with my pores. One drop of sweat and my entire face breaks out for weeks. It’s bad.
“It’s only for a minute,” the man groans. “Your room is close.”
At this point, I know there are two huge men behind me and another in front, holding my hand as he guides me up the steep, creaking stairway.
Heat surrounds me as I stay tucked against the man in front, while the man behind holds my waist, steadying me as I walk. Why are they being so careful with me?
They must be selling me. It’s the only explanation. I read about this online. Women getting kidnapped and sold to sex trade. Apparently, it happens all over the world. The women get drugged and forced to fuck strangers until they’re garnered useless. Then, they’re killed. Maybe I’m a coward, but kill me right now if that’s the case. I couldn’t live in fear, waiting for my usefulness to be up.
Heart pounding, we reach the top of the steps and turn left. I want to kick off my shoes to feel what kind of flooring is beneath me or reach out and feel for what room I’m in, but the men have me surrounded, tightened in their grip.
Cool air rushes in as the man behind me shifts his weight toward a beeping sound that reminds me of an oven timer. Okay, so we’re in the kitchen. I wonder what they’re cooking. I drag in a deep breath, searching for clues, but all I get is more pine and cedar with a hint of something savory… maybe?
“We’re cooking steak. You hungry yet?” the man in front says. He sounds so dumb with that voice changer. I wonder if he knows it. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe undercutting them is the way to go.
I really need to pick a lane here.
A few more steps, and I feel the bump of a threshold before we’re in a smaller room. I can tell by the change in airflow.
The bedroom door closes and the man with a spicy scent tugs off my mask slowly, then palms his giant hand down over my frazzled hair.
What the hell is up with this dude?
I flinch backward and stare up at the long, dark circles that represent his eyes. For some reason, I expect him to back away, but he doesn’t. He stares at me long and hard, stroking my hair as though he’s trying to tell me something he can’t.
“Okay, well…” I break eye contact and scan the space, hoping to see a weakness right away, but the one window in the room is boarded up.
The man clears his throat before saying, “The bathroom is over here, and you should have everything you need. If there’s anything missing, write it down on the notepad by the bed and one of us will get it for you.” He picks up the remote by the television. “You have all the stations, except premiums. You’ll have three meals a day, and someone will be by to take you for exercise in the morning and again in the late afternoon,” the man continues.
My brows narrow as I glance back at the masked man who’s crossed his arms firmly over his chest, which accentuates his biceps. “Okay, but why am I here?”
“Believe it or not, you’re here for protection. We’re not going to hurt you.”
I laugh. “You’re protecting me? Oh, wow. Thanks… umm… from what?”
The man shakes his head and turns toward the door.
“Wait.” I stand taller and recollect my thoughts. I need to keep him talking. “If you’re here protecting me, can you take off your masks? They’re scary.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“They’re for our protection.”
“Okay…” I step forward with my hands knitted together in the most helpless stance I can muster. He seemed to like petting me. Maybe he has a weakness for helplessness. If I can look small and pathetic, maybe he’ll have mercy. “Then what do I call you?”
The man looks away, then back again. “You can call me Zee. The big guy is Moose, and the one in the doorway is Hawk.”
I hitch my hand up onto my hip. “Seriously?”
Zee nods. “Yeah, what’s wrong with those names?”
“Well, why two animals and one letter? Why not three animals? Why not three letters?”
He shakes his head and stalks out into the hallway, grabbing the doorknob behind him. “I’m getting you food. I need you to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” I bite, clearly still confused on my approach.
“You’re eating,” the man groans.
“I can’t eat alone. My anxiety is bad right now. I’ll feel better to eat with someone.” Clearly, I’ve taken a third attempt to figure out what type of escape I want to make. I guess the new option is annoyance.
“Can’t happen,” the man responds, standing in the doorway with one hand still on the knob.
I shake my head and look away before glancing back again. “Please. One person for one meal. It would make me feel a whole lot better to talk while I’m eating.”
The man tilts his head to the side before hanging it down as though he’s been defeated, easily so, if I’m being honest. He’s the one I should watch. Downstairs, he seemed to have the edge over the guys on what they did with me, and right now, he’s caved to a dinner date without much effort. “Fine, I’ll send Moose in with dinner. You eat, you talk, he leaves. The end.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know why I thought dinner would be with Zee . I need dinner to be with Zee. His vibe is soft, and I know I could get him talking. Moose came off more like a brick house. Hell, I’d even take the quiet one over the massive one.
The bedroom door closes before my rebuttal is made and I’m left with my thoughts again. I might have bitten off more than I can chew. My body is exhausted. I’m not thinking straight. In fact, I’m all over the map. I get the feeling that the big Moose guy is not, though I could be wrong. Maybe he’s the sweetest of them all. Maybe getting alone time with each of them could get me pitting them against each other. I could promise Moose my virginity. I could make his great big body salivate with need over sinking into my tight, little pussy.
I bite the inside of my cheek and lay back on the neatly made king size bed. The patchwork quilt has been recently washed and smells floral and fresh. The headboard is solid wood and matches the dresser where the TV sits. In the corner is a birch rocking chair that looks handmade, and another quilt is laid on the back with patchwork resembling different animals in the woods. I’ve always admired people who can quilt—another hobby I’ll never get to try.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly before standing to investigate the closet on the other side of the room. Inside, extra bedding sits stacked neatly on the top rails alongside a clear tote of emergency supplies, which look from here to be batteries and flashlights. Aside from that, the racks are empty.
No clothes, no shoes, no boxes filled with memories. The closet, like the men, has been swept of its identity.
The bathroom is no different. It’s a gorgeous space with a large standing shower, two shower heads, and a clear glass wall. The toilet has its own room, and the sink wraps around, farmhouse style, with a second sheer cascade of water flowing down. The floors are some kind of tile that’s made to look like pine, and though there’s a medicine cabinet to the left side of the wall, there are no leftover prescription bottles to identify anyone with.
I flick off the light and head back to the bed, lying flat on the mattress as I stare at the fan whirring above me. When I was a teenager, I used to fantasize about being alone with three big men, though this isn’t what I had in mind. I imagined a mansion, a huge pool with pink floating flamingos, and tall men with cut abs and biceps to spare. I never imagined how we all got to Barbie’s Dreamhouse, all I know is that it would be fun when we got there. Big, warm hands rubbing on my skin, hot breath surrounding me, and all the adoration in the world aimed straight at my dark little heart.
Too bad that’s not the fantasy the captors had in mind.
The door opens with purpose and Moose steps inside, weighing the room down with his presence. He’s not wearing his mask from earlier. Instead, he’s pulled a ski mask over his face. Without words, he drags the rocking chair toward the side of the bed and returns a moment later with a folding table and a tray of food.
“Sit,” he groans heavily before returning to the door to knock twice. I assume that means he wants the others to lock it up.
A moment later, I hear the soft click of the lock, and my stomach tightens. I can’t imagine seducing this man. He doesn’t seem like the seduction type. He seems like the bulldog type. The don’t-fuck-with-me type. The big giant stay-out-of-my way type. The type that wouldn’t fall for seduction under any circumstance for fear of how weak it would make him feel.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare down at the plate of food in front of me. Steak and baked potato with some kind of dried herb on top. I’m not a huge fan of steak, I’d have rather the pizza I rejected earlier, but my stomach is growling, and I need to put something in it if I’m going to keep my energy up, flush whatever kind of drugs they gave me, and think straighter.
Moose settles into the chair across from me and leans back, studying my face as I chew the small bite of potato I’ve taken. I’m glad he’s staring. It offers me a chance to stare back. In the ski mask, I can see the dark blue of his eyes, the soft wrinkles beside them, and the long salt and pepper beard that spills from beneath the fabric.
His gloves are missing too, giving way to big, rough, tattooed hands that look calloused by hard work and age. His nail beds are worn with dirt, and though I’m sure his hands are clean, the cracks are stained with shades of black.
I stare at him from across the small table, which he’s managed to make look even smaller. “Do you, ugh, do you do a lot of work outside?”
He groans under his breath as though he doesn’t want to talk. “Yes.”
Okay… a man of few words, I see.
I slice into my potato, letting the garlic butter flavor melt in my mouth before I speak again. “What kind of work do you do?”
He glares up at me as though talking isn’t his idea of a good time. “I own a farm.”
“A farm! Oh, I was thinking the other day how much I wanted a farm. I love walking through the Tractor Supply store and fantasizing about a little chicken coop that I can collect eggs from in the morning. Do you have eggs on your farm?”
“Sure do.” The man’s voice is even deeper than I remember, but I still don’t recognize it.
“Nice.” My heart slams against my chest as I rack my brain to think of anything this man might find remotely interesting enough to open up about. “Did you grow up there?”
“Five generations.” He rocks back and forth in the chair, then grabs his beer to take a swig. I hadn’t realized until now there’s one waiting for me too, which I don’t hate.
I smile awkwardly and grab the IPA, taking a sip, then another longer one. I’ve never been a fan of the stuff, but right now, a little buzz would do a world of work relaxing me.
“That’s a lot of generations. My family were dairy farmers in Wisconsin. Not my parents, but my grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins… that sort of thing.” I smile and take another bite of the potato. “I love animals so much and I used to think I wanted a big farm like that until I spent the night at my cousin’s house and realized how much work it was. They were waking up at like four a.m. to go to the barn.”
He rocks back again, bending one leg over the other as he takes another swig of beer. “I’d rather be dog tired from workin’ hard than well rested with nothin’ to show for it.”
“So, is it hard work kidnapping women?” I guess I’m switching back to the asshole approach. For fuck’s sake, Rosalynn. Can you make up your damn mind?
“Eat your food,” the man growls.
“Why does it matter if I’m well fed? You guys know I’m a virgin even when I’m hungry, right?”
The man shakes his head back and forth, then rubs his hand on the back of his neck as though he’s annoyed by me. “Just eat.”
“No.” My fork clanks against the plate as I take another swig of beer. “Tell me where we are.”
“Colorado.”
Was it this easy all along? All I had to do was ask a question, or is he lying?
“Where in Colorado?” My heart squeezes in my chest as I wait for his reply.
“My farm.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Are you fucking with me?”
“No.” He shakes his head and leans forward. “Why would you want to sell yourself online?”
I laugh under my breath and pick up my fork again, stabbing at the piece of meat. This would be a great spot for some sarcastic comment, but I resist in the hopes that we can have a real conversation. “Have you ever been broke?”
“Plenty of times. I have morals, though.”
“Morals?” I laugh and feather through my hair, no longer biting back mockery. “You’re in a ski mask holding me captive over a steak and potato dinner. We’re a far cry from morals, sir.”
“This wasn’t my idea.”
“So, if it wasn’t your idea, your morals remain intact?”
He takes a deep breath and stares at me with those dark blue eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“I’m curious about something. In your mind, how does morality work? I thought you had to do the right thing all the time. I didn’t realize it didn’t apply to other people’s ideas. I mean, I kind of like your definition. I wish I’d have been living by it all along. Life would’ve been much more interesting.”
The man exhales loudly and leans forward further, resting his elbows against his knees. “I believe this is a just cause. So, eat your food and be quiet. It’s been a long day.”
I have no idea what it is about this man that makes me want to run away and throw myself on him all at once, but he’s triggering some kind of primitive feminine urge in me. Maybe it’s the nonchalant way he’s running his mouth. Maybe it’s the wide shoulders and the intense stare. Maybe it’s the complete lack of fucks he seems to have about everything.
I stand from the table, heart pounding as I make my way toward him. “Why don’t you just admit it. You want me.” What am I doing? “You want my tiny, tight, little virgin pussy. Just like your friends.”
“Really?” He laughs under his breath as though I’m ridiculous.
“Yeah,” my heart pounds as I drop to my knees in front of his chair and run my hands over the rough denim, “prove me otherwise.” I’m truly not sure where I’m going with this or what I’m going to do when I get there, but my hands keep moving until they’re on the buckle of his jeans and his massive cock is staring me straight in the face.
This escalated quickly.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. I’m not sure I’d believe he was breathing if his eyes weren’t so fixated on my every move.
I stroke his hard, thick cock in my hand, my eyes never leaving his gaze. Part of me wants to ask him where his morals are now, but the other part of me is enjoying the power that’s coursing through me. I’ve subdued this giant man. I’ve made him weak. I’ve got him sitting in a chair, moans trapped in his throat, desperation in his stare. I’m pretty sure I’ve done the impossible.
Damn, this whole virgin thing has more influence than I thought it did.
Leaning forward, I drag my tongue up from his balls, over his shaft, and onto the head of his cock. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve seen enough pornographic blowjobs to know how it works… sort of.
When I’m at the tip, I open my mouth and slide him in, closing my eyes as his cock slides so deep into my throat that I gag.
He seems to like this, at least I gather he does by the growl that finally releases. “Ah, fuck.”
My clit throbs. Why is it throbbing? Why am I soaking wet? Why do I go down on him again and again? Why do I stroke him hard and enjoy the sounds he makes as I do it? Why am I craving his hot come all over my face, in my throat, on my chest, against my skin like a prize? Why am I not giving a fuck that he’s not wearing a condom? I guess that’s the least of my worries right now.
“Damn it!” he groans and pulls back before standing his massive frame from the chair, tucking his hard cock back into his jeans as he casts a shadow over me. “Fuck!”
I bite back a smile. “That’s a lot of fucks.”
“Little girl,” he groans and bends forward, standing me on my feet before leaning me up against the wall. His arm rests above me and his gaze is stuck on mine. “That’s enough.”
Little girl?
“Oh, yeah?” I smile wide. “Did you like it a bit too much?”
Captor or not, this man’s body is impressive. He’s not the gym rat type of muscular, looking all evenly built. Instead, he’s chiseled by hard work with strong shoulders, biceps, and legs. I’d bet if I reached out, though, he’d have a furry tummy for me to snuggle into.
“I don’t like games, and I’m not impressed by the virgin thing. So… keep your hands to yourself.” His voice is so deep that it rumbles straight through me, comforting me in ways I didn’t think I could be comforted. I’m not sure why. He’s not saying anything particularly reassuring.
“I think you’re a liar.” I grip his rough hand in mine and land it on my breast, never losing contact with his gaze. “I think you’d bend me over on that bed right now if you thought your friends wouldn’t find out.”
He shakes his head and grins, though he doesn’t move his hand. “You’re fucking with me.”
“And,” I tilt my head to the side playfully, “what are you gonna do about it?” My heart slams against my ribcage as I stare up at him, half hoping he leans down to kiss me.
Dear God, what was in that potato? Maybe it wasn’t garlic. Maybe it was mushrooms, because I’m clearly on some sort of trip. I mean, who is this girl talking right now? She’s not me. This version of me is unhinged, wild, unafraid.
“If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna bend you over and spank your ass until it’s dark red. Is that something you want, little girl?”
My clit throbs and my skin warms with a tingle I usually reserve for fantasies about Owen. I think I need a nap. A long, hard, serious nap. A nap so long, I wake up in another lifetime. A nap so deep I escape this place for a while. A nap that reminds me I’m not attracted to whatever weird shit this is.
In over my head, I glance up at the giant, then toward the bathroom. He’s still got his hand on my breast but if I move fast, I could duck under his arm and get to the bathroom before he catches me. That, or he’ll catch me, and I’ll reap the seeds I’ve sown. At this point, I’m not sure which I’d prefer, which is exactly why I duck under his arm and dart for the bathroom door. Thankfully, there’s a lock, though a small part of me is hoping he breaks down the door and takes me, anyway.
There must have been something in that potato.