Sick. Sick. Sick.
Me, I’m all about using one woman’s survival as a layout for my own. She befriended her abductor, made him think she wasin love with him, who could judge her for that, it’s what kept her alive. She sympathized with him, got mad at those who upset him, both in the past and the present. She made him dinners, washed his back in the shower, spent evenings talking about hope and dreams—ones she made sure included him. Eventually, she got him to trust her enough that they’d spend time on the porch, sipping on wine. That’s how she was found. A neighbor saw her with him, had seen her ‘missing posters’ in town, and called it into the hotline.
Although there are no neighbors here, if I can earn his trust, he may stop keeping me behind lock and key and give me enough leeway that I can get the hell outta here. It’s not going to be an easy task, one that may take more time than I’m happy giving, but I’m gonna have to bite my pride and take the plunge.
I fall asleep with that in mind.
“Wake up,” I hear said above me as my shoulders are violently shaken. When my eyes get the memo that they’re supposed to open, I scatter toward the headboard and furiously rub them with my fists. Once my brain and eyes get on the same page, I see Mr. Stratton hovering. “You have to get up, Britton. Something’s happening and I need you to help me make heads and tails of it.”
“Heads and tails?” I ask, still trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep away without the benefit of caffeine to help me get there.
“Snap out of it, Britton,” he scolds. “The rats are scuttling through the maze and I don’t know why!”
“Okay, calm down, Professor,” I beg, holding my hands up in the air. “Who are the rats and where is the maze?”
“Those pests you’ve been hanging around are the rats, Britton. Keep up!” he shouts.
“The Kings?” I ask, still rousing from sleep. How he expects me to keep up when he’s only giving me pieces of the puzzle and not the entirety of the problem is annoying.
“Yes, them!” he bellows, stabbing his finger at me. I jerk back because he’s gotten a little too close for my comfort. “They’re up to something, Britton. They’re riding out in groups, scattering like bugs. I don’t like it, it deviates from my plan!”
I gulp around the lump in my throat, hope floats through me. Am I the reason they’re reacting the way they are? I pray that it is because I’m about to snap and when that happens, there’s no telling how the professor will retaliate.
“What are they doing that has you worried?” I ask, keeping my tone as soft as I can force it to be. When he doesn’t answer, I approach it a different way. “What’s so unusual about their activity that has you perplexed?”
“I told you, Britton, aren’t you listening to me?” he asks, seething.
I clear my throat then recap what he’s said so far. “They’re riding out in groups, they’re running around, and they’re not making it easy for you to get LoneStar on his own.”
“Exactly!” he yells, snapping his fingers. An action he uses when someone gets the right answer to a question or interprets his analogy and breaks it down to intelligent variables.
“They do that sometimes, it doesn’t always mean something,” I lie, knowing that something has them riding in teams. They don’t do that unless something or somebody is a threat to the club.
“Not like this, Britton. You forget, I’ve been watching them for a long time,” he chides, reminding me that he’s been spying on the club since I got there. It’s my fault they’ve caught his attention, if it weren’t for me, they’d have never made it on his radar.
Flashing back to my vow last night, I pat the mattress near me and tell him, “Come sit, Professor, and tell me all about it.” I’m not petulant about it, if anything, I’m a soothing siren calling her catch home and singing her song of seduction so she can outmaneuver her hunter and become the predator.
He lowers his brows as he cynically looks at me before sighing, and doing as I asked. “If you’re up to something, Britton, you’ll regret it. I’m not in the mood to be trifled with.”
I fib by telling him, “I just want to know what we’re up against, Professor. We’re a team, right? We have to work together so Trevor doesn’t win.”
I’m going to Hell.
At this point, it’s a foregone conclusion with all of the duplicitous deceiving I’m doing. I’m taking advantage of someone who’s obviously mentally ill. I’m not a Bible thumper, but even I know what I’m doing is a sin. But from what I’ve gathered from believers, all I need to do is ask for forgiveness when I stand before those pearly gates and it’ll be granted.
As long as my intentions are genuine, which they are.
I want us all to survive this and for Mr. Stratton to get the psychiatric help he desperately needs.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
LoneStar
“LoneStar,”Booker greets me as I walk down the hallway toward the common room.
None of us have seen much of Riptide since I met with him the other day, which is starting to cause a ruckus with the men because it’s unlike our president to hole himself up in his office and not grant any of the men entrance when they come knocking. We know he’s here, his bike is still in the lot and you can hear his voice coming through from the room, he’s just ignoring us.
