Chapter 10
Reese
Only when the door was closed did I allow myself to falter, forced to grip the edge of the dresser to keep from falling. Even more lightheaded than before, the last thing I wanted to do was to faint.
The moment Hunter had ripped off the mask, I’d been even further torn by my body’s reactions. He was beyond handsome, drifting into insanely gorgeous territory.
What in the hell was going on? Was this some sick game or an attempt at exposing the horrific club?
What world had I managed to drop into, every aspect twisted into something unrecognizable?
And who in the hell was the man downstairs?
Law enforcement? Maybe. Maybe not.
Hunter certainly didn’t act like he was an undercover detective. But there was something very odd about him.
Then who was he? Who would put themselves in that position other than some wealthy, sadistic freak? The house certainly was to be expected, a stunning representation of extreme affluence.
Although…
His reaction to his own house and furnishings seemed off.
I don’t think I’d ever been so confused. First, I’d thought he was just one of the entitled assholes. Then he shocked me by being almost… kind. Yes, there was no doubt he had a dominating personality, but he wasn’t nearly as brutal as what I’d seen and experienced.
Certainly not like the bastards in the prison ward.
At this point, I was cautiously hopeful I wasn’t in any immediate danger.
I moved toward the window, barely pulling the blinds away.
I hadn’t paid any attention that his house was right on the ocean.
Another confirmation of how rich he was.
Why worry about the blinds? From what I could see, there were no close neighbors.
The questions continued to pile up. The surprise lingered.
Not only because I had a very expensive glass of wine in my hand, but also because I was standing inside an absolutely gorgeous bedroom.
Complete with a king-sized canopy bed fit for a queen, a sitting area with plush leather chairs in front of a massive window, and a double doored walk-in closet filled with clothing that was supposed to belong to me.
Wait. What kind of sex slavery situation had I been sold into?
I brushed my fingertips across my cheek where he’d touched me, shuddering to my core. His touch had all but seared my skin, gentle in a way I found difficult to comprehend. But I couldn’t be fooled by his kind demeanor, even if my instincts continued to tell me he wasn’t anything like the others.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t a bad guy simply disguised as something less abominable. Maybe he was creating desire so I wouldn’t fight him as much as any normal woman would.
The wine was still in my hand, my fingers numb from the pressure used in holding the glass.
Slowly, I glanced at the deep crimson liquid as I thought about the weapon I’d seen.
Nothing at this point made any sense. I took a sip, trying to catch my breath and my bearings.
I’d done enough research before coming to Miami to know I was in one of the most affluent sections of the city.
A location where the richest people in the world lived. Including some notorious criminals, leaders of crime syndicates.
Hunter certainly had that look about him. Polished yet with a dangerous aura that indicated he wasn’t just a pretty boy, but a man who could hold his own.
The fact I remained attracted to him was a continual irritation. Even now, my mouth was dry from the lingering thoughts.
My hand was shaking as I brought the glass to my lips, but the taste was extraordinary. After another sip, my breathing finally slowed. As soon as I walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light, my reflection drew my attention.
The soft lights couldn’t hide the gauntness of my cheeks or the sadness in my eyes. The garish makeup was nothing but a costume, but even if my face was scrubbed clean, I would likely be unable to recognize myself.
Sighing, I returned to the closet, shivering not only from the lack of clothing but from what I was seeing.
Maybe I’d expected nothing but corsets and leather skirts, thigh-high boots that I’d seen in glitzy social media posts.
There was nothing inside the closet that resembled anything suggesting catering to the BDSM world.
Maybe I just didn’t know what I was talking about, but I doubted jeans, blouses, tee shirts, and simple dresses were the going attire.
So many strange thoughts and feelings were continually washing through me. As if I was standing outside my body looking in. I forced myself to grab a few items. The first thing I wanted to do was to tear the horrible dress off, ripping it into shreds.
Underwear.
I was not going to continue going without wearing any.
With long strides, I yanked open three dresser drawers before finding what I wanted.
Several sets of matching lacy bras and thongs.
They were incredible, sensual in a classy way, yet the sight of them heightened my apprehension, a reminder that to men like Hunter, I was nothing but an object.
Was that true?
If it was, I’d fight with everything I had.
I’m trying, Briana. I swear to God I am.
My head ached, my heart crushed from both relief in knowing that she was alive while remaining uncertain she knew who I was.
What terrified me more than anything was her lack of recognition as well as her inability to focus.
I certainly understood how women could be indoctrinated after a length of time and my sister had been missing for long enough.
You can do this. Get dressed. Go downstairs. Find a way of figuring out where you were.
Yes. That’s what I needed to do.
The rage fueling me, I rushed into the bathroom, kicking off the shoes with enough fury they were driven against the wall. The hard thud brought a smile, something I hadn’t managed in days. The dress was next, the seams ripping from the force used.
Or had it been weeks? How the hell would I know?
I jerked open the cabinet doors finding toiletries. Deodorant. Shampoo and conditioner in two scents. Body wash. Lotion. Face cream. What? I flung open the drawers to find makeup and hairbrushes. Hair ties and toothpaste. Dear God, toothpaste had never looked so good.
When I found a pair of scissors, my thoughts immediately drifted to testing how sharp the points were; sharp enough when I pricked my skin I bled. I stuck my finger in my mouth for a few seconds before taking the scissors to the dress.
Take that, you motherfuckers.
I’d never felt such vindication as I did in shredding the gorgeous piece. A thousand or five thousand dollars. What the hell did I care? It wasn’t me. None of this was.
Not even a little bit.
When I was dressed, I glared at myself again. There was glitter everywhere. Everywhere. The rage was more intense than before. I made a horrible face before grabbing a washcloth, soaking it with soap and water.
And scrubbing my face until my skin burned.
And every scrap of makeup was gone.
When I looked back at myself, I grimaced. While Star might be gone, I wasn’t certain about the woman who’d replaced her.
Even though the anger had started to subside, I was still shaking as I returned downstairs.
He was no longer in the kitchen. As I made my way through the house, I marveled at the exquisite details of the place, but it wasn’t quite put together.
There were a few pieces of art here and there, but certainly nothing personal.
There were bookshelves everywhere with only a few books. There were no glossy magazines, no movies that I could see. And no plants whatsoever.
I finally found him in a library of some kind.
At least the room appeared to have more life behind the walls.
He’d cracked open the huge sliding door that comprised an entire wall.
He was outside on the deck, one arm stretched out across the railing with the other hand holding his glass of whiskey.
Completely silent, he appeared to be staring at the lights across the bay.
I stood in the doorway, not only still uncertain where to begin with questions, but also surprised to see his choice of clothing he’d changed into.
He was still wearing the same crisp white shirt, only now untucked and worn with a pair of faded blue jeans that had certainly been washed dozens of times.
My eyes fell very slowly from his broad shoulders down his back to his butt.
Maybe I was shameless, but as the light breeze lifted the back of his shirt, I couldn’t help but notice its firm definition.
It was as if God had created the first pair of jeans using a mold of his sexy body.
A warm flush of heat crossing my face, I forced my gaze further down. He was wearing cowboy boots. Another surprise.
Maybe given everything I’d seen, I was expecting that men who believed owning women was acceptable wouldn’t be normal in any way. How ridiculous. There wasn’t a serial killer out there who hadn’t appeared normal in their behavior when required.
He obviously sensed my presence, stiffening just a few seconds later. When he turned to face me, he wore the same expression I knew had formed on my face.
Surprise.
His gaze slowly fell in the same way mine had, with a need to understand the difference in what we each were seeing.
No, I wasn’t the beautiful model I’d been dolled up to be.
That had never been me. I was the girl more comfortable in jeans and tee shirts.
Even my school wardrobe was breezy casual, reflecting what had once been my personality.
Fun loving.
I’d believed in the best in people.
I walked in with one arm crossed in front of me as if that could provide any sense of calm or protection.
He took a deep breath before returning to the room. When he started to close the door, I hadn’t realized I’d made a strangled sound until he stopped what he was doing altogether.