Falcon (Kindred, #5) E-Book

Scarlett Finn

• Herausgeber: Scarlett Finn
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Falcon              
He's reclusive and stoic,
Aloof and withdrawn.
He won’t let her in,
But he can’t stay away.

Devon doesn’t trust the people who saved her from hell. They call themselves the Kindred and they want her help. All she wants is one thing in return: to meet him.

Breaking through his barriers takes time, but she’s captivated and willing to do whatever it takes to rescue the man who saved her life.

Warning: Contains explicit language and imagery. Suitable only for ages 18 and over.


**Book 1 of 2, HEA, no cheating, series complete**
 

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2016, 2022 Scarlett Finn

Published by Moriona Press 2016, 2022

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

First published in 2016

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It may not be used to train AI software or for the creation of AI works.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Original cover by Najla Qamber Designs

www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

www.scarlettfinn.com

KINDRED SERIES

Raven

Swallow

Cuckoo

Swift

Falcon

Finch

Read them in order for maximized reading pleasure.

For other titles from Scarlett Finn, please read on after the story.

Click here if you’d like to leave a message for Scarlett.

Enjoy!

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

ONE

DARKNESS. The only certainty Devon had was that she would spend each day in darkness.

Most of the time she was gagged and attached to the metal wall by cuffs and heavy chains at the small of her back. Her only reprieve from those binds came when she was taken to the dank bathroom once or twice a day.

During those times, she wasn’t relieved of her gag or blindfold, not that it mattered because the internal room had no light or window. So even when she tried to take off the blindfold, she was greeted by darkness.

Today was Saturday. Her Spanish was pretty good, so she could pick out most of the words her captors exchanged. Those words were few because they weren’t often nearby, but when they were, she listened closely. At first, she’d been intent on their conversations because she wanted to know where she was and what was going on. After that, there was simply nothing better to do than follow along with what she heard.

The fast Mexican drawl wasn’t the only sound. She also heard the voices of terrified women, often American and young, pleading for mercy. Screams of torture and tears of agony gave Devon a clue about her fate.

The small cell she occupied wasn’t much more than a four-foot square. She couldn’t lie down or sit up straight, as the bolt that was welded to the wall where she was chained protruded into her spine. Devon could slouch and stretch her leg to touch the other three walls around her, so she knew she was shut in tight even though she had no visibility. From the close quarters, she had to assume that wherever they were, space was at a premium, meaning her captors endeavored to maximize it by packing their victims in tight.

For hours at a time, all she heard was the clang of metal and the shuffle of bodies. In her first days here, she hadn’t tried to call out for help; the other women who arrived at the same time did too much shouting for her to be heard. But when she did gather the courage to question the men who came to her, they beat and gagged her.

When new girls came, they called out but received no reply. The resident girls were either gagged or knew better than to engage in dialogue. Devon listened as other women were beaten and threatened by the men who referred to them as ‘cattle’ or ‘heifers.’

After enduring the onslaught of regular assaults, the women learned to be silent. It didn’t help that they weren’t fed much, meaning their strength was quickly sapped. Even crying became exhausting when you were surviving on an ounce or two of dirty water and table scraps every few days.

Sometimes a real fighter came along, but those girls didn’t last long. Their screams faded into the distance as they were dragged away, never to be heard from again.

Devon didn’t know how many women were caged here, it could be five, it could be fifty. Just as she didn’t know how many men ran this racket. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been here. The first few days had been a blur of crying, screaming, and beatings, then in her period of despair when she’d come to accept her helplessness, she became so numb that she didn’t even bother to open her eyes, let alone register how many days passed.

At night it got cold. She hadn’t been given a blanket, so her only protection against the plummeting temperature was the blue dress she’d been wearing when she was snatched. Given the darkness that she existed in, surrounded by the smell of rusted metal, foul sweat, and stale urine, the temperature was the only way she could tell when one sun set or another rose.

In her head, she sang and imagined the vivid landscapes she’d painted. She tried to conjure memories of the long brushes in her fingers and the scrape of pencil lead on weighty paper. Art was her greatest love. She’d made some money with her creations but always had to work other jobs to make ends meet.

This existence wasn’t living, but there was no escape and no explanations. She had to have hope, to believe she’d get out of this predicament, but she had no idea how it would happen while she was locked in irons and sealed in this metal box. The heat became unbearable at times, and she’d discovered there had to be holes somewhere above her because sometimes she’d feel a welcome breeze, though that could just be a delusion brought on by her seclusion. She often felt she was losing her grip on reality.

Sliding from asleep to awake, she’d stopped feeling the pain of her restraints and expected this day to be like any other. Footsteps came first and she piqued, expecting to be treated to the sound of voices.

Much as she hated these men for what they were doing to her and the other women, hearing them talk, sometimes about current events or the weather, was the only normal human contact she experienced, even if it was by proxy. For those few minutes while she listened to them, she could pretend that she was eavesdropping on a conversation in a coffee shop rather than in her prison.

There were several people in the hallway outside her cell, she could hear them moving around, but they weren’t talking. A door was opened, movement followed, and then the cell slammed shut and the noise ebbed away.

Trying to figure out what the men out there were up to was futile; she’d stopped even trying. So when calm returned, she let her eyes close and tried to grab some elusive sleep. But just when she was drifting off, the noise came again, closer this time. Metal rattled, and the scrape of rust intensified the oxidized odor.

A rush of air came as the heavy door to her cell was opened. Two men spoke in Spanish, but their words were so fast that she struggled to compute what they were saying. She was only escorted to the bathroom once or twice a day, and until now it had always been by a single man who took her into the blackened hallway.

This time, a shotgun barrel touched her neck. A heavy male body crouched to muscle her aside, then Devon was being unshackled. Hauled to her feet, the gun moved and she was shoved out of the cell into the corridor where there were half a dozen new voices all commenting on how little time they had or what she looked like. Never had so many men been around when she’d been taken for a quick bathroom visit.

Shoved forward, Devon was forced down the hall into a room at the far end. Not all the voices followed her, only one figure came in behind her to slam the door, sealing them alone inside.

Although she was able to stand, she still couldn’t see. Sound had been her greatest ally and worst enemy while she was here. The pant of breath behind her made her edgy, and the rush of water in front of her sounded almost like a shower, but there was no heat.

Her legs struggled when they were given control of her body again after being cramped for such long periods. Their numbness became a painful tingle, and she shifted to try and relieve her discomfort. Their usual bathroom consisted of a toilet and didn’t contain so much as a sink. If there was a shower in here, this room was new to her.

“You shower,” the voice behind her said, then he whipped off her blindfold.

A blade touched her neck and in time with her gasp, he sliced through the fabric of her dress and underwear, slashing her skin in the process and leaving her nude. Without her blindfold, she could see that there was no light invading this space. These men had to be paranoid about the women escaping or outside observers because Devon had never seen a window.

In the darkness, her modesty came second to the sting on her hip caused by his blade. She had no way to know how deep the cut was, because her hands were still connected to each other at the small of her back. From the intensity of the pain, she feared it went through to the bone, but her defenses were low and her equilibrium shot, so it could easily have been nothing more than a scratch.

The offending knife came around her throat, so close to her skin that a deep breath could have caused him to cut her.

The man behind her was large and smelled of sweat, but when he unlocked her hands from each other, she was grateful to him for a moment. Mobility was bliss, but Devon couldn’t fully embrace it, as she was forced forward into the gush of lukewarm water and reality impacted her in a blink.

A bar of slippery soap was thrust into her hand. “You shower,” he commanded again.

The space in the shower stall was so small that when she lifted her hands to run them through her hair, her elbows hit the side walls. Devon tried to step out of the stream of water and was prodded in the back with the blade. Tiled walls on three sides hemmed her in, fighting would achieve nothing and there wasn’t a better place for him to stab her to death and wash away the evidence if she tested his patience.

He wanted her to shower and she wanted to be clean, for now their wants segued. She lathered the soap and cleaned her body, avoiding the open wound on her hip and the one on her back. The suds still made them sting, but they weren’t agonizing, so she took that as a good sign.

“Hurry now,” he said, fumbling for her hands to snatch the soap. It clattered to the floor and she tensed in preparation for his wrath at her clumsiness. Except it wasn’t clumsiness, she’d been revolted at the feel of his hands on hers and had reacted by trying to get away.

Bracing her hands on the walls, she couldn’t see a thing and had no idea what fate these monsters had for her. The heat of the stranger came closer to her naked form, and she held her breath, expecting the worst. Icy liquid seeped onto the top of her head compelling her to gasp.

“Wash your hair,” he commanded.

The scent of shampoo began to permeate as the thick goo spread on her crown, so she did as she was told.

Once the last of the shampoo had run away, she was pulled from the spray and pushed face first against a dry wall. Fearful of what this possible ogre could do to her, she swallowed her parched terror and clenched her fists, ready to fight if she had to.

A warm metal cuff closed around her wrist. Once it was secure, he wrenched her arm to her lower back and forced the other down to be locked in a second thick cuff. The knife he’d used to keep her obedient wasn’t in his hand anymore and the shotgun was gone too. His size made it unlikely she’d triumph in a fight, so if she wanted to win, she’d need the weapon.

Using the dark to do more than disorient her, he’d ensured she couldn’t seize a weapon she couldn’t see. With all his pulling and shoving, her sense of direction was lost, too, so despite her assumption that this room was small, she still wouldn’t be able to find the exit.

She had tried pleading with her captors before and it had never worked, but she wasn’t ready to surrender yet. “Why are you doing this? Please let me go,” she said.

The man backed away, and she stalled her breathing, hoping beyond expectation that he might listen or that maybe this shower had been a prelude to release all along.

“I’m not allowed to mark your body today, but if you do not sell tonight, my boss will let us have you.” The tone of menace in his unmoved voice made her already frigid body chill.

Sell? Sell what? If the alternative was being handed over to this oaf and his buddies, then she’d sell sand in the desert. There was no time for her to try and figure out what he meant. Something dug into her hair and pulled down, and it took her a second to realize that he was combing her wet hair.

When it stuck in her locks, he cursed but carried on until it was combed, ignoring her yelps of pain when the comb snagged. After it left her hair for the last time, she stayed pressed to the wall, listening to the deep pants coming from her assailant.

Devon wanted to ask what was going to happen to her. But she was terrified that he might give her an honest answer and she wasn’t prepared for what he might say.

Having endured so much sensory deprivation, her sight was useless, but her hearing was heightened. His breathing became so magnified that the burn of tears she’d thought were long dried up streaked her face again.

“Please let me go,” she whimpered, resting her forehead on the wall, but he said nothing. “Déjame ir, por favor.”

Her energy was gone and her legs gave out, sending her to the floor. There was nothing left to fight for. It was hopeless. At first her cell was a prison, but now it was a sanctuary for her. Out here was unknown, in her cell she listened, tried to sleep, and had her hands released during the times they served the slop they gave her for food. Here in this hell, that was the happiest her life could be.

Women were treated as animals, beaten for misbehaving, and when they left, they never came back. Since she’d been here, they’d hosed her down in her cell twice, but they’d never given her a shower or let her shampoo her hair. Much as she wanted to believe her luck was turning, she was too realistic to think this situation could ever culminate in a positive experience.

Grabbing hold of her arm, he pulled her up, and raised a knee to drive it against her spine. When he covered her eyes again, he didn’t use the standard dirty rag blindfold. The fabric was softer, and it had a band of elastic that went over her ears to hold it around her head. Lace scratched her cheeks and she figured it out, it was a sleep mask.

The cuffs weren’t the same restraints she’d worn before the shower either. The new ones were looser and gave her more latitude to separate her hands because there was a foot of chain between them. Devon still couldn’t get out of the shackles, but the changes were noteworthy because to her they meant one thing: she wasn’t going back into that cell.

While she figured all of this out, something was put around her neck. Warm and smooth, she smelled leather and heard him fasten a buckle that constricted her throat as it tightened. Devon had worn her share of chokers, but she had never worn a collar.

Her neck was pulled forward and the door opened. The collar had to have a leash because she was tugged forward again, but no one was touching her. Stumbling along the corridor, she had no idea where they were going, except this walk was longer than any she’d had since she’d been here.

Voices returned and were joined by some jeering wolf whistles. They stopped and her heart was beating so hard that she could feel each pulse in her ears. Metal scraped and squeaked, a door maybe, then they were walking again.

Through the sleep mask, she could see glimmers of light but couldn’t pick out figures to go with the speakers who seemed to be moving with them. Becoming aware that she was still naked and now in a place with illumination, the crowds of voices belonged to men who could see every inch of her.

Being tugged and yanked was making the back of her neck hurt, but not as much as the flesh at the edge of the collar that was cutting in and chaffing every time he pulled it.

Another door was opened and the voices around her came to an abrupt silence. Susurration in the new space piqued her interest until she was yanked forth into the familiar atmosphere of an air-conditioned room. All this time she’d been close to home comforts and they’d been denied to her. Maybe this was where the cool air she’d felt in her cell had come from.

Until they were taken away, she hadn’t realized how she relished life’s little luxuries. If she got out of here, she vowed to never take what she had for granted again.

She was led out about eight feet and halted when the tugging stopped. At the same time, the murmurs that emanated from one direction, ceased.

“Here we have the final lot of the night, our most premium specimen. An unblemished brunette, a petite model, delicate at five foot four and now less than a hundred pounds. She is an English-speaking American. I’ll remind all participants that bids are in United States dollars. She comes with new ID papers and a corresponding passport. I’ll start the bidding at ten thousand dollars.”

Bids. The masculine voice who had declared the terms was a native English speaker, a confident one without compunction. The bidders had to be using paddles or something because they were silent, but the auctioneer was talking faster and faster as the bids grew.

Like cattle, she was being sold. Everything slotted into place and panic seized her. Reeling from this development, and on instinct, she pulled away from the leash and because her captor wasn’t expecting her resistance, she got away from him. The blindfold was restricting and with her hands cuffed behind her back, she wouldn’t be able to pull it.

Still, launching herself forward, she ran until she hit a wall. Using her body, Devon tried to find a doorway, but she’d struggle to open it with her hands where they were. Something burned her waist and she screamed, but her body spasmed and hit the floor, then everything went black.

TWO

DEVON FELT LIKE she was floating. Her whole body was warm and so relaxed that she thought she might be resting in a nest of s’mores.

The sweet scent of vanilla made her smile and stretch. And that was when she became aware of the knots in her muscles and the aches in her bones. The pleasure of the moment disintegrated and she sat up.

She was in a bed. A large bed. Except the last thing she remembered was…

Holding the white bedsheet to her chest, she tried to figure out where she might be. A bedspread was folded the width of the bottom of the bed. Intricately embroidered, it matched the canopy on the regal mahogany four-poster bed she sat in the center of.

Looking from one side of the bed to the other, she registered that there were two doors, one in the far corner, beside heavy, drawn drapes that had to cover a window and another larger one to the left of the bed. Nightstands flanked the bed, simple tables without drawers, and there was no other furniture in the rectangular room.

Although there was no imminent danger or weapons trained on her, she wasn’t ready to breathe in relief yet. Intent on checking out what was behind the doors, Devon tossed back the covers and jumped out of the bed. Sidetracked by her need to see some natural light, she seized the drapes and yanked them open.

Except she was disappointed. Pressing her hand to the glass, she could see light, but there was no view, just fogged glass that distorted the landscape so much there was nothing to see but a vague white glow.

With hopes for a moment of happiness dashed, Devon became more determined to find a weapon or a way to escape. Heading for the humble, secondary corner door near the window, she opened it to find a sleek, modern bathroom containing a double wide shower and what a surprise… no window.

Back in the bedroom, she tried the larger door, but it was locked, confirming her worst fear: she was a prisoner again. Detailed memories of her previous captivity came back to her, and she went to sit on the bed.

Letting her head fall into her hands, she recalled the auction. The panic. Her attempt to flee. It hadn’t mattered. She had been sold. She could be anywhere in the world, in the home of a pervert who may have plans to do anything to her.

All her life she’d avoided being bad. Her roots were humble and most of her family members had spent some time in jail, but she’d always been good and had worked hard to earn an honest living. How could her life end in this way? Devon couldn’t understand how fate could lay this destiny on her when she’d never hurt anyone in her life.

Wallowing wasn’t going to get her anywhere, so she took a deep breath and straightened up. At the auction, she’d been naked. Now she was wearing a white, cotton nightgown with wide straps. Just as she registered that, the large door opened.

Devon leaped to her feet and prepared to fight, but she came up short when a middle-aged woman came in wearing a smile and carrying a tray. The woman kicked the door closed with her heel and came deep into the room.

“I’m pleased you’re awake, I was beginning to worry,” she said, putting the tray on the nightstand. “I have bottled water for you.”

The woman sat near the pillows on the bed, took a branded bottle from the tray, and held it toward her. Though the woman still wore a polite smile, had a plump waistline, and projected a calm benevolent air, which was completely unthreatening, Devon was reluctant to trust her.

“I’m Bess,” the woman said. “What’s your name?”

Devon wasn’t going to fall for any act that might make her feel secure. For all she knew, this was what got her boss off. He could be watching this pleasant conversation. She knew nothing of who had been at that auction.

This Bess woman sounded American, but that didn’t mean they were in the States. The person who had purchased her could be related or married to this woman pretending to be her friend. If they wanted to hurt and humiliate her, she wasn’t going to trot along like the lamb to the slaughter. Maybe Bess was testing her naivety. Could they want a sweet little virgin who they could corrupt and destroy? If they did, she didn’t have to play to that.

She’d learned about her captors during her last captivity by pushing them, getting as near to their boundaries as she could. Granted, they didn’t have a high threshold for sass, but maybe this new environment was different.

Devon couldn’t hope to find a way out if she didn’t test what her new hosts would let her get away with. Information was going to be the key to her freedom, that and taking every opportunity, but while they kept her locked in here, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“The traffickers didn’t tell your boss?” Devon sneered but angled her anger at the bottle because she feared too direct a confrontation. Despite being benign, Bess could be a cobra waiting to snap. Devon didn’t know and she didn’t trust her own judgment so soon after waking up here. “Didn’t they say I come with papers like a Kennel Club mutt?”

“Forged papers meant to get you in and out of countries as necessary. We want your real name, if you’re willing to give it.”

“Devon,” she said, seeing no way her first name could be used as a weapon against her. Taking the water bottle, she checked that the seal was intact before she opened and began to gulp. If they meant to poison or drug her, she’d have to give in to that reality. Weakening herself by refusing water or food wouldn’t serve her purpose.

“Take your time, dearie,” Bess said and touched Devon’s knee.

The unexpected contact made Devon recoil, and the open water bottle dropped out of her hand to glug the remainder of its contents onto the thick carpet. The stain spread fast, and Devon was taken back to a place of anxiety. Being clumsy, making a mess, meant punishment.

Bess went to the floor to pick up the bottle and plucked a cloth from her pocket to begin blotting the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” Devon said, dropping to her knees opposite Bess, though there was little she could do to help clean up.

“Don’t you worry,” Bess said. “It’s my fault, I’ve always been tactile like that. The boys always remind me to be reserved, especially in the early days.”

No punishment? Falling back from her knees onto her butt, she examined the woman who was focused on the stain, completely unguarded, and paying no heed to Devon, who could launch an attack if she wanted to. Beating Bess wouldn’t get her far because she didn’t know if the door to the room was even unlocked, and if someone was watching, she doubted they’d forgo punishment after an escape attempt.

Still, Devon couldn’t figure out why this woman was so nonplussed by her bad behavior. Accidental though it was, Devon had just given Bess the excuse to show her true nature and dish out a taste of the limits in this place. Yet there had been no reprisal. “I don’t… I don’t understand,” Devon said.

Bess continued to mop. “I’m not surprised that you’re disorientated. The cartel insists on strong sedatives so that the women can’t identify them or where they are. They’re particular about concealing their identity and location. I’m sure the sedative on top of the taser blast must have thrown you for a loop.”

This was all so much for Devon to take in. Bess was being… nice. Too exhausted to try and figure out the plot behind this act, Devon suppressed her exhaustion and sat up on her heels, reminding herself to be vigilant. “Where are we?”

Bess finished up and put the damp cloth back in the pocket of her apron. “You’re safe here, Devon, completely safe.”

Tempted to believe the kindly woman, Devon let herself be gathered up by Bess and placed back on the bed beside her. “Then when am I locked up? Why can’t I see out of the window?”

Becoming contrite, Bess patted her hand. “Unfortunately, we have to be careful about revealing our location and identities too.”

Devon was sure she knew why that was and shifted up the bed away from Bess. “Because your boss enjoys raping women? Torturing them?” If a man wanted to abuse a woman, it would stand to reason that he didn’t want that woman to have any sense of control. Concealing even the view constrained her. Despite not being in chains, she was still a prisoner at their mercy. “What am I to expect? What’s my fate going to be? What will he do to me?”

Bess reached out, but Devon wouldn’t let herself be touched. She didn’t want to be touched. She was tired of being touched and contorted by others without them needing to have any consideration for her wants.

“He is a good man. But you don’t have to worry about facing him. You will never see the man who purchased you,” Bess said, further confusing Devon. What was the point of buying her if she was never going to see him? More questions arose in Devon’s mind after Bess’ next statement. “A doctor will come to you later. You shouldn’t fear him; he’ll visit you in a professional capacity.” Bess rose. “There is soup in the bowl, try your best to eat something.”

Removing the soup bowl from the tray, Bess put it on the nightstand and took the tray with her as she went in the direction of the door.

Unsatisfied, afraid of the unknown, and reluctant to lose the only direct female or kind contact she’d had in a long time—even if Bess’ behavior was a ruse—Devon began to panic. “Wait,” Devon said, leaping up. “I don’t understand. What happens next?”

“Next we fix you up,” Bess said, her smile returned. “You can drink the water in the bathroom, refill your bottle as much as you like. You can shower if you want to as well. But I’d advise you to eat and rest first. You’re skin on bone, dearie. You need to get your strength back. You can take all the time you need.”

Returning to her former self was unlikely, she would never be the same after this experience. Her health might improve, but she’d never be the same inside. Spending another minute here, anywhere where she was out of control, would lead to more anxiety. Devon couldn’t take living in this fraught state any longer. “Will you let me leave here? I want to leave.”

Tears of frustration, anger, and devastation threatened to spring, but she sealed her lips, determined not to break in front of this stranger.

Softening, like she could tell Devon was right on the edge, Bess’ chosen tone was meant to soothe. “The doctor will check you out before we think about that. We’ll get you better, back to full strength, and then we’ll get you back to your family, don’t worry.”

Bess pressed her thumb to an illuminated blue circle in the middle of the doorknob, and it flashed. That had to be the key to getting out of here, fingerprint recognition. Great, Devon had no chance of disabling that. After Bess was gone, there was no sound of a key on the other side of the door.

Devon waited a few seconds then darted over to check the door again, just in case Bess had neglected to secure it. But it was locked, making Devon assume it was an automatic bolt.

Going back to the bed, she sipped from the remnants of her water. The bowl of soup was thick and warm, steam rose from the shining surface. Dipping the tip of her finger in the warm liquid, it wasn’t scalding, the temperature was just right.

Licking her finger clean, she was struck by the potency of the flavors that burst in her mouth. Unable to resist the temptation, she snatched up the bowl to begin slurping. It didn’t matter that no spoon had been provided; she didn’t need one. She was famished and hadn’t had real food in what felt like months.

When the soup was finished, she drank more water and flopped onto her back. Whether she was safe or not, this was a real bed and she needed to sleep. So she let her eyes close and hoped to have more strength when she woke.

***

STIRRING FROM HER sleep, Devon sensed that someone was close by. But when she opened her eyes, the last thing she expected to see was a man sitting on the edge of her bed.

Scrambling to a seated position, she took in his features: handsome, maybe mid-thirties, clear blue eyes and a faint smile on his lips. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, clutching the sheet to her chest although she still wore the cotton nightgown beneath. “Are you him…? The guy who’s going to…”

“I’m the doctor, Bess told you I was coming.”

When he scooted closer, she scooted away toward the other side of the bed. It was downright creepy that he’d been sitting there, watching her sleep. He couldn’t be one of the men who’d told Bess not to touch because he clearly had no concept of decency himself.

“I don’t need a doctor,” she said. “I just want to leave.”

The strength of his brow and narrowness of his eyes was peculiar. “We’re here to help you,” he said. “There’s a nasty gash on your hip and your back was bleeding at the auction. The taser can have after-effects too.”

Ah-ha! She’d caught them in a lie. “You were at the auction? Bess said I would never meet the man who purchased me. So she’s a liar, that nice lady thing was all an act? I don’t know what kind of operation you’re running, but if you think I’ll be charmed by some soup and a fancy bed then you’re wrong.” Tossing the sheet away, she climbed out of the bed on the opposite side from the one he was sitting on. “If you want to help me, let me go.”

Wobbling on her feet, Devon felt light-headed and grabbed for the post at the foot of the bed.

“Let’s take a step back,” he said, rising from the bed, but his tone didn’t come across to her as calming. It was condescending, coming from a know-it-all doctor, and it only succeeded in raising her hackles. Except, she had to keep blinking because her eyes were blurring and couldn’t maintain focus. “I’m an MD, an emergency room resident. You can call me Wren.”

She didn’t want his name or his help. “Good for you, Wren, let me go.”

“Bess didn’t lie to you. I wasn’t present at the auction, and I wasn’t the one who paid for you. I got a report about it from my colleague,” he said, ignoring her plea for freedom.

Closing her arms around the post, she began to regain her balance. “That’s convenient, is that the same ghost colleague Bess referred to? The one I’ll never meet?”

“Yes,” he said.

Nothing made sense. If she’d been sold to these people for sex, why wasn’t she being subjected to assault? Why wasn’t she forced to be naked? Why were these people being nice to her and why was this purchaser even at an auction if he had no intention of ever meeting her? “Why? Why can’t I meet this phantom?”

“There’s no need for you to meet him,” Wren said. “Bess will provide all the meals you need. I’ll tend to your injuries. I want to take some blood and run some tests—”

“Why would I let you stick me with a needle?” she said and let go of the post only to grab for it again when invisible heat rushed north. “Why would I show you my body and let you examine me?”

“I’m a doctor.”

According to him he was. Just like with Bess, this guy acted like he was entitled to do whatever he wanted. He might be telling her that it was for her own good, but that was her decision. If she wanted help, she was capable of finding a hospital on her own. “How do I know that? Am I supposed to trust you because you show up with a couple of Band-Aids?”

“I… I’m telling you that I’m a doctor, and yes, you should trust us because we saved you from that place. Would you sit down, please? You’re running a fever.”

“I am not,” she objected but twisted to collapse on the bed, twining her arm around the post and resting her face against it. “What’s wrong with me? Did you drug me? What was in that soup?”

“You weren’t drugged,” he said. “We want you well and strong, Devon. No one will hurt you here, you have to trust us.”

They weren’t being upfront about what had gone on or their plans for her. Knowing that she couldn’t let her guard down, she did what she could to maintain it, despite encroaching dizziness. “You demand my trust,” Devon said. “But you don’t trust me.”

“We don’t—”

“You say you rescued me, but you’ve locked me in here. You want me to trust that you’re a doctor here to care for me? But you won’t tell me where we are. Get real. And what’s with the mysterious guy, the one who purchased me? Is he the wizard behind the curtain? Something doesn’t add up. No, I—”

“We have to protect ourselves. You could endanger what we do if you reveal our details. We’re withholding to protect others.”

He came into view in front of her, and she pulled her legs onto the bed to scramble back. “Admitting that you’re not telling me everything doesn’t help you. I won’t give you my trust until you give me yours. I don’t want you to touch me! I don’t want anyone to touch me!”

With a step backwards, he seemed stunned, and for a man who apparently made snap life and death decisions, that was suspicious. She had no doubt in her statement.

“You won’t let me treat you?”

Yeah, he had it now. Why should she trust this stranger to stick her with a needle? Devon felt sick and crawled back up the bed, closing her eyes to try and quell her nausea. “You don’t trust me, and that gives me no reason to trust you. I won’t be a part of your sordid experiment. Prove to me you mean well and let me go.”

She couldn’t say any more, now it was up to him. All decisions were his now. He could do as she asked, or he could disprove his claims by forcing her to submit against her will. Whatever he did next would prove his morals.

To his credit, he didn’t leap onto the bed and attack her, but he didn’t toss her a key for the front door either. After a few seconds of gaping, Doctor Wren went around the bed and bent to pick up a plastic medic case from the floor that she hadn’t previously seen.

Turning over, she watched him leave in the same way Bess had. There wasn’t enough energy left in her reserves to let her move to check the door again, and she couldn’t handle having her hopes dashed again anyway.

She would love a shower and a drink of fresh, cool water, but she couldn’t be sure they weren’t watching her, and until she had proof of their intentions Devon couldn’t accept any more of their aid.

THREE

“IF SHE REFUSES treatment, there’s nothing I can do.”

Devon could hear the voices, but they were faded and fuzzy. She’d been vaguely aware of them for maybe a minute or two, though her sense of time was off. She felt detached from her own body, like her mind was swimming somewhere else while her figure felt heavy and weak.

Immobile in what she assumed was the bed she’d woken up in when she first arrived here, Devon could barely open her eyes, so she gave up trying. Her mouth was dry, and when she parted her lips, something plastic squeezed between them. It took her a moment to figure out that it was a straw.

“Go on, dearie, drink,” came a female voice and on instinct Devon sucked the cool liquid that was being offered.

“Don’t let her drink too fast,” a male said.

Devon released the straw and opened her eyes enough to see Wren at the end of the bed. Bess was seated beside her. While she did see these images, it still felt as though she were watching the scene rather than existing in the same moment with them.

“Look at her,” Bess said. “She’s burning up.” Bess reached over to shift a wet weight on Devon’s head that was neither hot nor cold. “You have to do something.”

“If she refuses treatment, I can’t touch her.”

Bess scoffed, losing patience. “Boy, don’t give me your ethics now, this poor girl needs help.”

“It’s illegal,” he said. “It’s assault.”

Another sound of impatience left Bess’ lips before she got up from the bed to join the doctor. “Don’t give me that,” she said. “Tell me it’s illegal? How did this girl get here? Of all the things you all do—”

“I don’t break the law, I just… tag along.”      

Devon’s eyes closed because it was too much effort to keep them open, and her vision was blurred anyway. She tried her best to focus on sound instead, feeling that it was important to hold on to one point to steady her sanity. Although as the seconds ticked by, she felt more and more like she was sinking.

“You’re going to help that girl. She needs it. Don’t you give me, ‘Do no harm’ and then watch her wither away. There’s something about mental competence, isn’t there? She’s delusional. She’s not in her right mind. If you get her better, she’ll thank you. You don’t have a choice.”

They were talking about her, yet she was too foggy to contribute. “She’ll let me treat her if she meets him,” Wren said. “She said if we showed trust—”

“He won’t come,” Bess said. “You know him better than to expect that. Most of the time it’s a struggle to get him to talk to us. He won’t come.”

“Not even to prevent her death?”

“He won’t come up here, he’ll never lay eyes on her again.”

“I’m supposed to compromise my moral code by forcing treatment on a patient who doesn’t want it.”

“She’s not a standard patient,” Bess said. “You get stubborn about all the wrong things, my boy. He is the way he is.”

“Maybe I’m sick of giving him dispensation for that.”

“Look at all he does for us,” Bess said. “Your issues with your cousin are your own. Would you let an innocent woman die just to prove a point to him?”

Wren didn’t respond. Or maybe he did and Devon didn’t hear it. What she did hear was the word “cousin,” so they were related. The man who’d purchased her was the doctor’s cousin. Holding on to that one small revelation, something she probably wasn’t supposed to have heard.

She opened her lips again, but whatever she meant to say was lost. The heaviness in her body began to consume her mind. Speckles of light became dark; dizziness made her head feel like it was spinning despite her never moving an inch.

Whatever these people had done to her, whatever they planned to do, she was weak and powerless. This could be how they wanted her, but there was genuine worry in their voices. The trouble was, she didn’t know what reality was and what was a dream because nothing seemed tangible anymore, she barely remembered who she was, what she wanted from life. Her dreams and ambitions were gone; surviving had become her primary objective, and today it seemed she was going to fail in that accomplishment.

***

THE NEXT SPELL of her life was nothing but mottled images, pieces of words and statements intermingled with images of everything and nothing. Devon’s awareness faded in and out. Sometimes she was lucid and remembered exactly what had happened to her. Other times, she struggled to remember her name. Sometimes Bess came with food that she refused, and whenever she was with-it enough, she refused all of Doctor Wren’s treatment.

More time went by and the heaviness faded. One day, morning, noon, or night later, Devon lay in bed wrapped in the thick bedspread and began to speculate about what the lack of sound meant.

All alone in this room, for the first time she felt that her fingers and toes were completely under her control. Seeking water, she found a bottle on the bedside. When she sat up, her body screamed, each joint ached, her muscles were stiff. But she had no idea how long she’d been confined in this room, because she’d been fading in and out of consciousness while she struggled to regain her health.

She was sipping the water when the door opened and Bess came in. The beaming grin on the woman’s face was almost enough to make Devon smile. Except her throat still scratched and still ached, she wasn’t quite herself yet.

“Good morning,” Bess said, full of joy as she came over to smooth the bedspread that was so large it still covered the bed despite being wrapped around Devon. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think so,” Devon said, pushing her hair away before she leaned to the side to put the bottle back on the nightstand. Dragging her fingers through her greasy hair, she craved the comfort and refreshment of a shower but feared how she might handle life outside this bed. “What happened to me? I can’t remember exactly what…” Trying to put the pieces together was too difficult.

“You had a fever,” Bess said. “It’s no surprise. We worried that you might have a parasite or an infection. Wren has chased it away now.”

“A parasite? From where?”

“You didn’t have one, Wren ran tests just to be sure. We have all types of state-of-the-art medical equipment here. You might not remember, but we have been looking after you.”

“I told him not to treat me,” Devon said, only partially aware of the conversation she’d had with the doctor, though she did remember feeling unwell during it, feeling dizzy and struggling to stay upright. “How do I know you didn’t infect me with something?”

“We’ve given you good food and clean water,” Bess said. “I doubt those you were staying with before were so kind.”

That was the truth, and although she still wasn’t at full strength, Devon could tell she was healthier. “Thank you,” she said, because it felt like the right thing to say. “For looking after me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No,” Bess said, folding her arms. “We didn’t have to do that. We don’t have to do any of this. I told you that you were safe here. We told you that you could trust us. I’ll bring you up some breakfast. I have already put fresh towels and toiletries into the bathroom. So whenever you’re ready, you can feel free to eat something and to bathe, although we wouldn’t advise you to do too much too quickly.

“Did he come here?” Devon asked. “The man who purchased me?”

“No,” Bess said. “You were told that you never have to worry about that.”

Yet part of her wanted to see this man. Maybe it was the mystery that allured her. Maybe she hoped that by looking into his face that everything would fall into place, that she would suddenly understand why these people would buy her like a pet, keep her locked up and do nothing but feed and care for her.

They could’ve abused her while she was ill, but no intimate part of her body felt as though it had been violated.

“I’ll get your breakfast,” Bess said. “Wren will come to see you too. We will have to keep an eye on you.”

“There aren’t cameras in here, are there?” Devon asked, wondering how they always knew when she awoke. If she was going to shower, she didn’t want them to watch her struggle with something as simple as washing her body.

“For a man so particular about his privacy, the owner of the house wouldn’t offer his guests anything less than his own standards.”

More cryptic comments that increased her curiosity. “No one has explained why I’m locked up,” she said, pushing away the blankets that were constricting her. “Are you afraid I’ll escape? I’ve been too ill to leave this bed.”

Bess paused before she replied, her smile faltered for just a second, but she quickly pasted it back on. “Information unlocks all secrets,” Bess said. “There are things in this house which can reveal more about who we are.”

“And you need anonymity to do what you do,” she said. Devon didn’t like being locked up, but she could understand their need to protect themselves, at least until they knew who they had in their home.

She could be a killer or a thief, and if they unlocked their home to her, she could hurt them. Except given her current state, that seemed like a ridiculous concern for them to have.

“Everything will be explained to you,” Bess said. “For now, we just want you to be well. You sit there and get your bearings.” She retreated to the door. “I’ll come back with your breakfast, and then we’ll leave you alone for a while.”

Devon could do with the chance to center herself. Bess did as she said and came back with some food, some toast, some coffee, some milk, some juice. They seemed determined to replenish her liquids and didn’t provide anything that would be too taxing on her stomach.

She hadn’t eaten properly in a long time. Devon did exactly as Bess said and took her time to eat her breakfast, which filled her up after just a few bites, and she was almost ready to sleep again. Except, after delivering the breakfast tray, Bess had turned on the shower in preparation for her. The bellowing steam that poured out of the bathroom created such an enticing mist that she couldn’t resist.

Luxuriating in the hot jets of water that came at her from every angle, Devon washed and conditioned her hair, twice. She exfoliated using all the products and accessories that Bess had laid out and took her time while shaving so as to smooth every spot.