Sweet Captivity

"Nope. Uh-uh. Not happening. You can leave now."

Her brow furrowed. "I can't do that."

"You totally can. Because I'm not getting my... I'm not getting waxed down there."

"You mean your pussy," she said, eyeing me strangely.

"I mean my lady parts, yes," I replied, my voice higher than usual. "They're not getting waxed. So you can go now, and take that shit with you." I gestured at the cart.

"Master Andrés doesn't like cussing," she said, setting the cart next to the bed.

"I know," I said bitterly, shifting my weight off my aching bottom. Something awful occurred to me. If Lauren wasn't my ally, was she my enemy? "You won't tell him, will you?" I asked desperately. I didn't want him to take me back into that scary room and hurt me again.

"No," she promised, her gaze softening with sympathy. "Just don't do it again, please."

I nodded, knowing she would probably get into trouble if he ever discovered she was keeping my transgression a secret. He was cruel, insane. What would he do to her if he found out she was showing me the smallest kindness? After my punishment last night, I was beginning to understand why Lauren was so compliant.

"Does he hurt you?" I asked quietly. "I don't want him to hurt you because of me."

She blinked at me, surprised. "Master Andrés is nice," she asserted for the second time.

"Okay," I said slowly, trying to wrap my mind around her warped headspace. "But does he hurt you? You can tell me. He hurt me, too."

"I wish Master Andrés would take care of me like he's taking care of you. You're lucky."

"Are you listening to me?" I demanded, my patience slipping. "I said he hurt me. He's not taking care of me."

She glared at me. "Do you want to be downstairs with the rest of us? Where they dose you with Bliss and make you beg them to rape you? Master Andrés is honest. He's fair. He's kind."

I bit my tongue to hold in a frustrated tirade. Lauren had obviously been driven mad. Through my frustration, guilt and pity twisted my gut. Piecing together what she'd revealed, Lauren was being regularly drugged and violated, but not by Andrés. I knew from my investigation that Cristian Moreno was involved in trafficking Bliss and using the sick drug to capture and sell women.

My stomach roiled. Andrés had claimed I'd beg him to fuck me, but at least he wasn't drugging me. We were locked in a battle of wills, and even though he'd won every round so far, I still had my wits about me to keep fighting. He might have forced me to surrender to punishment and wrung pleasure from my untried body, but I still had my mind.

"I'll help you get out of here, Lauren," I swore. "I'm going to get you out."

She stiffened. "I'm not going to help you escape."

"I didn't expect you to," I replied sadly. She was obviously too far gone to defy Andrés. She'd been broken a long time ago. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to help you. We'll get out of here."

She started at me, nonplussed. "I have a job to do," she announced after a few seconds of silence, as though I hadn't just made a passionate oath to set her free. "Lie on your back, please."

I blew out a long breath and complied. I could physically resist Lauren, but I didn't know what Andrés would do to her if I prevented her from following his orders. I remembered how he'd frightened the young man who'd defied him yesterday. Andrés had threatened to cut out his eye for looking at me.

I didn't want him to hurt Lauren because of my defiant choices. I'd choose another battle to fight with him, one that only involved the two of us and didn't risk collateral damage.

I stared up at the ceiling as she slid the sheet off my body, leaving me bare. I did my best not to squirm with discomfort at being stripped. I'd always been painfully modest, even around other women. I hadn't grown up with sisters or even female cousins, so I wasn't accustomed to anyone seeing me naked.

My cheeks heated, and I resolutely fisted my fingers into the sheet beneath me, preventing myself from slapping Lauren's hands away as she began to work.

The wax was almost painfully hot, but she was as practiced as she'd claimed. Every time she pulled a wax-covered cloth free, she'd apply pressure to my enflamed skin to alleviate the horrible sting that followed. There was nothing sexual about the way she touched me. She was almost clinical in the way she handled my most secret area, her eyes assessing her work rather than studying my sex.

"Done," she announced after a few uncomfortable minutes. She pulled away from me and started tidying everything on the cart.

"Thanks," I said automatically. "I mean. No, thanks. I mean, I didn't mean to thank you. That was totally fucked up. I mean, fuck. I didn't mean to cuss. Damn it. I just—" I stopped rambling before my social awkwardness could get me into more trouble.

Her hand settled over mine, squeezing gently. "I won't tell," she promised. "But you need to be good for Master Andrés."

"Why?" I challenged. "Because he'll beat me if I'm not?"