There was no preparing for what she’d have to endure physically. She was not in control of that. Others currently possessed her body. But she was determined to keep her soul if she could.
She heard a soft knock at the door. Her muscles tensed. God, I hate this. I hate it. Make it fast. At least make it fast. She heard the man with the gun move aside and the soft footsteps of someone else enter the room. Light on his feet. No shuffling.
“Hello, Noelle.” His voice was deep and somehow melodic. He sounded older, but perhaps not as old as the other two men who had entered this room the last two times. She hadn’t been able to identify all their features under the masks they wore, but she’d been able to ascertain their age by their bodies and their sagging necks, veiny hands, and balding heads. She had only this man’s voice. So far. “You do not greet me. Why?”
His phrasing. It was different.
“Should the rabbit caught in the trap greet the hunter?” she bit out. Her voice shook, but her anger and hatred gave her courage. They were the only things she had in which to clothe herself.
He chuckled, and she felt the bed depress. He’d sat down directly to her right. Instinctively, she drew away. “If the rabbit wants to get free,” he answered smoothly.
That confused her. “You’re going to . . . help me get free?”
He made a tsking sound. “That’s against the rules, little rabbit. Would I . . . break . . . the rules?” He’d emphasized the word, though subtly, and she had no idea why. He dragged a finger down her arm, and she tensed and pulled away.
Still, this was the first man who’d offered any conversation at all, and she’d take advantage of it if she could. The other ones had laughed and grunted and made lewd commands and taken every liberty with her body, but they hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words, and they definitely hadn’t required any from her. One of them had enjoyed her tears, and so she’d cried harder to hurry it along. “Who makes the rules?” she asked him. “Who’s doing this? Is there anything I can do to get out of here?”
“You know I can’t answer those questions,” he said, using two fingers now to feather down her arm. She wanted to lift it and slap him. She fisted her hand to resist the impulse.
There was an accent she couldn’t place that floated around the edges of his words. It was slight. Very slight. She might not have even noticed it if she hadn’t been blindfolded. Maybe he was trying to hide it, or maybe it’d been a very long time since he’d spoken the language that gave his English that particular lilt, and only on certain words.
His scent wafted toward her. Expensive. But also clean and understated. The other men had smelled expensive, too, but she’d smelled them the moment they’d entered the room, their cologne preceding them. Some overpowering fragrance that barely hid the scent of sweat and dry-cleaning chemicals and whatever else they’d carried on them. She had a very good sense of smell. She wished she didn’t. Only one of them had chosen to get fully undressed, and then she’d been exposed to a whole new slew of smells she had tried to hold her breath against.
This man, though—she didn’t have the desire to draw away from inhaling his air. He smelled good; she’d give him that. And she’d take it as a very small mercy.
“Can I take off this blindfold?” she asked. She’d felt exposed before, but this was a whole other level of bared. To be naked and blind, while the other untrustworthy person was not, was awful and unnerving. He might hurt her, and she’d never see it coming.
“No,” he said. “I believe you’ve already been advised that the rules of this room were established beforehand. If you break them, the large man by the door will not hesitate to put a bullet in your brain.” He opened her palm and ran his fingers across it. “Some would enjoy that. Some would benefit from that. I, however, would do neither.”
“So others are watching then? That’s all this is?” She didn’t know why she was being so brazen with this man. He was just like the others. Vile. Taking advantage of a helpless girl without consent. But she felt she had a chance to speak her mind, and she had no idea if she’d ever get that again. The way he was running his fingers down her skin made her want to scream, although she bet he thought she’d find it relaxing. In this way, she was actually glad for the blindfold. It was like being hidden behind the windshield of a car and feeling more comfortable road raging. She wanted to attack him with violence, but she also wanted to appeal to him for help. She didn’t know why or what or how. All she knew was that since she’d arrived here, she’d been operating mostly on instinct and gut survival, and this man was somehow different from the others she’d so far come into contact with. Was it his refined voice? That gentle accent that almost seemed to ebb and flow? The clean, elegant scent of him? Forget all that. He’s no different than the others. All those things were falsehoods, a costume so to speak, meant to put others at ease. He’s a monster. He rented me.