“Look at you, got your voice back.”
He lathered up the washcloth and started to rub me down. I had to admit the water filling the tub felt good. Warm, almost hot. It was so cold in the other room. Although it made me hiss when it reached the tender wound on my hip.
He raised each arm and scrubbed each finger, not leaving even a tiny square inch of skin untouched, paying special attention to my breasts until my nipples hardened.
“Pretty,” he said.
I tried to slap away the cloth but he took my hand and shook his head as if he were chastising a child.
“Be a good girl, and I won’t add on to the punishment you’ve already got coming for biting me.”
Goose bumps covered me at his words, and I did as he said. I lay still while he cleaned me, his touch gentler than I expected, especially around the scabby, tender spot at my hip, as if he were taking care of it. Maybe he wanted to be sure he’d be able to read whatever it was.
My captor pushed my legs apart then, and, with his eyes on mine, dragged the soapy cloth between them.
I protested by closing my legs and pushing his hand away, realizing as I did so that I was regaining mobility a little at a time. But it wasn’t nearly enough to make any difference when all he did was “tsk” at my efforts. This time, he held one knee wide, wider than he’d spread me before, and cleaned between my legs. My face heated—given he’d turned on the lights in here, I could see through the mesh covering his eyes—and I swear he smiled behind his mask. I hated him for it, hated him for his tender invasion, for the natural response of my body as he rubbed that very delicate spot over and over again, as if wanting to draw that very thing from me.
“There,” he said. “Almost done.”
And to my utter shame, he turned me on my side and cleaned me in the back too, taking his time again until he felt satisfied, before finally allowing me to lie back as he drained the tub.
“Let’s get some clean water in here, so we can wash your hair.”
He stood, his gaze sliding the length of me.
I pushed myself up a little, although I still needed the support of the tub, and cleared my throat.
He allowed me to sit up and refilled the tub, taking a seat again as he picked up a half-full bottle of some cheap shampoo. How many girls had been here just like me? How many had he washed like he was washing me? How many had he—I had to swallow hard not to choke on the word—trained? Sold into slavery?
I felt my eyes welling with tears. Was I just fooling myself? I was in so deep. After James, I’d kept out of things and had warned Mateo to do so too. I warned him not to get involved with the mob. With men like Victor Scava. But he had, and he’d paid the ultimate price. Would I now pay that too?
His thumb rubbed across my cheek, and I realized I’d started to cry. I watched his eyes as he wiped away my tears, expecting some rude comment, some sick joke about my future, but all I got was silence.
I turned my head away, and the moment was gone.Poof.
“Deep breath.”
He had his hand on the top of my head as he said it. He barely gave me time to register the words though before shoving my head down under the surface. Water gurgled in my ears, and my scream turned to bubbles before fingers pulled at my hair and drew me back out.
I sucked in air, suddenly panicked, and all he did was chuckle.
“Nothing like a dunk under water to wake you up, huh?”
I spat water and coughed while he poured shampoo on my head.
“Told you to take a deep breath. Next time, you’ll know to do it.”
“Why?” I cried out.
“To shampoo your hair, silly.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Oh, that.”
He rubbed until he got lather, his fingers digging into my scalp.
“Money. Why else? Why does anyone do anything but for money?”
