12. Ozzy #2
He doesn’t flinch.
“Nothing about you is ugly.” His firm voice causes me to look up and meet his gaze.
What I find isn’t pity or disgust. He looks protective.
Caring. “Tink, you are so beautiful: tattoos, scars, all of it. Those scars aren’t ugly.
They prove that you survived something ugly; you came out the other side, which is so fucking beautiful. ”
His words, his acceptance, it breaks me. I lean in, and he meets me halfway. The kiss is slow and searching, like we’re both trying to figure out what the hell this is. His lips are soft but hungry, coaxing my mouth open. I taste heat, safety, and something that could easily grow into more.
I moan softly, deepening it, and when his tongue brushes mine, I feel the world fall away.
I slip my tongue between his lips and feel a jolt run through my body at the feel of him.
Jackson caresses my tongue with his. It’s so soft and kind, and I can’t help but whimper against his mouth as I press myself closer, needing more.
I run my hand through his hair, gripping it tightly and earning a growl that shoots right into my core.
Fucking hell, when was the last time a man made me feel this way?
“Stupid slut, you don’t want to beg, I’ll just bite those lips off.”
Hugh’s voice. I yank away from Jackson like I’ve been burned, scrambling backward until my spine hits the wall.
“Ozzy?” Jackson breathes, confused and wide-eyed.
“I-I have to go,” I gasp out, already stumbling to my feet.
“What? Wait—ow, shit!” he curses, realizing he’s still tangled in the footboard.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper before bolting down the stairs.
I barely register his voice calling after me as I grab my purse and run out the front door. Gretchen sputters to life beneath my shaking hands, and I throw her into drive just as Jackson bursts from the house.
But I’m already gone. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t stay. Not with the taste of him still on my lips and the voice of my past roaring louder than my heartbeat. Not when I finally let myself feel something real—and it nearly ripped me open.
“Ozzy.” Indy’s voice hisses through the tiny speaker on my nearly-dead phone. The connection is crackling just enough to make it sound like she’s whispering directly into my brain. “You can’t just leave . Morris needs?—”
“I know,” I snap, a little too harshly while breaking off another nail with my teeth and spitting it onto the floorboard of the car.
It hits the dash with a tiny click . “I’m not gone for good.
I just—” I pause, digging my thumb into the bruised swell of skin at my wrist, trying to ground myself.
“The flashbacks are bad right now. Like, really bad.”
I can hear Derek in the background, grumbling something about it being three in the goddamn morning. Typical.
“Stop being so old,” Indy mutters, muffling the phone with a shuffle and what sounds like a pillow being thrown. “Look, I get that it’s scary, Ozzy, but Jackson is a good guy.”
“Did she fuck Jackson?” I hear Derek mutter and then a smacking noise.
“Jesus, Derek!” Indy snaps before sighing. “You said Morris likes you. Jackson’s trying. Why give that up over a little heat-of-the-moment kiss? Welcome to trauma healing, babe. There’s no manual.”
“Because I spent five months chained and raped and sold, Indy,” I growl as I shift to get comfortable.
“I don’t know how to feel anything besides fear and anger anymore.
Now I’ve kissed a guy? I felt things. I can’t—” I hit the back of my head against the window and groan.
God, that kiss was so amazing. Why did I have to hear Hugh’s voice?
“I hope you realize this is all your fault,” I mutter, causing her to gasp dramatically.
“My fault? What did I do?”
“You had to send me those dirty books!” I whine, and Indy starts laughing loudly.
“First off, I never sent you dirty books. I sent you some audiobook recommendations that specifically had no sex in them. So whatever you’re talking about is your doing.”
“You opened the damn box, cupcake! Once it’s opened, everything just sort of… I don’t know! All I know is Jackson walks around with sweat and muscles and chest hair, and he does this thing with his tongue?—”
“Oh my god, take her off speaker!” Derek groans in the background. Another pillow flies.
“Indyyyy!” I whine, “Help me!”
“Okay, okay!” Indy wheezes. “Let’s reset. Do you want to quit?”
My throat tightens. I look out at the fog curling around the field where I parked, silver ribbons weaving through the trees like ghosts daring me to step forward or disappear altogether.
“No...” My voice is small at first before I clear it and answer again. “No, I don’t want to quit. I like it here. I like Morris. I just don’t know what to do with him .”
“Then don’t do anything,” she says simply.
“You don’t owe him explanations. You don’t owe him your trauma in a pretty package with a bow on top.
Just slip on those sexy big girl panties and walk back in there.
And if Jackson tries to question you about what happened, just say ‘you’re welcome’ and move on. ”
“I should go. My phone is dying.”
“Yes, go back to the ranch. Derek has already told Jackson to fuck off like twelve times since we’ve been on the phone, so good luck with that ‘not continuing things’ plan.”
“Love you, cupcake,” I say before hanging up the phone. I look at the twenty-seven unread texts, and I’m about to open them when my phone goes black.
“Of course…”
I toss the phone into the passenger seat like it burned me and stare ahead at the horizon, which is just beginning to bloom with pink and violet. Fog still clings to the edges of the road like a warning.
But something inside me stirs. Something fierce; something alive.
Jackson’s probably pissed. Or hurt. Or pacing. But I don’t care about that right now. I care that I don’t want to run anymore. That I’m tired of hiding. I was given the chance to escape and live again and I’m spending it afraid of my own shadow.
“I’m sorry, Adam,” I whisper while closing my eyes.
“Come on,” the older man cackles, slapping the younger on the back with the force of a brick. His gut bounces with the motion, his eyes mean and bloodshot. “You’re twenty-one now! Fuck a drink. Time to get your dick wet, son.”
The boy—no, man—flinches as he’s shoved forward. He’s younger than me. Barely old enough to grow the shadow of a beard. His throat bobs as his eyes flick from the leash in Hugh’s hand… to me, kneeling on the dirty cement floor.
The chain rattles like a snake warning it’s about to strike.
Hugh, still holding it with practiced fingers, smirks as he drops the links into the boy’s palm.
“You get thirty minutes,” he says, tone low, like this is a business transaction.
“Don’t kill her. Don’t mess up her face or tits.
If you do either, don’t fucking come out of that room, you hear me?
” He pats the kid’s shoulder too roughly to be comforting. “That’s my favorite cunt, after all.”
I keep my eyes down, my knees creaking as I crawl after the younger man, every inch of me aching, inside and out. The sores between my legs are oozing again, the tail plug they make me wear shifts with each movement. I’m gagged and muzzled, but the taste of iron on my tongue is sharp and constant.
Please, let this one be quick. Please let him be soft.
The door shuts behind us with a finality that makes my blood run cold. The room is dim, just one flickering bulb overhead. I settle on my knees beside the bed, head bowed, body shaking with exhaustion and dread.
He reaches for me.
I flinch violently, bracing for impact. But instead of striking, he fumbles with my muzzle. I feel his fingers tremble as he unclasps it and gently pulls the gag from my mouth. His eyes meet mine.
And they’re not filled with hunger. Not with power. They’re wide. Scared.
“Are… are you okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I almost laugh, but it catches in my throat and turns into something like a cough. “What the fuck kind of question is that?” My voice is cracked, shredded. “I’m on my knees. Bleeding. Wearing a fucking tail plug.” I glance at the stained mattress. “Just fuck me and get it over with.”
He grabs my wrist and I jerk away, a broken sound escaping me.
“I’m Adam,” he says quickly. “And I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to do this.”
I blink. My brain stutters. What? Is this a role play? “You don’t want to, but you must? Okay, got it.”
“No,” he hisses, looking around the room. He glances toward the door, then the barred window. “You have thirty minutes. Is that enough time to run?”
I stop breathing. “Is this a test?” My voice trembles. “They will kill me and you, too.”
Adam shrugs softly.“Then I die trying to be a hero instead of becoming a piece of shit like my dad, and you don’t have to live like this. You get to be free.”
The chain in my hand feels heavier now. “You don’t even know me. Why would you help me?” I look at the window. At the fog swirling beyond it like ghosts urging me forward.
“And you don’t know me,” he whispers, his young face leaning down to mine. “You don’t know what my life has been, and what’s expected of me. Please, I’ll open the window, and you can go. Allow me to feel like the good guy once in my life.”
“You can’t open it,” I murmur.
“Then we break it.” Adam moves to the bed and rips the sheet from it, shoving the bloodstained cloth into my hands. “Wrap your fist. Punch the center, then swipe the shards away so you don’t get torn to hell climbing through.”
I nod. I can do this.
I have to do this.
Adam climbs onto the bed and unplugs the lamp. “Wait for my signal.”
I wrap the sheet tightly and step up to the window.
He slams the lamp against the hardwood floor. Once. Twice. The sound echoes through the walls.
“That’s it, you nasty bitch!” he shouts with fake fury, rattling the bed frame for added effect. “Take it, you fucking whore!”
I drive my wrapped hand through the glass. The jolt travels up my arm like lightning. I tremble as I clear the jagged edges, then hoist myself onto the ledge, glass slicing into the backs of my thighs as I push my naked, bleeding body through the narrow opening.
I hit the grass barefoot and wet. Cold air slaps my face like a wake-up call.
Run, Ozzy. Don’t look back.
I take off through the tall grass, fog and darkness. I run until my lungs are bleeding and my feet are shredded.
I get to the tree line when a single gunshot rings out and stops me in my tracks. It takes all of thirty seconds before the second one follows.
They shot Adam and then his dad.
I scream and drop to my knees in the trees, mud seeping into my skin. The sounds echo across the woods like ghosts chasing me.
They killed him.
Adam.
That man who gave up everything in the span of minutes so I could have a chance. He knew what it would cost him. And he did it anyway.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper to myself, curling forward and shivering. “Don’t you fucking stop, Ozzy. Run. You owe him that.”
A voice splits the air behind me.
“brUMBY!”
Patrick.
My blood turns to ice. My legs move before I can think. Before I can breathe. I run like my soul depends on it—because it does.
Branches claw at my skin, rocks tear at my feet, but I don’t care. I’ll crawl if I have to. I’ll bleed out on the way. But I will not go back.
He’ll have to kill me to take me again.
I inhale deeply, straightening my spine as I start Gretchen’s engine.
Adam gave up his life so I could have one.
I’ve lived with that guilt for years now.
I found out a while after my escape that Adam and his dad were not nice men.
They were a part of a crime family that dealt in the distribution of drugs.
The drugs Patrick and Hugh would pump me full of, got me addicted to.
I think Adam saw what his product was being used for and the human part of him awoke, and… he saved me. He will always be my hero.
But now, I have my Superman, probably pacing the ranch with a scowl on his face because I ran out on him. “Alright, cowboy,” I whisper to the rising sun. “Let’s see if you’re still on the porch when I get back.”