14. Carsyn
FOURTEEN
CARSYN
I don’t have the heart to tell Liam that I’ve searched this bedroom from floor to ceiling. The first night I was in here and not fucking drugged, all I did was search. I flipped the mattress, checked for false bottoms in all the drawers, ran my palms all over the walls and curtain rods, went through every book, every article of linen, every single thing.
If there are cuff keys hidden in this room, I literally have no clue where they’d be.
But the hope in his eyes.
I couldn’t say no.
Sitting on the edge of the cornflower blue comforter, I wonder why I don’t have that hope. I want to get away, that much is true. When I saw Colton and Kinleigh on TV last night, crying for me, begging for my safe return, I lost my mind a little.
All I could think about was getting back to them, and my body physically ached from the longing to be home.
And I have tried attacking Garrison. I have tried.
Yet the hope in Liam’s eyes, when I find my reflection in the bathroom in my room, doesn’t exist in mine.
It doesn’t make any sense.
I want to see my brother and his girl. I want to tend to my land and take care of my animals, ride my horse and stuff my feet into my favorite boots. I want the comforting smell of my own bed, I want my own clothing and my own hearth to warm my hands by.
I want all of that.
But the part of me that opened my legs willingly for Garrison Conway, she wants to find a way to absolve him of his egregious and terrible sins. She wants to find a way to fix him, and fold him into her old life.
That part of me is obviously the delusional part.
Still, I find myself being envious and saddened by the hope in Liam’s eyes.
After splashing water on my face at the sink, I tidy up the room and head out, my heart heavy with the bad news. Liam has all the couch cushions replaced, and the entire space is in perfect condition.
I arch a brow. “You cleaned up after looking?” Did he really look? Why wouldn’t he? Why am I even questioning it?
One shoulder lifts and falls. “Didn’t want Garrison knowing what we were up to.” He looks at his chained ankles as he takes a seat on the floor, resting his back against the wall. “Anything?” He asks after a heavy sigh.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
We remain in silence for a moment before I flop onto the ground adjacent to him, legs stretched out in front of me. Liam nods to my feet where just one ankle is locked up. “How’s your ankle holding up, carrying around that chain?”
“Sore, but I’m okay.” I look down at the red ring on my ankle, and realize it’s mostly sore and irritated because of all the thrashing I’ve been doing. If I wasn’t fighting back, I’d probably only be in emotional pain instead of physical and emotional.
Both of his ankles are bound. I narrow my eyes, noticing that while I was in the other room searching for keys, Liam took his boots and socks off.
“Hot?” I ask, pointing to his bare toes.
His face falters a moment, and I chalk it up to him being starved, beaten and dehydrated. He sifts a hand through his filthy hair. “Yeah, hot. Can’t get my coat off with my hands cuffed.”
I nod. There’s nothing I can do to help. Without keys, we’re both stuck, just like Garrison intended.
Garrison.
He was so angry when I tried to help Liam. Hell, when I wasn’t even physically helping him, merely comforting him, Garrison flew off the handle. Kicked Liam in the dick because of it. A knot of unease clogs my throat as the memory infiltrates me, and I tip my head to the side, half smiling as I ask, “how’s your dick?”
Liam chokes out a laugh, and I do, too. A laugh we both very much need. I haven’t laughed since… I don’t know how long. A long time, it seems.
“Feels like it was abused by a boot,” he admits, then we fall back into silence as he tips his head against the wall, letting his eyes fall closed.
My mind goes back to Garrison.
He was so jealous of the attention I paid Liam, and yet today, he left, leaving Liam and I in the same room. Why would he do that? Unless he was only pretending to be jealous before so he could abuse Liam? But Garrison Conway is a prick and a half. He doesn’t need a reason to be abusive. Hell, he was part of a sex trafficking ring. The man isn’t waiting for a permission slip to be an asshole.
Yes, Carsyn. A sex trafficking ring. Don’t forget that.
Garrison hates Liam. I don’t know what deeper history they share aside from being good vs evil, but seeing as how Liam stabbed Garrison, I’d say they have a history that goes beyond sheriff versus bad boy.
Why would Garrison let me sit with Liam? I haven’t been a good captive, other than begging for his cock like a complete slut last night. Shame leaves red splotches on my cheeks as yet another memory flashes behind my eyes.
I’ve tried to hit him, attempted to kick him and given my all to try and hook my chain around his throat. None of that behavior equates to Garrison rewarding me with an all-day visit with my friend.
And I believe he hates Liam enough to punish us both by keeping us apart in the same house. Now that would be torture—leaving us locked in separate rooms all day, too far to hear one another, but close enough to feel the sting of lost comfort.
“So you came here for me, huh?” I hedge, pulling my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees.
His blue eyes narrow just slightly, and he drags his hand down his face, scratching again at the side of his unkempt jaw. “Yeah,” he says, drawing it out, like he’s buying time. But all we have is time. Chained to the walls of this farmhouse, time, time, time. “That’s what I said.”
I chew the inside of my mouth, unable to ignore the fact that Garrison hates Liam, yet he chose to let me freely hang out with him all day? Why? I mean, if he was planning on killing me, maybe he’d do something nice for me on my last day. Like an inmate and their final meal.
Garrison is not going to kill me.
He said as much, and though I’ve got no reason to believe his words, I do believe his actions. He hasn’t hurt me, not yet.
Okay, stabbing me with paralytic isn’t exactly delivering me roses on his knee with a poem in his hand, but that aside—I don’t think he’s going to kill me.
Between my legs, I grow achy at the memory of his lips dusting mine as he warned me that he was going to give me paralytic in my side.
Oh my God.
I was wrong.
I do have Stockholm syndrome.
Letting my head fall into my hands, I take a deep breath, suddenly anxious and overwhelmed. C’mon Carsyn. Get it together. You don’t have Stockholm Syndrome. Focus on reality.
Reality is, Liam and I are in the same room together at Garrison’s hand.
He’s calculated, and if I was a betting woman, like Levi Beckett’s daughter should be, I’d say this choice to leave us together was also a calculated move.
We’re also still prisoners, which means he wants us to be together but in a limited sense. Communication only. Not freedom, obviously, but not physical touch either. My stomach rumbles, begging for the breakfast I didn’t eat. Hell, my head throbs in my palms, reminding me that I need caffeine, too.
Why would Garrison want me and Liam to spend time together?
Lifting my head, my eyes fall again on Liam’s bare feet before sliding over to the coffee table, to the stack of magazines on top. I remember looking at those the night Garrison brought me home. Field & Stream. That’s what they were. Still are. Not a single issue out of place. I realize then that the table looks different, despite the fact that the magazines are there.
The lamp. There was a small lamp on the table, a Tiffany lamp, the shade comprised of blue, fuchsia, and yellow stained glass. Liam must be watching me, and when I glance at him, I find that he indeed is staring.
“Garrison moved his lamp,” I comment, suddenly nervous as to why Garrison would move the lamp. We’ve spent most of the day on the floor, talking about the things that we’ve done since we’ve last seen each other. I’m pretty sure Liam also realized there was some reason why Garrison allowed us to be in the same space together, but both of us are so starved for normalcy and comfort, we spent half the day just talking.
Not about this, or Garrison, or Buffalo Trails, either. We chatted about our horses—Ralphie and Hideaway, town gossip not involving trafficking (which was mostly high school football team drama, but we were still happy to discuss it), the new pomegranate latte at the local bakery, and how his mom and dad are doing.
Now, though, I have regret. If I was supposed to figure something out, I didn’t. And with the lamp gone, I’m scared. Getting to my feet, chain dragging against the floor, disrupting our comfortable silence, I reach for the light switch that controls the light above the dining table. “Why do you think he took the lamp?” I ask Liam, as my eyes work the room for light switches. I can’t reach this one and now that I’m looking, I don’t think I can reach any of them. I’m not afraid of the dark, but putting the two of us in the dark would definitely be a tactic.
“He didn’t,” Liam says, popping his fingers against the palm of his opposite hand. “It broke when we argued. He cleaned it up and threw it out.” He turns to face me, letting his forehead still tip sideways against the wall.
Relief should be what I’m feeling, but still, the unease in my gut seems to bloom, gaining control of my thoughts. I let out a sigh and pace the limited space I have access to, between the living and dining room, my chains dragging heavily against the floor.
“You ok? You seem like you may be coming a bit unraveled,” Liam adds.
“I think, I don’t know. I think I’m freaking out,” I murmur, ignoring the roar of hunger in my stomach. “Where is Garrison? Why did he leave us together like this?” I tell him some of what I've been thinking. “He hates you, obviously, and he doesn’t like it when I refer to you as a friend, or bring up everything you did to help Colton and Kinleigh. So why would he give us both the gift of getting to sit together today?” I stop pacing and look at the cuff around my ankle. “It makes no sense.”
Liam’s chains rattle, but I don’t look at him. I just stare at my feet, trying not to have a panic attack, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
“You may be overthinking it,” Liam suggests.
“You may be grossly underthinking it,” I tell him, looking up, his boots catching my eye. No laces. I point at the boots. “Where are your laces?”
He answers quickly. “Garrison took them.”
My brows pull together, but I work to maintain an unmoved expression. “Are you suicidal?”
Why would Garrison even care if Liam did want to kill himself? How would Garrison even know if Liam was going to do that? He wouldn’t.
Still, it’s clear Garrison took them. I don’t know why. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. My brain won’t sort through things the way it normally does. I glance toward the kitchen, but know I can’t reach the fridge or cupboards.
I remember the bag Garrison dropped the other day. Snacks, he said, and some other things. Quickly, I get to my feet. “There are snacks in my room. I’m hungry. You must be hungry,” I ramble.
“Starving,” Liam admits, looking tired as even hunched against the wall.
“I’ll grab some snacks, okay?” I ask, but I don’t wait for an answer because it’s a rhetorical question. Hungry prisoners do not say no to snacks, even if the snacks are—I open the plastic bag sitting in the bottom of my closet and groan at the contents.
“You like dried mango?” I call to Liam in the other room, sifting through the bag until I find another food item. Amidst the bottles of water there is a box of protein bars. “Protein bar?”
“Bring it all,” he says, and I oblige, happy and excited to put something in my stomach. Maybe food will help the uneasy feeling I’ve felt since Garrison left.
Funny, I should feel good when Garrison steps out and bad when he comes back, but strangely, it’s the opposite.
With the plastic bag handles in my palms, I come around the corner, happy to share sustenance with my friend. “Chocolate peanut butter protein bar or dried mango?” I ask, peering at the items in the bag before lifting my head to look at Liam.
I gasp before I think I fully register what is going on.
The Tiffany lamp—in tact and in fact, not broken—hovers above my head in Liam’s grip, his blue eyes replaced with a smokiness that makes my gut clench. “I lied, Carsyn,” he says.
I can’t stop staring at the lamp. “You lied about the lamp?”
He volleys his head. “I was testing the waters, I think. After I heard you two…” he trails off, and I think both of our cheeks flare with embarrassment, but mine with shame, too. He heard me getting fucked willingly by the man who is holding us both hostage. How Liam still likes me I have no clue. I don’t deserve him. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure if you were like, working with him or?—”
“Working with a sex trafficking monster?!” I hurl the words at him like a weapon, anger bubbling up inside me. Anger directed at Liam, but meant for myself. Because he’s right. Of course he had to question if I was on Garrison’s side. I fucked him. I let him inside me. I begged for it. He has every sane, logical right to question me and my loyalty, and that fact sends a surge of stomach acid up my throat, burning the back of my nose.
He holds his palm up to show he means no harm, then lowers the lamp to the ground between us. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have questioned you,” Liam hedges, but I cut him off.
“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. I did…” God I do not want to say the words. I do not want to admit this to Liam, even though he’s not a romantic interest. Still, it’s humiliating. “I understand why you’d question me. I’m questioning me right about now. But the thing that’s for sure is I want to get out of here, too. I’m on team Liam and Carsyn escape, okay? I may have exercised incredibly shameful judgement last night,” I say to him, though somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice says there was nothing shameful about the way Garrison fucked me last night. It was everything I’ve been wanting for years. Still, I hedge on, ignoring that niggling voice. “But I know Garrison is a monster. I know we need to get the fuck out of here.”
I think about Garrison telling me that if he had plans to kill me, I’d be dead.
“He’s gonna give you to Forrest to buy himself back into his good graces, you know,” Liam says, his voice frayed. The back of my neck burns and my mouth opens to argue against it but… I can’t. What he’s saying makes sense. My brother ruined his livelihood, and men like Forrest operate an eye for an eye. Colton took his business and his daughter, now Forrest must take me, since he can’t get Kinney back. Forrest wants revenge on my family, and Garrison is his brother-in-law. He’s on Forrest’s side, which I’ve always known.
Nausea hits and my palms and neck grow clammy.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I admit sadly, foolishness burning my cheeks as I attempt to ignore the sliver of me that believed Garrison had a secret, heroic plan up his sleeve.
“Here’s the thing. I think I have a plan to get us out of here, and if it works, we could both be free in a day.”
I lick my lips, refusing to envision Garrison or replay any moments in my brain anymore. “Okay,” I say, without knowing a single detail. “I’m in. Let’s hear it.”