Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
“Wake up.”
The words slightly penetrated the exhaustion-fueled slumber that had claimed her a couple of hours ago.
Makayla lifted her head groggily, caught in that moment between sleep and awake, unsure of where she was or what was happening around her.
It took a moment to filter back in, but the tightness around her wrists and ankles, which had caused numbness in her hands and feet, reminded her that she was still in the chair, being punished for refusing to get down on her knees just for some food.
Although her stomach thought it was a terrible idea as gnawing hunger pains roused her further from slumber, she knew she’d made the right choice.
If they wanted to sell her, they needed her alive, so chances were they would cave before she died, and besides, she’d seen the code for the door to the room where she and the other women were kept.
All she needed was to be put back in there, and she was getting the hell out of this place.
“Hurry up, I don’t have all day, and I've already wasted more time on this nonsense than I should have.”
The irritated voice belonged to black eyes.
She’d learned his name was Van during the hours she’d been bound to this chair, but she still thought of him as black eyes.
Makayla had learned the names of the other men as well.
There were William, Adrian, Hank, Henry, Deacon, Marvin, and Josh.
Knowing their names meant she had actionable intel to take to the cops, because she was going to make sure every one of these men paid for their crimes by spending the rest of their lives in prison cells.
See how they liked being locked up.
“Would you—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm awake, okay? I'm awake. Excuse me for not bursting with energy when I haven’t eaten since lunch two—no, I think it’s three now—days ago,” she muttered as she lifted her head and pried open her eyes to find Van standing before her.
There was annoyance in his dark eyes, sure, but other things were there, too.
Because the men had taken their time coming in to this room that appeared to be some sort of hang out space for them, to stick their disgusting penises into her mouth, obviously thinking that leaving her sitting here not knowing when they were coming would make her more upset, she’d had plenty of time to study this man.
It hadn't taken her long to figure out why he left her feeling off. She was afraid of him, there was no doubt about that, but she also saw through the empty veneer he showed to the world. It was one she’d seen countless times before among the children in her care, and she had to wonder if he’d also grown up in the foster system.
There were so many angry kids in the system, and some of them just …
gave up. They embraced the darkness that circled around them and invited it inside.
But despite her instincts that told her to save him, find a way to convince him that just because he’d been surrounded by darkness didn't mean he needed to spend his whole life that way, she wouldn't waste her breath.
Van wasn't one of her kids, he wasn't a kid at all.
He was a fully grown adult, who had made bad choices about how to live his life, and he wasn't her responsibility.
“I see that lesson didn't teach you anything about controlling that mouth of yours,” Van grumbled as he crouched before her and began to unbuckle the leather straps binding her ankles.
Because they were leather and not plastic or metal, they hadn't caused much damage to her skin, but they had still done an effective job at cutting off the blood supply to her feet.
“Told you it wasn't going to,” she reminded him. Thankfully, he’d removed the mouthguard hours ago.
At the time she’d expected that he’d return her to the room, but he seemed content to leave her right where she was.
Maybe it was supposed to make her think that he was going to do more to her, and the thought had, of course, occurred to her, but instead she’d just tried to rest, preserving what strength she had left in preparation for making her escape attempt once she was free.
“You're going to make my life harder, aren't you?” he muttered as he shifted to her other leg.
With his face so close to her spread legs, Makayla was sure he would have taunted her, made sexual innuendos, possibly touched her, or at the least, made sure she knew nothing was stopping him from doing whatever he chose to her. Instead, he barely looked at her center.
“Is it my job to make it easier?” she asked. “I mean, you did kidnap me after all, and you're intending to sell me to some sick pervert.”
Not offering her an answer, instead, he shifted to start undoing the straps around her wrists.
When he was done, instead of yanking her to her feet—feet she wasn't even sure could hold her up as the stinging pain of pins and needles assaulted her—he surprised her by picking up one of her hands and massaging it.
Aching jaw falling open in shock, she stared at him.
What was he doing?
Well, of course, she knew what he was doing. He was working circulation back into her deadened limbs, but why?
He shouldn’t care that she was uncomfortable and in pain, that she was hungry and exhausted.
After all, wasn't that how he wanted her? The weaker he could make her physically, the easier it would be to break her psychologically. Or at least in theory. It was probably the way it usually worked, so it was the way he was used to things going, and how he thought it would work with her too. Only she’d been operating in hellish conditions all her life, and her body had learned to adapt.
It hurt as he massaged one of her hands and then the other, but she knew it was helping, and she needed to be strong, ready to put her plan into action.
It was a nice thing to do for her, and while she didn't understand why he was doing it, she could still appreciate it for the kindness that it was.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wincing as a fresh wave of tingling pain washed over her.
Head darting up from where he’d been watching what he was doing, she saw the surprise flare in those almost black eyes of his before he banked it. She wondered what he’d been through in his life that he felt like he couldn’t show any emotion whatsoever beyond that silly emptiness.
“I think the polite thing to do is say you're welcome,” she said with a small smile, making the man’s brows furrow like he couldn’t figure her out. “Just thought you needed the reminder, considering how you told me I needed to be punished for having a smart mouth.”
“How are you—” Van cut his question off with a shake of his head, like the words had started to slip out without his permission.
“I’m taking you back to your room,” he snapped, more irritated now than he’d been a moment ago when it took her more than a second to wake up. But it seemed he was more irritated with himself than with her.
“I assumed that you were.” She’d been hoping that he would.
Her entire plan depended on her being back in that room with the other women.
Once she was in there, she finally stood a chance at getting out of here.
It was hard not to get her hopes up too high, but she had to be realistic about this.
Just because she’d do her best, give it one hundred percent, it didn't mean she’d be successful.
Using his grip on her hands to pull her to her feet, the man began to drag her toward the door.
As he did so, Makayla’s gaze fell on a knife sitting on the table a mere couple of feet away.
Deacon had been in here earlier, making himself a toasted ham, cheese, and tomato sandwich, and he’d left behind the knife he’d used to cut the tomatoes.
It wasn't a huge knife, but it wasn't a butter knife either.
It was a weapon she could actually utilize.
Stumbling slightly, using her weak and throbbing feet as a distraction, the man lost his grip on her, and she fell into the table, snatching up the knife as she did so.
There was nowhere for her to hide it since she was naked, so she merely pressed it against her leg, and covered it as best she could with her hand, praying for a miracle.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, “guess I'm not very steady on my feet yet. Probably shouldn’t have left me tied up for so long.”
Throwing her an irritated frown, he seemed in a hurry to get her back to the room because he had other things to do and she was an annoying distraction.
He didn't notice the knife pressed to her thigh.
He merely grabbed her other arm again and pulled her along through the door, across the hall, pausing to punch in the code so he could fling the door open and push her inside, leaving her with a weapon and a way to escape.
August 27th
5:47 A.M.
Slamming the door behind him, Van sagged against it.
Why had he thought keeping Makayla in the room with him all night was a good idea?
He’d taken the silicon ring out hours ago, and he’d intended to return her to the room as soon as he was finished with her punishment.
A punishment he could accept wasn't going to do any good.
It hadn't changed anything, and he knew she hadn't learned a single thing from it.
Or maybe she had.
And that right there was the problem.
She was learning things, but it just wasn't the things he needed her to learn. Makayla had to accept that just because she’d survived hell as a child didn't mean she could handle things here.
Although hadn't she? She hadn't buckled and broken yet, and he was starting to think that she wouldn't at all, no matter what he did to her.
What any of the sick freaks here did to her.