Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
At least she hadn't tried to run again.
Thunder was holding onto that fact, but it wasn't like the mystery woman was particularly warming up to any of them, although it was clear she felt safer with the women than she did with the guys.
Or at least with the others.
According to the girls, who had spent most of the day up in the woman’s room, she kept glancing at the door, as though checking if he was coming.
After a couple of hours with her not wanting to leave the room, Rose had texted to ask him to come back up, so he’d brought up lunch and eaten with the girls.
When she’d seen him, he would have sworn there was a brief flicker of relief in the woman’s gray eyes. At least he thought that’s what it was, but maybe he was just seeing a reflection of what he wanted to see.
It was selfish of him, but he wanted the woman to want him, to need him.
The more time she was there, the more he felt that pull toward her grow.
It wasn't like he was expecting anything to happen between them. She was there until she was ready to face the world, then she’d go home to her family.
Thunder was aware of all of that, and yet it didn't seem to diminish the raging need inside him that demanded he go to her, pull her into his arms, and tell her she was safe until she finally believed it.
Really believed it, not just accepted it until the world proved to her that she was wrong and the other shoe dropped.
Because he was pretty sure that was what she was waiting for.
For the time being, it seemed she was going to stay put and listen to them when they told her she was safe, but he could see in her eyes that she didn't expect it to last.
She was yet to speak a word, although she would nod or shake her head, and she’d point at things when asked about something.
They’d sent DNA and fingerprint samples to Prey and were all hoping that sooner rather than later, they’d get a hit and find out who she was.
Maybe that would help, if they knew her name, some things about her, something he could use to connect with her, and draw her out of a shell a little.
Knocking on the door to her room, which she’d left open, he could see she was curled up on the armchair by the window, but he wasn't going to invade her personal space without express permission.
If he wanted her to believe that she was safe there, then they had to treat her as an autonomous person who could make her own choices. Which started with respecting her space.
“Can I come in?” he asked when she turned her head to look at him.
There was a flicker of surprise in her gaze, probably unused to anyone asking her permission for anything. Trafficking victims were seen as property, not people, and it was likely that over time she’d begun to see herself the same way.
When she nodded, he stepped into her room.
There were still snacks laid out across the dresser, and beside her was an empty candy bar wrapper, so he knew she was at least accepting that the food was hers to eat whenever she wanted.
But she couldn’t live on snacks forever.
Yesterday she hadn't wanted to come down to the kitchen, today he was hoping she was ready to take that step.
“Thought you might want to come and make some lunch with me,” he offered.
Those big gray eyes of hers looked beyond him, out into the hall, where she was yet to venture after yesterday’s escape attempt.
He could see the longing in them. She wanted to go out there, but she was scared.
Which was totally understandable, and he wouldn't push her beyond what she was capable of, but he hoped she might be up for a trip to the kitchen.
“I made soup last night,” he continued. “I thought we might make some toasted cheese sandwiches to go with it.” It was a simple meal, but it was comfort food, and since she wasn't going to suddenly start chattering and tell him all her favorite foods, he thought it was a good starting point.
Her eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he felt a ridiculous flush of pride. It was such a small thing, but he’d made her happy, and he liked knowing that. More than he probably should, given how this was all going to play out.
“Everyone else is busy, so we’ll have the kitchen to ourselves,” he added when he saw her fingers curl into fists on her lap.
She might be okay with the other women, but he didn't think she was ready to face him and his team all at once.
They were an intimidating bunch of men, he absolutely got that, especially for someone who had been through what this woman had.
After a long moment, the woman finally nodded. Uncurling her legs from underneath her, she placed her bare feet on the floor and slowly pushed herself up. She swayed slightly, and it took all his restraint not to rush toward her to steady her.
She was strong enough to catch herself, and if she needed him, he’d be there.
But she didn't need him. She steadied herself, then padded across the floor toward him, stopping when she was at his side.
“Proud of you, babydoll,” he murmured, allowing himself a tiny bit of contact as he brushed his knuckles across her cheek and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear.
When she didn't flinch away from the contact, but held steady, he felt like he’d just won a major point in his favor.
As he led her through the house, they didn't speak, but it was a comfortable silence, and he felt as if the woman was cataloging everything she saw.
No doubt she was storing the information away in case she needed it, and while he hated that she was struggling to accept that she was safe, he was proud of her all over again for her attempts to protect herself in whatever ways she could.
Before he’d gone to her room, Thunder had asked everyone else to be quiet and make themselves scarce. He wanted to give her this time to become familiar with the house and accept that she had free rein of it.
“Cassandra made fresh bread this morning,” he said as they entered the kitchen. “How about I cut some slices while you grab cheese and butter from the fridge?”
His goal here was to give her as much independence as he could.
Bit by bit, she’d start to become used to making decisions again, taking control of her own needs and tending to them.
It was going to be a slow process, but he hoped the more she did things for herself, the more she’d start to override her brain’s patterns formed in the years of her captivity.
Leaving her be, he began to cut slices of bread, heated a frying pan on the stove, and got ready to cook the toasted cheese sandwiches.
He then turned the heat back on for the soup so it was ready.
It took her a couple of minutes before she crept across the room toward the fridge, moving as though she were expecting to be punished at any second.
But scared or not, she did it.
She retrieved the cheese and butter and brought them over to him.
“Thanks,” he said simply. “Choose yourself something to drink. I’ll have an apple juice. The glasses are in the cupboard by the fridge.”
Again, there was hesitation, but then she did what he asked, retrieving two glasses, pouring one with apple juice, then eyeing the other options in the fridge before filling the second glass with milk.
Milk as a choice suggested she might have been young when she was taken, and his heart broke for her. How many years had it been since she was free?
“We can make cookies if you want after lunch,” he suggested as he put the sandwiches together and started frying them.
“And you're welcome to cook anything you want, any time you want. Cookies at midnight are totally fine. Hell, roast beef at midnight is totally fine. If we don’t have something that you want, just put it on the shopping list on the fridge door.”
They’d never had a shopping list before, they just took turns doing the grocery run.
However, he wanted a way to include the woman without forcing her to speak to make her needs known, and this had seemed like a good idea.
To make her feel like this was normal for them, they’d all popped stuff on the list, and he saw her scan it, reading the items on there, although she didn't add anything of her own.
“Chocolate chip cookies are my favorite, and I hear you have a sweet tooth, but we can make something else if you’d prefer,” he offered as he flipped their sandwiches. “Bowls and plates are in the cupboard below the glasses. Can you grab us some, please?”
With something concrete to do, she seemed a little more sure of herself, and collected two bowls and two plates, bringing them over to him.
Was it his imagination, or did she brush against his side on purpose?
Probably his imagination.
She was learning to trust, and it seemed he was proving to her that he was someone worthy of that gift, but he was going to have to work at not getting his hopes too high.
There was every chance that the damage done to her ran too deep and she would never be able to utter another word, or be able to live a normal life.
But he wasn't giving up hope.
If she was still standing, trying so hard to believe that nothing bad was going to happen to her, the very least he could give her was unwavering support.
Which was exactly what he intended to do. Even if he wound up getting hurt when he allowed his feelings for her to develop into something that would make it hard to let her go.
February 26 th
2:55 P.M.
The panic came out of nowhere.
Things had actually been going okay. Not well, Maya couldn’t say she was comfortable there or that she trusted any one of these people.
But bit by bit, they were showing her that they weren't going to hurt her.
So far, no one had done anything at all to put her on edge.
In fact, it was more like the opposite. It seemed like they were all going out of their way to be as non-threatening as possible.