Bingo, called it.
His friend pulls the dirty clothes off of the dresser, stuffing them into a hamper that sits next to it, and I chuckle to myself. This one must be the dad.
I move to the other side of the bed while his friend goes through the dresser drawers, pulling the top drawer of the nightstand open. Inside of it sit three bundles of neatly-wrapped rope, a set of leather restraints, and a magic wand, complete with wall adapter.
“So, how did you meet Eric?” I brave asking as I push the drawer shut.
“Ah, I met him almost twenty years ago in an online forum about muscle cars, actually,” he laughs. “He was adamant that he was going to get a nineteen-seventy-three Firebird as his first car and paint it fire engine red. Then he went and bought a godawful hatchback instead and sold it less than a year later.” Colt lets out a breath, setting a neatly-folded pile of clothes onto the bed next to me. “Alright, these should be acceptable. I’ll leave my phone number for you on the refrigerator, just in case, but Davis should be back soon. Will you be alright here by yourself?”
I nod. “Thanks, Colt. It was...really weird to meet you.”
“Yes,” he says with a smile, “it certainly was. You have a good night, Sophia.”
I wait for him to leave the room before I peel off my outfit, making sure to stuff each piece into the same hamper that Eric’s friend put his clothes into, then I slip into the fresh outfit laid out for me, pulling the drawstring of the shorts tight to keep them from falling off of my hips. Bringing the collar of the too-big t-shirt to my nose, I breathe deeply, inhaling Eric’s scent clung to the fabric.
I dive onto Eric’s bed and reach for a remote, clicking on the power to the TV mounted above the dresser as I settle back into his mound of pillows. Immediately, the room fills from all directions with the sounds of loud, exaggerated moaning, the TV lighting up with what looks like some amateur, homemade porn clip.
“Oh my god,” I howl, laughing hard enough that tears well up at the outer corners of my eyes as I scramble to press the button to get to a streaming service instead. “Of course you watch your porn in fucking surround sound, you little freak.”
Scrolling through the Netflix menu, I pull up an action movie with a catchy thumbnail and adjust the pillows behindme for maximum comfort before plopping my head back down onto the pile.
Halfway through my third movie choice – this time, a comedy – Eric finally steps into the room, kicking his boots off at the door and shoving them over toward the dresser, leaving clumps of mud in their wake. He’s only wearing jeans, his shirt draped over his shoulder, and his hair is out of place, with several pieces dangling in his face. His sculpted body is covered in a layer of sweat and grime that definitely was not there before he left the club.
“Sorry I kept you waiting, Sugar,” he says way too casually, brushing his hair out of his face, which falls right back to where it was. “Colt get you settled in okay?”
“Yeah, he— Eric…”
Jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a door at the side of the room, he tells me, “I’m gonna grab a quick shower. You make yourself at home, I’ll be out in just a sec.”
I scramble off of the bed with panic flooding my veins, following him as he walks into his bathroom.
It’s a gigantic room, bigger than my living room, with three sinks at one side and a separate walled-off area that looks like a closet, which I’m pretty sure houses the toilet. The rest of the room is taken up by an absolutely massive walk-in shower that I swear my entire bedroom could fit inside of, only separated from the rest of the space by a half wall of slick stone tile.
Eric pulls open the big, silver ram’s head buckle on his belt and slides his jeans and underwear off as he turns the knob to start the shower, sending water pouring down from the ceiling. He steps inside, visibly relieved by the contact of the warm water hitting his skin. I don’t think I’ve ever really noticed all of the scars on his body before; a few smaller ones here or there between his stomach and his back, and one larger one just near his right shoulder blade that looks like it must have been serious enough to need to be stitched up.
“What did you do,” I breathe, watching the water create a steady stream of muck rinsing away from his body like dirt being power washed off of the side of a building. It swirls around the light tile on the floor, making a trail from his body and down into the drain, washing away the evidence of whatever it is that he’s done.
“I handled it,” he answers plainly.
He cups his hands, collecting a pool of water in his palms, and he scrubs the water over his face before pushing his hair back, letting the rain from the ceiling soak into his thick raven strands.
With my blood pulsing through my veins like painful shards of ice and my heart at a fucking stand-still in my chest, I step into the shower with him, his clothes clinging to my body like a second skin as the water runs over me, and I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look down at me.
“Eric. Did you kill him?”
“He put his hands on you,” he drawls, his large hands resting on my hips, “of course I did.”
All of the oxygen in my lungs runs dry, pulling my throat closed and forcing my voice down to a near whisper as words work to claw their way out. “...Why?”
I don’t know that the answer will actually make a difference one way or the other, but I need to know. I need to know what possessed him toend someone’s lifebecause of me.
“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever been asked,” he laughs – it’s a dark, tired laugh. Not the one that I’ve gotten so used to, the one that he gives freely, like he can never run out of them. Not the one that splits his face in two and gives him those cute little crinkles next to his eyes. “Why is water wet?” With his icy blue eyes darkening, burning a hole into mine, he bends down to press his forehead against mine. His finger hooks beneath my chin and he lowers his voice to a growl. “I’d kill any bastard that ever hurt you. Give me a list of names of the men that took you to one of those rooms whenyou didn’t want them to, and I’ll make a day of it. I’d turn the world on its fucking end for you, Sugar.”
I should be terrified.
I should run the fuck out of here screaming, call the cops and get on a plane to the middle of nowhere.Right now.
I should go into hiding and change my name.
