A hard slap cut him across the cheek. "Then you're a fool, aren't you? Don't you know that you deserve this? The fear. The humiliation. Don't you know that it's yours to own? To taste and wallow in?"
He shook his head. "No. No."
"Do you think this is about her? It's your fault she's here. Your fault she was in the way. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong boy, and if she dies in here, if she rots in here, it's all because of you."
His eyes burned. He wanted to cry from the horror of that thought. Even more, he wanted to kill whoever was taunting him. Wanted to reach up and strangle them with his bare hands. But he was strapped. Bound. As immobile as a body in a coffin.
The thought made him shudder.
"Please...What do you want? I'll do whatever you want, but don't hurt her."
"What can you do? You can't even scratch your own ass. You're helpless, Dallas. Helpless and alone. And you're the reason she's here, remember? Why the hell would she want you?"
And then the voice was gone, and Dallas heard nothing to mark the departure. No footsteps. No squeak of a door. Just nothing.
Once again, he was alone with his thoughts.
The sins of the father.
The sins of the father?
Could that mean his birth father?
He knew the kind of man his father had been--born to privilege, he'd thrown it all away on drugs and parties. He'd been a fuckup for sure, and when Dallas had acted out, he'd told himself it was bad blood that made him do it. Because that's what Eli thought, wasn't it? Hell, Eli had practically told him he was Donovan's son through and through back when Dallas was thirteen and Eli had found a Playboy in Dallas's room with a picture of Jane tucked inside it.
It wasn't a naughty picture. Just one he'd taken of her sunbathing that summer. And although Dallas had never admitted it, his dad had been right about what he'd thought. Because Dallas really had jacked off for the first time in his life to a picture of his sister. And a whole lot more times after that.
What a damn loser he was.
Just like his father. Just like Donovan.
Had Donovan pissed off the wrong people before he died, and now it was Dallas and Jane who were paying for his mistakes?
Or maybe the sins of the father referred to Eli? God knows Eli had enough money to pay a ransom a zillion times over.
But if this was about Eli, then why would grabbing Jane be a mistake? Eli was Jane's dad, too.
It didn't make sense.
None of it made sense.
And when he drifted off to sleep, it was on a cloud of confusion and fear.
When he woke, there was more light in the room. Not enough to see colors, but enough to make out shapes. To get a sense of place, not that there was much to see. As far as he could tell, he was in a square room with nothing in it but a filthy mattress on the floor and a thin blanket.
But he wasn't restrained anymore, either. And he was clean. His clothes were gone and he was in a T-shirt and fleece pants and he could walk around, pressing his hand to the gray walls. Smelling the straw on the floor.
Had they drugged him? They must have drugged him.
Then he heard the metal creak of a door followed by a startled "oh!" and then the dull thud of someone hitting the ground.
Jane.
He was at her side in an instant. Holding her. Clinging to her. Rejoicing that she was with him and that she was safe. Mourning the fact that she was here at all. That she wasn't free as he had secretly hoped.
"Dallas. Oh, god, Dallas." She clung tight to him, her arms around his neck, her head pressed to his chest. "I'm so sorry you're here, but thank god you're here."
She tilted her head back to look at him, tears trailing down her face. He wanted to kiss them away. He wanted to get lost in her. To forget everything but her. To make her safe. To keep her warm.