Chapter 18
SABLE
The room contained a bed and small bathroom. Nothing else. Unless you included the lingering smell that pervaded the building. That was here too. Not heavier or lighter, just persistent.
I scanned the room for a camera before sliding the gun out from under my dress, lifting a corner of the lumpy mattress and shoving it underneath.
Hoping like hell I had enough time, I stripped off my dress and took a hasty shower. Barely more than a splash of water on myself, and a rinse all over. To my surprise, the water was warm and the pressure decent. I wished I dared stay in for longer.
The sound of movement beyond the bathroom door made me shut off the water and grab the thin towel that hung on a hook on the wall. It smelled a little musty but it looked clean. Ish.
As quickly as I'd washed, I dried, and wrapped the fabric around myself.
Heart pounding, I stepped out of the bathroom. Stopped when I saw someone left clean clothes on the bed. The door was closed again, the room empty.
I slipped out of the towel and into the clothes. A black skirt that fell to just above my knees, a cropped, pale pink blouse, and a cute cord jacket, also in black. Everything still had the tags attached.
How thoughtful of them, I thought bitterly, tearing off the tags and tossing them aside.
They'd even left underwear in my size. White lace. Semi-transparent, but better than nothing.
Beside the bed was a cardboard box. I knelt down and listened to it carefully, in case it was ticking. Did bombs actually tick? I didn't know, but I didn't hear anything.
If it was going to explode, it would have done so by now, wouldn't it?
Tentatively, I teased off the lid and found a pair of knee-high black boots with laces up the front.
Conrad and the other goon were observant, or one of my parents picked out everything for me.
Either way, I hated it. This was as fucked up as being locked in here in the first place. I wasn't a doll or a puppet, to be dressed however anyone else decided.
Seething and reluctant, I perched on the edge of the bed. The mattress was harder than I thought. Lumpier too.
"Figures, they wouldn't… Oh." I was sitting on the corner where I'd shoved the gun.
What sort of princess was I that I'd forgotten where I put the pea? I thought back to that conversation with Woody and held back a sniff.
Honestly, I was lucky I hadn't shot myself in the ass.
I shifted over to a slightly less uncomfortable spot and pulled the zipper up to fasten the right boot, then the left. Perfect fit, and they were actually comfortable.
If I was anywhere else on the face of the planet right now, I'd feel cute. These boots were made for kicking someone in the ass. Who would I kick, though?
Myself for getting into this situation to start with?
My parents?
Gregor Quinn, for being the one behind all of this misery?
My head on my hands, I sat and stared at the wall. Regular brick painted white. No window, not even one up high with bars on it. Not a legal bedroom then, since there was no egress.
I hoped like hell there'd be no fire. No one would come to rescue me if there was.
No one, I realized, was coming to rescue me regardless. If I was going to get out of here, I needed to save myself.
Think, I commanded.
I could shoot the lock off the door. That worked in movies, didn't it? Then what? Someone would hear the gunshot and come looking.
I glanced down at the floor. Concrete, stained but solid. If I had a shovel, I still couldn't dig my way out. Not to mention, that would take months.
The only thing I could do was wait patiently, and try not to hum the theme song to The Great Escape.
As choices went, waiting sucked, ear worm or no ear worm.
I pulled the gun out from under the mattress and tucked it into the waistband of my skirt and hoped like hell no one would notice when they saw me.
I was going to need my best poker face so I didn't look guilty as shit.
I practiced for a moment. They could have left a mirror so I could see myself making faces, or trying not to make faces.
I sighed and reminded myself I'd survived worse than this. I'd get through this too, somehow.
While I contemplated my lack of options, the door was unlocked and opened. The second goon stepped inside. He smiled and closed the door behind him, leaned against it and appraised my outfit, a smirk on his face.
"It's not what I would have chosen."
What was I supposed to say to that? His taste in clothes was none of my business.
He pushed himself off the door and took a couple of steps towards me. "I can see you thinking, 'Silas, what would you have chosen?'"
Strangely enough, I wasn't thinking that at all. If he wanted to talk about that, I'd humor him. If I could get him on my side, maybe he'd let me walk out of here.
"Let me guess," I said, "you would have chosen a bunny costume, pink with big floppy ears and furry footsies." I mimed ears flopping back and forth to either side of my head.
He was taken aback for a moment before letting out a laugh. "That's cute. Why a bunny?"
"Why not a bunny?" I lowered my arms, my hands clasped in front of me. "Bunnies are cute. Who doesn't like bunnies?"
He rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I like eating bunnies. When I was a kid, I used to go hunting with my grandpa. We'd catch a bunch of rabbits, and my grandma would cook them up." He licked his lips. "They were tasty."
"Sounds like you've got a lot of good memories with your grandparents," I said, deliberately ignoring his innuendo, because yuck. "Are they still around?"
"Yeah, but I don't see them so much anymore." He shook his head. "Why am I talking to you about this?"
"If I had to guess," I started slowly, "you needed someone to talk to.
Conrad doesn't seem like much of a talker.
And my father? He's more interested in barking orders at people.
He doesn't see them, you know? That's the problem with people like him, they don't see the people who work for them.
Not really. He tells you what to do then you do it, right?
He doesn't think about you as a human. He's like that with me too, though.
He's more interested in what he can get from people.
I don't know, but I don't think that's healthy. For him or me."
I was babbling, but I couldn't seem to stop. I wasn't wrong though. I saw reluctant agreement on Silas' face. Irritation at being treated like nothing more than a tool, as important as a hammer or a… Okay, screwdriver probably wasn't the best analogy, but you get it.
"Wouldn't you prefer to work for someone who notices you?" I asked. "Someone who values you."
"The pay is good," he said, scuffing the toe of his sneaker on the concrete floor.
"Of course it is," I said, "but do you get job satisfaction? What if you could get paid the same, or more, and work for someone who cares? There's got to be lots of work out there for someone with your skills."
I wasn't sure what those were exactly, but he was listening to what I was saying. He seemed to be buying into it.
Good, keep listening, I said silently.
"You really think so?" he asked. "I don't know, it's kinda difficult when you can't disclose everything on your resume, you know?"
"That's why you have to be creative," I said. "Sure, you can't say you're a hired goon, but you could say things like: you have good people skills, you work with the public on a regular basis, you work as a member of a team."
I gestured at the door. Conrad must be out there somewhere.
"You could say you have initiative. I bet you could come up with a bunch more if you thought about it. You could list me as a reference. I could say I saw you working and how professional you were." If leering was a professional attribute. He had that down pat.
"You could say you worked for security. That's not exactly wrong. You kept me safe." I spread my hands out to either side. "Look how safe I am. If someone walked in here right now and tried to kidnap me, you'd stop them, wouldn't you? You're practically my bodyguard already."
"I could be a bodyguard," he said, drawing himself up taller. "I notice things. I'm good at risk assessment." He seemed to like the idea.
"There you go," I said approvingly. "I can see it now. You could be the bodyguard for someone rich and famous. Maybe a movie star or a rock star. You could travel all around the world, keeping them safe. And I bet anything it pays better than this."
"It really would," he agreed, nodding.
"If you want, I can help you with your resume.
I know a few people who have bodyguards.
I could give you their details and see if they can pass them on to their agency.
They'd be crazy not to hire you." They'd be crazy if they gave him the time of day, but as long as he was taking the bait, I was going to keep throwing it out there.
"You'd really—" he started to say, then cut himself off with a shake of his head. "What the fuck are you doing? No one's going to hire me as a fucking bodyguard."
"Not with that attitude, they're not," I said cheerfully.
"Come on, Silas, isn't it time you had the life you deserve?
You need to put yourself out there. Take a risk.
Otherwise, you're going to spend the rest of your life doing what my father tells you to do.
I don't know, but I think the average life expectancy of a hired thug isn't very high these days. "
I cocked my head at him as if I cared. "Being a bodyguard is a lot safer."
"Maybe I like being a hired thug," he said. "Bodyguards have to obey the law."
I swallowed hard as he took another step towards me.
"See, here's what I mean about life expectancy. I think we both know what my father has in store for me. If you lay a hand on me, he'll have Conrad kill you. You know what they say about damaging the merchandise?"
That was sick as fuck, but if it kept him from touching me…
He scowled. He was almost as scowly as Woody. Not as attractive, though. His nose was too big, and his chin too round. And his eyes? They looked a little…dead. Cold like a fish lying in a display at the fish market.
"I'd only get in trouble if I was caught," he said. "Who's here to see me?"
"I'm here," I pointed out. "I could tell my father what happened."
Silas smirked. "Didn't you just get done telling me he doesn't see other people, including you? You think he's really going to give a shit what I do to you, as long as I don't leave bruises?"
Crap, I had said that, hadn't I?
"He doesn't care about me," I said carefully. "He cares about what he can get for me. Even if you don't leave bruises, I'll be damaged. You don't really think he wants me damaged or broken, do you?"
Silas shrugged. "A little bit of broken never hurt anybody."
I blinked a couple of times. That was cold.
"What about a whole lot of broken?"
"A whole lot of broken and you wouldn't talk so much."
He stepped forward, grabbed a fistful of my still damp hair and shoved me down to my knees.
I let out a squeak, heart racing. My palms were instantly slick with sweat.
Holding me with one hand, he popped open the button on his jeans and started to slide down the zipper. His cock was small but erect, pointing right at my mouth.
I tried to pull back, but he held me hard.
"Some would say women's mouths are made for talking," he said. "I think they're made for sucking cocks."
Personally, I thought they were for both, and also to a larger extent eating. I didn't say any of that. At this point, it might make the situation worse. Provoke him when he was already well and truly provoked.
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.
"Open up," he insisted. He tapped the back of his hand against my lips.
I pressed them together tighter.
He gripped my hair harder.
"Open the fuck up or this is going in your pussy instead," he snarled.
I blinked away a haze of tears. "I take back the offer to be a reference," I said, barely moving my lips.
He snorted a laugh. "I don't give a fuck. Open up."
I dropped my hand to my hip, feeling for the gun. If I could just get it and turn the safety off, I could…
Before I could pull it out, the door opened behind him.
Conrad stood with a hand on the door handle, glaring at Silas.
"Put that thing away and let's go," Conrad said. "We have orders to take her somewhere else."
Silas grunted his annoyance but did his jeans back up and stepped away, leaving me to push myself back to my feet.
He wouldn't be so annoyed if he knew how close I was to shooting him in the balls.
On the other hand, there was time.