Stay (5 page)

“Keep struggling, girl,” Zane spoke, his voice smooth and seductive. “I like feeling you squirm underneath me.” He pressed himself in between my legs, rubbing his erection against me.

My fear twisted into disgusted rage. My hand flew up and made contact with his face. Momentarily stunned, Zane’s muscles went slack. I grabbed a metal bar at the head of the bed and heaved my body up. I curled my legs and kneed him in the stomach.
 

“Fucking cunt!” he swore and grabbed a handful of my hair. He harshly flipped me over and pressed my face into the mattress. “Don’t you ever put your hands on me again! Got it? You do what you’re told.” He gave my head one final shove into the thin mattress before getting up. He looked down at me and laughed.

I scrambled up, my fingers curled into fists.
Don’t cry.
My chest rapidly rose and fell, and I struggled to not hyperventilate. Zane’s piercing blue eyes burned into me. He let out a breath and smiled before biting his lip and shaking his head. He crossed his arms, flexing his muscles.

Slowly, he turned and walked away, taking the stairs two at a time. I heard the door slam shut and the locks slide into place. A dry sob escaped from my tightly closed lips. My ears began to ring and I felt like I was going to pass out. I sunk back onto the bed, rocking back and forth as everything began to sink in.

I had been kidnapped, and had no idea where I even was.

CHAPTER FIVE

THIS IS A dream,
I told myself.
A horrible, horrible dream.
 

“Wake up,” I whispered. “Wake up!” I removed my hands and looked around me. Several hours had passed since Zane locked me down here. I was still in the basement. Trapped. Alone. Not even attempting to put an end to my noisy tears, I shakily rose from the bed.

The basement was considerably smaller than the house. It had either been boarded up to make a small, confined area, or the house had a large addition. The ceiling was low, and the foundation along the small, barred window was crumbling. Six beds were crowded together along one wall. They were nothing more than wire cots with thin mattress pads and faded blankets that smelled like they desperately needed to be washed. Each bed had a single pillow covered with a dingy pillowcase, and nothing distinguished one bed from another.

Across the room was the closet I had been stuffed in. Next to that was a long table. A large mirror hung above it, and a row of single, exposed light bulbs popped out of the wall. I walked over to it and ran my finger over a flat iron. The cord was cracked and frayed from being wound around the styling tool so often. I picked up a pot of eye shadow from a cluttered mess of makeup. Silver powder colored my fingers. I dropped it back onto the table where it rolled to the back, bumping into a crooked line of glass perfume bottles.

I stepped to the side and pulled back a slimy shower curtain of a single stall shower that was next to the vanity. Rings of yellow circled the drain, and brown and green mildew clung to the walls.
 
There was a toilet beyond that, made private only by sheets hanging from the ceiling.

I walked to the other side of the room, stopping in front of a rack of clothing. They smelled like a mixture of perfume, laundry detergent, and sweat. I wrinkled my nose and coughed. My hands trembled as I leafed through the revealing clothing. The clothes were organized by color, ending with an array of slutty costumes. My stomach flip-flopped when my fingers touched the smooth satin of a black French maid uniform. Stilettos and tall platform shoes were haphazardly piled beneath the clothes.
 

I slowly walked to the end of the rack and stopped in front of an old dresser. The top drawer stuck, and I had to tug hard to open it. It was full of lacy bras and panties. I owned stuff like that, but rarely wore it since it wasn’t comfortable. The other two drawers were full of pajamas, socks, and all sorts of tights. I sifted through the assorted colors of fishnet stockings before closing the drawer.

Across from the dresser were the stairs. I gazed longingly at them, knowing that they could ascend me into freedom. I swallowed back a sob and sat down on the bed again. I turned my attention to the food Jackson had brought me. There were two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a one serving-sized carton of milk, two water bottles, and an apple. It was enough to last a day. I guessed he wasn’t going to bring me anything else until tomorrow. I didn’t want to eat it. Somehow it felt wrong, as if they had an advantage over me. But I knew that not eating would make me weak, and I was hungry. I picked up the shiny red apple and took a small bite, chewing slowly.
 

The floor creaked above me. I jumped and a tingle of fear slid down my back. I swallowed the piece of apple. It scraped like nails against my sore throat. My eyes flicked to the ceiling. Dusty cobwebs decorated the old wooden beams. Whoever was above me shuffled their feet as they moved throughout the house. A pipe rattled when a faucet turned on.

I took another bite of the apple. How could they just go on with their lives as if it was perfectly normal to have a prisoner in the basement? I closed my eyes and braced for the pain when I swallowed. I set the apple down and slowly crept up the worn stairs. The wooden planks creaked under my weight.
 

The door had no locks to pick on this side. The door was covered in scratch marks dotted with dark brown stains. I put my fingers on the marks. It was a perfect match. My eyes bulged and my stomach dropped. Someone had clawed at the door until their fingers bled. My head swam and I swayed. I grasped the rough railing to keep from tumbling down the stairs.

I turned and moved one foot. I knew I was walking down the stairs, though physically I couldn’t feel it. I was floating again, feet above my body watching it all happen. But it was happening, really happening. I was trapped in this forsaken basement, and I had no idea how to get out.

CHAPTER SIX

THE BASEMENT DOOR creaked open. I was lying on a cot, curled up in a little ball with my back to the stairs. I didn’t bother to turn when I heard the footsteps. It had been the same thing for the last several days. Sometime in the late afternoon, Jackson brought me food and two water bottles. He would set it on the table in the center of the room, stand by the base of the stairs for a few awkward seconds looking at me, as if he was waiting for me to speak, and then turn and slowly walk back upstairs.

And then I’d be alone.
 

I wondered where Rochelle and Lily had gone, and I spent a lot of time thinking about the dark haired girl from the alley. Sometimes I felt sorry for her. Other times I was mad at her. If she had crossed the street a few seconds earlier, maybe I wouldn’t have seen her. Maybe I never would have seen her and tried to help. Anger at her built up in me, and I wanted to know what she did to make Zane mad. I wanted to yell at her and tell her that if she hadn’t pissed him off, I wouldn’t be here.

But then I’d remind myself that she was just as innocent as I was. Or at least I believed she was. The possibility that I had put myself in danger to help someone undeserving wasn’t a thought I could handle.
 

“Adeline?” Jackson said softly. His voice was deep and soothing. I hated it. “Adeline?” he repeated when I didn’t so much as flinch. “Are you awake?”

“Technically,” I mumbled. “But I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

He shuffled his feet and said something under his breath that I couldn’t quite hear. I thought he might have agreed with me, but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t care enough to ask.
 

“I brought you a plate with hot food. You might want to eat it now. I don’t think barbecue chicken or mashed potatoes would be good cold.” He didn’t move. Was he waiting for me to thank him? The last thing I planned on doing was showing him gratitude. Though, I preferred him to Zane. While Jackson’s creeper staring was unnerving, he never so much as laid a finger on me.

I pushed myself up and looked behind me. Jackson was still standing near the table. He tipped his head down when my eyes met his face, his dark hair falling over his brown eyes in an attempt to hide the bruise on his cheek.

“What happened?” I asked. Would whoever hit Jackson come for me next? I took my eyes off him, moving them to the plate. My mouth watered at the smell of the chicken. After several days of nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apples, and cereal bars, the plate full of chicken and potatoes looked divine. The metal springs creaked when I moved off the bed. My dirty hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and I was still wearing the same clothes that I was when I was taken.
 

“Nothing,” he blurted. Red tinged his cheeks.

“Right,” I retorted. “I hate when
nothing
gives me black eyes.”
 

My heart skipped a beat in fear when he sharply turned his head to me. I grabbed the plate and moved to the other end of the table, putting the cheap metal and plastic between us. He didn’t completely terrify me, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to sit when he was standing in the same room.

“I got hit,” he explained.

“No shit,” I said back and shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes into my mouth. They were homemade, and were just as delicious as they smelled.
 

His lips pulled down in a frown and he inspected the ground. He looked so dejected it caused guilt to flicker through me. I mentally shook my head and ate another heaping spoonful of potatoes, not caring that it burned my tongue. Jackson didn’t deserve my pity.
 

He took a step back and looked at me, his dark eyes empty. He just shook his head and went back upstairs. I refused to let myself read into it while I quickly finished the rest of the potatoes. I devoured the chicken just as quickly. I set the peanut butter sandwich and apple aside, saving them for later, and drank half of a water bottle.
 

I went to the bathroom and used the shower to wash my hands and face, since I was too scared to strip down and actually shower, and lay back in the bed. After a few minutes of feeling like I was going to waste away, I got up and began pacing. My body was still sore from the trunk ride, and the bruises on my face were taking their time to fade.
 

I carefully stretched out my arms and then bent over. My stiff muscles ached as I reached for the ground. I stood back up and reached above me. The pull on my back felt wonderful and painful at the same time. I had never been into yoga; it seemed boring and lame. I did my stretches before and after I ran but left it at that.
 

I went back to the cot closest to the stairs. I had claimed it as my own, though I had the feeling many girls had laid down to rest on that miserable cot. I pulled the screw out from my back pocket and rolled it back and forth between my fingers.

The sound of the deadbolt shooting back startled me. I hurried to stash the screw and laid back down, not caring to look at Jackson when he came down to get my dishes. But the chitchat of female voices caused me to sit straight up. My fingers pressed into the mattress, and my eyes stayed glued to the base of the stairs.
 

Heels clomped on each wooden plank. I wasn’t familiar enough to recall their voices, but I was sure the Brooklyn accent belonged to Rochelle. She stopped mid-sentence when she saw me, her foot hovering above the last stair. The dark-haired girl from the alley bumped into her, causing Rochelle to stumble. Her foot planted on the ground with a click, and she wobbled before the five-inch, black patent leather stiletto tipped to the side. I watched her ankle twist as she fell. On instinct, I rose, wanting to help her. The dark haired girl got there first and extended a hand.

Rochelle leaned forward, her fingers wrapping around her ankle. “Ah!” she cried and pulled off her shoe. “Fucking hell!”

“Are you all right?” I meekly asked, standing so close to the cot it brushed against the back of my legs.
 

Rochelle looked at me and scowled, as if it was my fault she fell. She removed her shoes and allowed the dark-haired girl to pull her to her feet.
 

“I’ll be fine,” she grumbled and took a step, immediately crying out in pain. She hobbled to the cot next to me and flopped down.

“You should elevate it,” I whispered. “And ice would be ideal.”

The dark-haired girl eyed me curiously, guilt flashing across her face as she took a pillow from another cot and stuck it under Rochelle’s ankle. She whisked around the cot and flew up the stairs, returning a minute later with a bag filled with ice. Lily, the young redhead, was behind her. She slowly approached me.

“Hi,” she spoke. “I’m Lily.”

“Addie,” I said, struggling to find my voice.

“This is Rochelle and Phuong. We call her Phoebe. She doesn’t speak English very well.”

“Nice to meet you,” I blurted, the manners my mother instilled in me coming out on their own accord. “I don’t know why I’m here,” I told them.

Lily bit her lip and looked at Rochelle. A life of hard times and too much responsibility masked her young innocence. Her blue eyes were clouded with fear and shame, and the self-doubt was apparent in her sagging shoulders. She crossed boney arms and offered me a small smile.

“Phoebe told us that you tried to stop Zane from hurting her, and he brought you back.”

I nodded. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Lily’s brow pushed together. “The same thing that happens to us,” she spoke, her voice nothing but a hollow whisper.
 

I swallowed hard, pushing my pounding heart back into place. “And what is that?” The icy words spilled out of my mouth.
 

“Sit,” she said and motioned to the bed.
 

My legs bent, and I sank down onto the mattress.

“Nate finds us clients and we take care of them,” she said gently and put her hand on mine. Everything about this felt wrong, from the way someone younger than my sister was comforting me to the way she sugarcoated being a sex slave.

“And if we don’t?”

“You don’t, you die,” Phoebe said harshly in a heavily accented voice.