Eight
Winslet
While I had been living in a basement that was dark, damp, and smelly, Oz had been living in the most fabulous house I’d ever been inside. The further he took me into the massive home, the more amazed I was. I felt like I had stepped back in time to the pre–Civil War South.
“Is this an antebellum home?” I asked, unsure if that was what they called them. I wasn’t very educated on architecture.
“It’s considered a Greek Revival mansion. I’d guess it’s circa 1832,” Oz replied.
The red-carpeted grand staircase he brought me to was so unbelievable that I had to take a moment and soak it in. A chandelier hung from the ceiling. I glanced over at the windows and saw the sun hadn’t fully come up yet. It was early in the morning.
“What time is it?” I asked because I had no idea what time we had arrived here fifty-eight hours ago.
“Five thirty,” he replied.
I tried to do the math in my head, but I was too tired and gave up.
“This place is remarkable,” I said, finally following him up the steps.
“Yeah, if you can overlook the past. Prejudice bastards built the place,” he replied dryly.
I hadn’t thought of that. I studied things as we climbed the staircase, seeing it in a different light now.
Way to put a damper on it, Oz.
But he was right. The South had been a dark place for many back when this home was built.
“Maybe they weren’t slave owners,” I said, wanting to believe that.
He reached the top step, but didn’t glance back at me. “Don’t kid yourself. They were. All the wealthy at that time were. This house was probably taken from them in the war. If they hadn’t evacuated it already, they were forced out. It looks new because it was restored from what I assume were ruins. It was moved to this location. That much I know.”
He walked down a wide hallway with tall, elaborate doors that looked true to the period of time the house was built. If it had been in ruins, whoever had restored it had money. There was no way this could have been affordable to bring back to its former beauty.
“Who owns this house? Is it yours?” I asked him.
He stopped at a door and waved a hand for me to go inside, but didn’t respond. Curious to see more, I went into the room and gasped at the sight before me. The walls were painted a powder-blue color with tall windows that had drapes hanging from the ceiling to the floor. A cherrywood canopy bed sat in the center, looking every bit as historical as the home itself. Every piece of furniture caught my attention.
“I would never buy a house from this time in our history,” he informed me, then pointed at a door across the room. “A bathroom is in there. It is stocked with everything you need. I put a change of clothing for you in there as well.”
The house and its furnishings forgotten, I stared at the door that led to all my current wants and needs. I started to say thank you and stopped myself before I could. I wasn’t going to thank a man who had kept me in a basement for over two days and was planning on returning me to said hellhole after I took care of all my hygiene needs.
“Don’t try something stupid, like escaping. The windows all have alarms, and you can’t get most open anyway. Not to mention, from up here, if you tried to jump, it would most likely result in your death. I’m downstairs, and I’ll hear every step you take. We are miles away from any other house.”
I hadn’t planned on trying to run.
“Not sure if you noticed,” I replied, “but I’m not a fan of your gun. I won’t be running.”
He smirked, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. I heard a lock turn and rolled my eyes. He had a trust issue. I was locked in again, but this wasn’t a basement. I could live in this prison, although I doubted very much that he was going to allow that.
Hurrying toward the bathroom, I turned the knob and swung the door open, then let out a small squeal. It was huge, white, and clean. A gold chandelier with crystals hung from the ceiling, and I went to flip the light switch just to see it sparkle. A fluffy, round rug covered the floor in front of the bathtub. I’d never seen a tub like that before. It was a shiny silver nickel on the outside, and inside, it was white porcelain. Although it stood alone, it wasn’t considered a claw-foot tub since there were no feet on it. I walked over and studied it. The depth to it would make a wonderful place to soak in a bubble bath, but first, I had to get the nasty off. I was not sitting in my filth, and I had never been dirtier.
Turning, I walked over to the shower. I was pretty sure this wasn’t historically accurate. While the tub could be a replica of something from the past that they’d filled with warm water they’d brought up, this was a luxury they hadn’t had back then. There was no door or curtain to it. I walked inside the white stone entrance and turned the corner into a roomy space with two showerheads on either side. There was a built-in shelf with expensive-looking shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
I began to strip off my clothes and wrinkled my nose at the smell.
Once I had taken off everything, I rolled it up inside my shorts and took them out to put over by the door, not wanting to touch them ever again. My eyes shifted to the towel rack with massive, thick white towels and what looked like black leggings, a T-shirt, and a pair of pink panties that made me blush.
Where had Oz gotten panties for me, and had he touched them? He had to have. At least, I thought he was alone in this house, other than me. But what if there was someone else? Would a woman stay here with him, knowing he had abducted someone and had them in the basement?
I smelled the stench from said basement and decided I didn’t care. I just wanted to get clean. Enjoy warm water on my body. If some female was with him and okay with what he was doing to me, then it was her soul that needed to worry about it. Not mine.
Heading back into the shower cave, which was basically what it was, I studied the knobs, trying to decide what was what. The red on one of them meant hot—that much I knew—so I turned it, and water began to come from above my head and not the showerheads. A small squeal escaped me as it poured down over my head like rainfall. It wasn’t warm yet, and the jolt of cold water had been unexpected.
I messed with the other knobs until I had both showerheads and the rain shower all at the same time. The warm water was closer to hot now, and I stood there and let it hit me from all sides. Sighing in pleasure, I wasn’t sure I would ever leave this spot. The idea of going back to the basement seemed abhorrent. This was so wonderful.
Was there anything else I could tell Oz that might get him to reward me with sleeping in the bedroom?
I shook my head at my thought. That was weak and selfish. I wasn’t going to hand over my brother to killers so I could sleep in a bed.
But was there anyone else?
NO! Stop it, Winslet , I mentally scolded myself.
I tilted my head back as the water hit my face, and I decided I would enjoy every moment of this in case it was a while before I got it again. I refused to believe that I’d not make it out of this situation alive. Oz was…well, a bad guy, but I did not see real evil in his eyes. Although I hadn’t looked into his eyes when he had that gun pointed at me. I hoped I wasn’t being blinded by his beauty, but I didn’t think I was.
There was some good in him deep down. There had to be. Because if there wasn’t—no, I didn’t want to think of that. I wanted to live in the moment. And this moment was a good one.
The clock in the bedroom said it was after nine, which meant I had spent over three hours in the bathroom. First the shower, then a long soak in the bubble bath. Remarkably, this place didn’t seem to run out of hot water. I’d kept refreshing the tub with hot water in between dozing off. With a clean body, fresh breath, and a change of clothing, I felt like a new woman.
My hair was still slightly damp when I brushed it again after getting dressed, so I left it alone to air-dry, hanging down my back. Wrapping my arms around my body, I stood in the center of the bedroom, unsure of what to do now. I was locked in, and I was okay with that. Leaving this room meant I would be led back to the dark basement. I wasn’t ready to go back there.
I decided to look out the windows. See as much of the sunshine as I could. I pulled back a drape and realized it wasn’t a window, but a door. There was a small balcony outside of it. Wanting to feel the warmth from the summer sun on my skin, I reached for the handle, but stopped before turning it. An alarm could go off. Then, Oz would come get me.
My hand dropped back to my side. I’d just look at the sun. Not feel it. I wasn’t chancing cutting this short. We were surrounded by oak trees—very old ones—and lush green grass, and through some of the trees, I could see open pasture, but there weren’t any animals grazing on the land. In fact, there was nothing other than a few birds and two squirrels in the front yard.
Oz hadn’t been lying. We were secluded out here. I wondered again whose house this was. Oz hadn’t answered that question, other than to say he wouldn’t own a place like this with clear distaste in his tone. I agreed that the history of homes such as this one in the South wasn’t good. It was awful. But it wasn’t the house’s fault; it was the people who had built it and lived here once.
Glancing over to the bed, I felt the overwhelming urge to climb under the covers and close my eyes. The small naps I’d gotten in the tub were nice, but a real deep sleep sounded amazing. I listened for footsteps and heard nothing. I didn’t know when this would end. I might as well take advantage of it while I could. Not wasting any more time debating it, I hurried over to the bed and pulled back the velvet coverlet and sheet, then climbed inside.
“Oh God,” I moaned as the soft, cool fabric touched my skin.
I sank into the mattress, sure this must be the most wonderful one I’d ever laid on, and closed my eyes. The pull of sleep was almost instant, and I let it take me, relaxing fully, letting all my other worries go. Even if just for now.