Page 92 of His Captive

“For what?”

“For donating all that money to the oncology department where Mom had her treatment. That money will make a real difference.”

“Lysa?”

“Yes.”

There’s such a long silence. I wonder if I’ve imagined the whole conversation, if I’m actually alone in a storage cupboard talking to a wall.

And then I feel him. His lips covering mine, and this time it’s my tongue that pushes into his mouth first. He takes it between his teeth and my pussy weeps into my panties and my cheeks burn.

“Ask me to keep you,” he speaks into my mouth.

I want to, so much. But I can’t. I want to be someone’s everything, not their next best thing.

“I can’t,” I tell him.

I feel his forehead press against mine and hear a frustrated groan leave his throat. Then light pours in when the door opens, and I just catch the back of his dark shadow as it disappears back out into the corridor.

And somehow I manage to stop my legs from chasing after him.

Nine months later

Another shift done. Another pot on the doorstep. I pick it up to place it on the kitchen table. Checking the mat like I do every time I step over it. There’s nothing.

There hasn’t been since the night Ethan came to the club. I hear a knock at the door, and I figure its Mrs. Rodgers calling in for last night's pot.

“Coming,” I call out, making my way to the door. Shocked when instead of Mrs. Rodgers, Buddy stands in front of me.

He looks a little twitchy, but his friendly smile is still there.

“Buddy. Oh my God!” I’m surprised how pleased I am to see him, and I quickly throw my arms around him before I pull him inside.

He places a black box tied with a blue ribbon on the table and nods toward it.

“What's that?” I ask him, curious.

“It’s from boss man. He wanted it hand delivered,”

“Thanks, Buddy, coffee?” I offer walking towards the kettle, trying to resist tearing the box open to see what’s inside it.

“Or, half opened cheap wine that tastes like dishwater.” I pull the bottle from the refrigerator.

Buddy shrugs. “You can ask me to leave if you want, you know,” he says sadly.

“And why would I do that?” I cross my arms.

“Well, ain’t many people who’d invite murders into their homes and offer them dishwater wine.”

“Hey, that is not what you are.” I pull out a chair from the table

“Sit,” I tell him. “Sorrento messed with your head, the same way he did with mine, and even Ethan’s. We were all victims.” I tell him.

Buddy doesn’t look convinced.

“How's it been with Ethan?” I ask, knowing it will take Ethan a long time to forgive Buddy for what he did, but he has it in his heart to. I know he does.

“Well, he spoke to me yesterday to ask me to deliver this,” Buddy shrugs, and my heart breaks for him. Ethan means so much to him, I hope he won’t make him suffer for much longer.

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