Chapter 6
Indie
It had been two fucking weeks since I offered myself to Stone in exchange for Ishmael’s life.
Two weeks of the same goddamn routine, day after day after day. I’d wake up alone in that big ass bed, the sheets cold on Stone’s side because he was always gone before I opened my eyes. I’d lay there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, wondering if today would be the day he’d let me go.
It never was.
Then I’d drag myself to the bathroom, shower, brush my teeth with one of the toothbrushes he’d stocked the place with. The hot water would feel good on my skin, but it couldn’t wash away the reality of my situation. I was a prisoner. A sex slave. Just there for Stone’s pleasure.
After the shower, I’d go downstairs to the kitchen. The day after he’d brought my boxes of belongings, I’d discovered it was now fully stocked with groceries. Eggs, bacon, bread, fruit, snacks, everything I could need. I wasn’t sure when he’d had someone do it, but it was done.
I’d make myself something to eat, usually just toast, oatmeal, or a bowl of cereal because I didn’t have the energy for anything more complicated. Then I’d sit in the living room and watch TV all damn day.
Netflix, Hulu, HBO Max... whatever I could find to keep my mind occupied and stop me from losing my shit completely.
Some days I’d watch reality shows. Love & Hip Hop, Real Housewives, anything with drama that wasn’t my own life. Other days I’d binge entire seasons of shows I’d never had time to watch before. Anything to pass the hours until Stone came back.
And he always came back.
Usually after the sun went down, sometimes later. He’d walk through that front door like he owned the world—which, I guess in his world, he did. Then we’d fall into the same pattern.
Some days we’d argue first. I’d go off on him about keeping me locked up, about not being able to see my brother, about my life falling apart outside these walls.
He’d just stand there with that cold, expressionless face, letting me yell until I ran out of steam or until he decided he was done listening.
Then he’d fuck me. It was always hard, deep, and relentless. I always came more than once. I hated myself for how much my body responded to him.
Other days, I didn’t even have it in me to argue. I’d just be sitting there when he walked in, and we’d lock eyes, and that would be it. He’d cross the room, grab me, and we’d go straight to fucking.
No words. No foreplay beyond his hands on my body. Just raw, intense, mind-blowing sex that left me gasping and confused and wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
Because here’s the fucked-up part: I realized the sex was better on the days we argued first.
Something about the anger, the tension, the way we’d go at each other verbally before we went at each other physically. It made everything more intense, more electric. Like our bodies were finishing the fight our mouths had started. The realization of that made me feel sick.
Because what did it say about me that I was getting off on this twisted dynamic? That I was trapped here, held against my will, and yet my pussy got wetter when Stone and I fought first?
I was going crazy. Actually, legitimately losing my mind. I couldn’t contact anyone. Couldn’t call Ish to make sure he was okay. Couldn’t call Aurora to let her know I was alive. Couldn’t call my landlord to explain why my rent was gonna be late.
I was completely cut off from the world, trapped in this house with nothing but my thoughts and the TV and the knowledge that Stone would come back eventually to use my body however he wanted.
And the worst part?
I was starting to crave it.
Starting to listen for the sound of his car in the driveway. Starting to feel that flutter of anticipation in my stomach when I heard his key in the lock. I was fucked up. Completely and utterly fucked up.
***
One night, I got the random urge to cook a real meal.
Not the quick, nothing-ass shit I’d been making.
Something that actually smelled like food.
Like home. I don’t even know why I did it.
Maybe I was bored. Maybe I was tired of sitting around feeling like I didn’t exist unless he walked through that door.
I went through the kitchen and started pulling stuff out. Chicken, mac and cheese, cornbread mix, seasonings. Before I knew it, I was in it. Cooking like I used to back at the condo, like before all this shit.
By the time I finished, the whole house smelled different. Warmer. It almost didn’t feel like the same place.
I had just set everything out when I heard his car pull up. My stomach did that weird little flip again. I ignored it.
The door opened, and I heard his footsteps. Then he was there. He stepped into the kitchen and stopped. He just stood there, taking everything in. The table, the food... me.
“You cooking?” he asked.
His voice was different. It wasn’t cold or sharp like usual. It was lower, almost initimate.
I didn’t want to read too much into the way he sounded, so I just rolled my eyes and turned back to the counter.
“Don’t get used to it,” I said. “I was bored.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. I could feel him still looking at me, though.
“Sit down,” I added, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Before it gets cold.”
To my surprise, he actually listened. He move towards the table, pulled out a chair and sat.
I grabbed a plate, put some food on it, and slid it in front of him before fixing my own.
We didn’t say anything at first. He took a bite, and then he paused. Not in a bad way. He just stopped moving for a moment. His jaw started working slowly, like he wasn’t really focused on eating anymore. Almost like he was remembering something.
“What?” I said, looking at him sideways. “It’s nasty?”
He shook his head once.
“Nah, it ain’t.” He took another bite. Then he glanced down at the plate again. “The cornbread…” he said, like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.
I raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”
He leaned back in the chair slightly, still looking at it. “My grandmama used to make it like this.”
That caught me all the way off guard. Because Stone didn’t talk like that. He didn’t offer shit up like that. Ever.
“Yeah?” I said, trying to keep it light.
He nodded once.
“On Sundays,” he added.
That was it. Just those two words. But it said enough. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I didn’t do anything. I just took a bite of my food like we were having a normal-ass dinner.
After a second, I looked up at him again. And the way he was looking at me… it wasn’t the same.
Not like he was about to take something. Not like I owed him something. He looked like he was trying to figure me out. I didn’t like that shit either.
“What?” I said, my voice was sharp and almost defensive.
He shook his head and grabbed his fork again. “Nothing.”
But it damn sure didn’t feel like nothing at all.
***
Day sixteen started like all the others. I woke up alone. Showered. Ate some fruit and toast. Sat on the couch and turned on the TV.
But today felt off.
Today, I was mad. I’d been mad all day, actually. From the moment I opened my eyes, I could feel the anger simmering in my chest, building with every hour that passed.
I needed to see my brother. I needed to call Aurora.
I needed to get back to my fucking life.
I needed to figure out what the hell was happening with my condo.
I had bills to pay and if I didn’t pay them, Ish wouldn’t have anywhere to live.
Stone said he had men watching the place, making sure Ish stayed out of trouble, but that didn’t mean my bills were getting paid.
What if they evicted us?
What if Ish came home one day to find all our shit on the curb?
The thoughts spiraled in my head all day, making me more and more agitated as the hours crawled by.
By the time the sun started to set, I was pacing the living room like a caged animal, my hands clenched into fists, my jaw tight.
I heard the car pull up outside and I knew it was Stone. Good. I was ready for his ass today.
I stomped into the kitchen and started making myself a sandwich. Not because I was hungry, but because I needed something to do with my hands before I broke something.
I heard the front door open, heard his footsteps in the hallway. And then he was there, standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing that same cold, expressionless stare he always wore.
That look.
That fucking look that said he didn’t give a single fuck about anything or anyone. That said he was unbothered by the fact that he was keeping me captive and ruining my life.
Seeing it now just made me snap.
“I need to see my brother.” My voice was loud, sharp, cutting through the silence of the house. “I need to see my best friend. And I need to get back to my fucking life, Stone.”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there staring at me with those dark, unreadable eyes.
I kept going, my voice rising with every word.
“Ishmael ain’t gonna have nowhere to live if I can’t pay my bills at the condo. You got me locked up in here like I’m some kind of…some kind of fuckin’ pet or some shit, and my whole life is falling apart out there!”
Still nothing.
He just stared, and it made me even angrier.
“Are you gonna say something?!” I yelled, slamming the butter knife down on the counter. “Or are you just gonna stand there looking at me like I’m crazy?!”
Stone’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just kept staring at me with that infuriating calm.
Something inside me broke.
I grabbed the jar of mayonnaise I’d just closed and hurled it at him with all my strength. He dodged it, just barely, and it smashed into the wall behind him, exploding in a mess of glass and white goop that dripped down to the floor.
For a second, we just stared at each other. Then Stone spoke, his voice calm and even.
“You done?”
“No!” I screamed. “I ain’t fuckin’ done! I’m gonna kill you if you don’t let me go!”
His lips curved into a small, dark smile.
“Try it.”