Three.
Three long strides were all it took before he brought me down.
“Are you fucking stupid?” Ethan breathed harshly in my ear as his chest pounded against my back, and I closed my eyes, waiting for him to put me to sleep. “How many times do I have to remind you? We’re hundreds of miles from anything!”
He never did.
Ethan fed me dinner that night. In my zip-ties, unable to escape this abyss of nothingness. Worry etched his features with every spoonful of soup he brought to my mouth as I sat paralyzed. He pleaded for me to talk, to say anything, but I couldn’t. All I could do was imagine breaking free from the restraints, snatching the silver spoon, and shoving it down his throat.
During my bath time, I laid immobile and locked inside my head as he washed me with his bare hands. They were strong and generous, but nothing like the man in my dreams. I concentrated on the lines on the wall, counting as his soapy palm roamed over every surface of my heated skin. Ethan washed me like the dishes in the sink—raw and to perfection until I was shiny and new again.
Ethan dressed me and carried me downstairs to the bedroom.
And that night, he laid beside me as my eyes stayed wide open. Ollie wouldn’t come, not with Ethan beside me, so I’d save my rest for when Ethan was gone. There was no point when the terrors came at night, anyway.
Outside the window, the trees danced with the moon, and I watched them swaying for hours with Ethan’s arm clasped around me in a tight hold. Even though his hands were on me, he couldn’t touch me.
Oscar had transferredto High Down, which wasn’t the worst prison in the surrounding area. Good for him. But, if I was honest, I liked the idea of knowing he was at the shit-hole Bronzefield, but at least High Down was closer.
The last time I’d seen Oscar was during sentencing. They’d allowed me to be there, and the smirk marring his mouth branded an unwanted memory ever since. It was a silent promise he’d find a way to get back at me for what I did—for what we both knew I’d taken from him.
But Oscar had it coming. For years, I’d watched him not only objectify women but brainwash them into submission to fuck them senseless. For years, he bullied and mentally-terrorized girls, grooming them into loving his sadistic nature. And For years, I’d become his project, wanting to turn me into his sidekick under his prostitution ring … What had the police called it?Oh, yeah. White Fox.
The cigarette between my two fingers burned, pulling me from the past. One last drag and the menthol slithered to my lungs before I flicked the nasty stick over the cracked pavement of the car park. Thanks to Travis, it only took two days for me to pick up the habit. The gum was useless at this point. Cigarettes kept my hands and grinding jaw occupied.
The sun peeked from the morning clouds, and I squinted toward the prison doors. Two minutes, and I would be face to face with my low-life brother again. I pushed off my newest purchase. An early 2000 station wagon. Black. I’d found it in a newspaper ad and negotiated my way down because the lady was eager to sell. Every day, the rental had taken a jab at Mia’s and my bank account, and Travis mentioned I could pay cash for something newer. But I didn’t need a fancy car. The bloody thing dropped in value every day, and I wasn’t a fool when it came to money. And I especially wasn’t foolish to waste a dollar to impress strangers. As long as it got me from point A to point B, the heap of junk would work the way I needed.
“When Hijack mentioned I had a visitor from no other than Oliver fucking Masters, I couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes,” Oscar scoffed, sarcasm dripping from his grin. “Please, tell me, little brother, what do I owe this pleasure?”
This visit wasn’t like what you would see on the telly. There was no glass separating me from Oscar’s vicious glare. Oscar’s black hair had grown out, and the tips touched his cheeks, where his deceiving smile rested. His dark eyes traveled over my attire, judging me and my freedom.
But despite my new-found freedom from Dolor, I was still a slave to heartache. The guards took my beanie before I entered the room, and every day I still wore either sweats or the black jeans and basic shirts that screamed I’d never left the world Mia and I were in, wanting to stay there for as long as possible. Travis said it was time to shop for new clothes, especially since I had my first book signing coming up, but I didn’t have time to go shopping when Mia had simply vanished.
My knee bounced under the circular table, reminding me of the one from the mess hall at Dolor as Oscar took a seat across from me, getting himself as comfortable as he could with chains around his ankles. “What have you done?” I tried to say, but it came out more like a cry for help. My chest heaved harshly to the point it hurt to breathe.
“You’re going to have to be a tad more specific,” Oscar chuckled and dropped his gaze to his arrested hands in his lap, “I’ve done a lot of things, including your precious Mia.”
Oscar and Mia had sex, which had screwed with my head for a while. But I’d learned to look past it. He couldn’t use that as a weapon any longer. “Where is she?” My voice raised, and I stopped and looked around to see correctional officers eyeing our exchange. I lowered my tone, “If I find her—when I find her—if one bloody hair is harmed on her body, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Dolor did a number on you, yeah?” Oscar raised a brow and moved his chained hands over the table to lean in. “Do you hear yourself? Look at me,”—he dropped his eyes to the chains— “What could I possibly do?”
“Who have you been in contact with?”
“Oliver, you sound like you’ve gone mad. I think you need help.”
I shook my head, my heart pounding out of my chest. “This isn’t funny. We both know you took her and why. Tell me where she is.”
“We’re still talking about Mia, right?”
“For fuck’s sake, yes. Mia.” These games grew old fast, and he was already getting inside my head, using my desperation as entertainment. I should’ve known better.
“You know what I want. Give me what’s mine, and I’ll release her,” Oscar said in a low tone. His fingers managed to scratch the back of his other hand, a habit he had his entire life. His brow raised, waiting for a response. But with that single scratch, he’d already told me what I needed to know. He didn’t have her. “What’s it going to be?”
If Oscar didn’t have Mia, it only confirmed Ethan Scott’s involvement, and Oscar couldn’t help me. It was true, I’d do just about anything to get Mia back, including asking for my brother’s assistance, but Oscar would be of no use to me. I needed someone on the outside—a person who had connections and more access than a phone call and an eight-day wait for visitation.
I stood and pushed in the chair as Oscar straightened in his when he noticed this conversation was over. “I’m not coming back, O. I hope this place changes you, I do. And for your health, I hope to God you had nothing to do with Mia’s disappearance because if I find out it was you,” I leaned in, leaving only a challenging space between us, “You’ll never step foot outside of High Down. Don’t underestimate me. You have no idea how far I’m willing to go.”
Fury swallowed his smile as he stood to match my height. “Are you threatening me?”
