Some fucking favor he’d done her!
Tamping her fear and anger with an effort, she tried to think why he’d done it. He must have had a reason.
Why had he acted like he knew her? He’d seemed to think she knew him, too. Why?
He thought Morris had told her. That was why he’d expected her to recognize his name.
Was that why he’d protected her? Faked the rape to convince the guard that she was getting what he’d thrown her in the cell for--a lesson of what she could expect if she failed to cooperate.
Her thighs were still sticky with semen. Blood had been smeared through it and that, too, had dried. With revulsion, she studied her thighs, wishing she had some way to clean herself off.
She wasn’t touching the water in the bottom of the toilet bowl. It made her flesh creep just thinking of all the germs and bacteria swimming in it, as if they were, even now, climbing out and crawling across the room to reach her.
She was going to lose her mind if she had to stay in this horrible, filthy place very long.
That thought touched off a dim memory. She’d still been too drugged when it was happening to grasp much, but she finally remembered he’d said he would take her with him if she helped him to escape.
Maybe her memory was faulty? Because that just didn’t make sense to her. If she escaped, why would she need him to help her?
Her face where the guard had hit her wasn’t the only thing throbbing. Her head was pounding as if someone were hammering on it. Massaging her head with both hands, she struggled to piece together errant bits of memory into something that made sense to her.
She’d been questioned, daily, or almost daily, since she’d been incarcerated. Unless her mind was completely unreliable, she thought she remembered enough details to separate one session from another into a half a dozen.
Which meant she’d only been in this hellhole for about a week?
She was not going to survive much of this!
Pushing that thought from her mind quickly, she tried to focus on what she’d been searching for before and remembered that each time the man interrogated her, he had become more furious and frustrated until he’d begun threatening something. She hadn’t been certain at the time what he was threatening to do to her that he hadn’t already tried until she’d seen where he was taking her. She hadn’t been completely clear on what was about to happen even then. It had been more of an instinctual fear of being shoved into a cell full of men than a clear idea of the guard’s intentions that had made her fight him.
So, the guard had taken her to the cell with all the men, expecting to enjoy some entertainment while they beat and raped her half to death. The huge cauc monster with stringy black hair that the guard had referred to as Black Stew had charged her like a randy bull, beating off the other men, but Dax had seen a possibility that she might help him get out of his cell.
That was it!
He wasn’t expecting her to escape and get to him and free him. He’d thought there was a chance the guard would bring her back for another ‘lesson’ and he’d hoped, if he could get her off the drugs, she’d have enough wit about her to create a distraction.
She considered that for a while and finally decided that must be it, but he was out of his fucking mind!
He was cute, and he was sexy, but he wasn’t that damned cute and sexy!
How was she supposed to create a diversion? And, supposing she thought of something, how was she supposed to keep from getting dead in the attempt?
For that matter, supposing they managed to get out of the cell, this facility was a monster. They’d never get out of it alive.
Maybe dead was better, but she wasn’t ready to accept that.
She was still mulling the memories over, carefully avoiding the particulars about what Dax had done and focusing on what he’d said, when a sound suddenly jolted through her abstraction. Pushing herself up on the bunk, she saw a tray being shoved through the narrow space at the bottom on the wall next to the door.
Her throat closed instantly with thirst. She’d been trying to ignore the effects of dehydration on her mouth and throat for hours--days, it seemed. When the hatch closed again, she eased off the bunk and headed toward the tray.
It’s in the food!
She stared at the bowl of disgusting brown muck and the bread for several moments and finally reached for the tumbler of water. After sniffing it suspiciously, she took a small sip.
The tiny droplets of water on her tongue only increased her need to desperation, but she could detect nothing but water. After taking a couple of sips, she set the tumbler down with deliberation and waited to see if she felt any strange sensations creeping through her. Finally, deciding the water was safe if only because it would’ve been nearly impossible to lace it with anything that couldn’t be detected, she allowed herself a few more sips.
The water was tepid and she longed for something cold, but at least it was wet. As the worst of her thirst passed, the temptation grew to use a little of the water to soothe her face and bathe her thighs. She didn’t know when she’d get anything else to drink, though.
Finally, she carefully gathered the little bit of condensation that had formed on the outside of the vessel and patted her face gingerly. Blood had crusted beneath her cut lip and the little bit of moisture wasn’t enough to remove it.
