“Why? It won’t get you out of story time.”
“Scout. Let me go.”
“I’ll trade.”
Sickness roils in my gut. “Trade what?”
“Your shirt for your freedom.” He smirks. “Not complete freedom. Just freedom while in my bed.”
So I’ll be completely naked but he won’t hold me down. Not a fair trade, but it’s better than nothing. I’m practically naked anyway. At least now I’ll have my hands free.
“Fine,” I agree. “Now let go.”
He does let go, much to my surprise. And, true to my word, I pull off the shirt, tossing it away. He climbs off the bed and limps into the bathroom. I take the reprieve to burrow under the sheet and blanket to put a barrier between us. The bathroom light flicks off and I’m left in complete darkness.
His telling footsteps approach and then the bed creaks again with his weight. My heart is fluttering wildly in my chest. He slips beneath the covers, much to my annoyance, and then his hard, hot body sidles up next to mine.
Naked.
We’re both naked.
This fucked-up game he’s playing pisses me off. If he wants to have sex with me, I wish he’d do it already. I hate this anticipation of what he might do next. He keeps turning the tables and leaving me disoriented.
“How many times?” he asks, his voice a gravelly whisper as his hand seeks me out, settling on my lower stomach.
I fight not to think about it, but it’s hard when I’m bathed in darkness. My memories and thoughts are flickering in front of me, forcing me to watch it all on replay.
“Enough,” I rasp out.
Silence befalls us and I want to scream, interrupting it. I’m frozen, watching the horror show replaying in my mind over and over and over, a torture worse than anything Scout could ever dream up.
Pain. Horror. Disgust. Betrayal.
I can’t escape the onslaught of emotions battering against me. Cold, bone-deep shivers rack through me. It isn’t until my teeth start to chatter that Scout makes a move. He easily twists my body and pulls me to him.
Everything in me begs to resist, but his warm body and strong arms around me provide a solace from the storm I’m caught in. With tears soaking his chest, I cling to him. My silent sobs can be felt, shaking the bed, but not heard. This naked embrace with my captor is too intimate, but it’s the only thing providing me comfort in this moment.
You’re safe.
You’re not there. Home.
Finally, after several minutes, my tears stop leaking out and the sobs give way to soft hiccups and whimpers. I close my eyes, exhausted more from the past hour than from my trek through the city carrying a child.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks. It sounds stupid. I hate myself for even saying the words. They’re sincere though. He listened without judgment. Took in my pained words, both spoken and unspoken. Somehow, he understood the agony inside me and just held me through it. “Can I sleep now?”
“Yeah, prickly princess, you can sleep.”
Chapter Four
Sparrow
I wake in a panic, my skin clammy and the itchy crawlies all over me from being watched. I’m not sure what I expected—Heathen or Scout, maybe—but it’s not at all what I find staring at me curiously.
It’s the child.
Della.
She clutches a stuffed cat, hugging it to her chest while she peers down at me. It takes me a second to realize she’s sitting on the pillow next to my head and studying me intently.
Fuck.
Scout really got us into a mess. Not only are we having to deal with Landry being pissed and scared and betrayed, but now we have a confused kid who’s probably wondering how her teacher, Ford, is more than one person.
Her hand moves and I recognize it as sign language, though I have no idea what it means. I’m starting to feel like a dick for giving Sully so much shit for learning it. This kid is clearly wanting some answers, but I don’t know the question she’s asking.
Luckily, she doesn’t seem afraid which is good. The last thing we need is a crying, terrified kid in our apartment.
Since I can’t communicate with her, I shrug. I don’t know the answer and a shrug is interpreted the same way I’m sure. Her brows furl and she leans in closer. Where Landry’s eyes are blue—expressive and beautiful—Della’s are green. They glimmer with mischief which feels out of place considering her predicament. Slowly, she signs something even though I still don’t know what it means. I have the sinking suspicion she’s making fun of me.
“Dummy,” Sully says from my doorway. He’s leaning against the doorframe, smirking at me.
“Huh?”
“She thinks you’re a dummy.” His explanation has an edge of humor. “It’s her favorite insult.”
I turn my attention back to the girl. “You’re making fun of me?”
“She’s a bit of an asshole,” Sully reveals. “I’ve been through all this shit before with her. It’s your turn to be the object of her assholeness.”