Page 156 of Whispers and Wildfire

He came over and paused, his hands poised near my waist. By the shuddering breath he took, he was totally getting off on the prospect of touching me.

I took slow breaths through my nose.Don’t punch him in the face. Don’t punch him in the face.

Yet.

He pulled my pants down, and thankfully, he stepped back. Turning sideways, he looked toward the stairs, apparently to give me privacy.

Lowering myself onto the toilet was tricky, but I managed, and even with Roswell standing right there, I had no trouble releasing my bladder. The rest of the process was awkward, and it made my skin crawl to turn my back to him to wash my hands, but I was glad it no longer felt like my internal organs were going to burst.

Like a compliant child, I lifted my arms out of the way and let him pull up my pants, my nose wrinkling at the scent of cigarettes. How hard would I have to hit him to knock him out? A blow to the temple was probably my best bet, but would I have the chance? I’d only get one shot. If I tried and failed, I didn’t know what he’d do to me.

Still, I noted the presence of the knife in his pocket. And I assumed he still had a full syringe handy.

“Feel better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He reached out and held his hand next to my face but hesitated. Without breaking character, I leaned my cheek into his palm.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m going to take such good care of you.”

I didn’t trust myself to look him in the eyes, so I kept my gaze on the floor. But I nodded.

He smiled at me, his face full of twisted affection. I didn’t know how far I could push him before he got angry or how long I had before he assaulted me in one way or another. One thing I did know—I couldn’t let him move me. I needed to get away before he took me somewhere else. Somewhere farther away and more difficult to find.

Which meant I needed to get out of these bonds. I couldn’t ask him to untie me yet, but maybe I could convince him to give me something else I wanted. Take some of my power back while still making him feel like he was in control.

“Roswell?” I asked in my damsel voice.

He lowered his hand. “Yes, Melanie?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I thought you might be soon.” He picked me up again and set me down on the mattress—seated, instead of lying down. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t chain me to the wall, but I could hear him lock the basement door at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t time to make my move, so I didn’t try to get up. I’d be right where he left me.

A minute or two later, he came back down with a bag of potato chips and a small plastic bowl in his hands. By his expression, I could tell he was pleased to find me sitting in the same spot. He sat next to me, opened the bag, and poured some into the bowl, then held it out to me.

I took the bowl and positioned it between my knees, but didn’t take a chip. I felt like my damsel in distress character needed a bit more credibility—a reason I was being so docile.

“You were right about him,” I said.

“About whom?”

“The guy. The lawyer. It was awful.” I kept my eyes downcast. “He was terrible to me.”

Roswell let out an angry breath. “I knew it. I knew he would be.”

“You don’t want to hurt me, do you? The way he did?”

“No.” He put his hand on my back. “I don’t want to hurt you like he did. I told you, I want to take care of you.”

“Did you hurt those other women? Was that you?”

“I had to. They were part of the process. You don’t need to worry about them.” He paused for a moment, as if deciding how much to tell me. “It was their fault. I would have just let them go if they’d done what I said.”

“But you’re not going to let me go, are you?”

---