“I don’t get you, Boogeyman. You confuse me.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” I admit.
Chapter Seven
—Shelly—
Boogeyman. What kind of fucking name is that anyway? The crazy bastard left about thirty minutes ago. I’ve been cleaning his disgusting bathroom. I need to bathe in bleach and I need a good night’s sleep. Only how in the hell am I supposed to sleep with this fucking collar on my neck. Staring at my reflection in the mirror that hangs over the bathroom sink, I appear haggard. My butterscotch eyes are dull and weary. Even my dark brown hair has lost its shine. The man is seriously sucking my will to live but I’m no quitter. I’m a fighter. I will do whatever it takes to come out of this alive, even if it means killing him.
I hope it won’t come to that. My plan is to do as he says for now then seduce him. If I can get him to pass out afterward, I can get his keys and remove this fucking thing from my neck, so I can make my escape.
He’s dead wrong if he thinks I will stay here and be his pet.
How am I supposed to shower with this damn thing on my neck?
There has to be a way to get it off. I go into the kitchen and look for a knife.
I find a Swiss Army knife in a random junk drawer that everyone seems to have in their home.
Flipping it open, I trudge back to the bathroom and look to the mirror. Gripping the handle of the knife I pray that I don’t stab myself in the neck. Wouldn’t that be my luck. Probably hit my major artery while I am at it.
Digging my fingers under the collar I try to hold it away from my skin but there isn’t enough room. Fuck it. If this is how I die this is how I die. I replace my fingers with the blade and attempt to cut. Nothing fucking happens.
What the hell is thing made of?
Just as I am about to try again I hear the front door open and a gruff voice announces, “Honey, I’m home.” His tone is cheery but I know he is anything but happy. The man is much like I am...a pure smartass.
I roll my eyes and close up the knife, tucking it away on the top of the medicine cabinet for when I may need it.
I stomp into the kitchen being lured by the smell of the pizza he has brought.
Boogeyman shakes his head. “Told ya. Only comes off with my key.”
“I just wanted to take a shower.”
He lets out a grunt and flips the pizza box open. “It’s waterproof.”
“Maybe I want to wash my neck.” I look over at the pizza and it is covered in black olives. Gag me. “Gross.” I scrunch up my nose.
His eyes narrow on me. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing,” I mutter and take a slice of the pizza, flicking the olives off.
He shrugs and starts eating.
“Hope you like pop, princess.” He goes over the fridge and takes out a couple of bottles of root beer. I hate root beer. It’s like the man did his homework on everything I can’t stand and is trying to make me snap.
However, I feel dehydrated, so I accept it and try to ignore the taste.
I doze off at some point and a knock sounding at the door startles me, but he seems to be expecting the company.
“About fucking time,” he snarls as he throws the front door open.
Rubbing my eyes, I yawn and sit up from where I fell asleep on the couch. I still haven’t showered and my body aches all over from playing maid to this bastard holding me captive.
A guy who appears in his early twenties, wearing a denim vest that says Prospect over one of the pockets walks in. As soon as his eyes meet mine Boogeyman punches him in the face. “Don’t fuckin’ look at her, grunt.” Blood oozes from the guys nose. He doesn’t dare look at me again. “What took you so long, shitstain?”
“Sorry, man. Reaper and Cupid had me cleaning up puke all damn morning. One of the whores got wasted and couldn’t hold her liquor. Was pretty brutal. MaryAnn was trying to get her to go sleep it off, but she kept on taking more shots. Then Cupid and MaryAnn started fighting.”