Chapter 6

"Who is Marie?" Daffodil asked softly as soon as Colter left the room.

"Our housekeeper."

"Oh."

"Look at me, baby," Bridger ordered.

She lifted her gaze. Her eyes were wide and watery.

"What's your name?" Bridger asked, feeling confident it was not Daffodil.

She licked her lips. "You're not my Master?"

"No, baby. I'm your friend now. I'm going to help you. Colter will, too. But neither of us wants to continue calling you by a name some bad man assigned to you. What is your real name?"

"Summer," she whispered.

Bridger smiled. "Summer is a very pretty name. I like it. It suits you."

"I almost forgot it," she admitted.

"I understand. You're safe now. How about you let me and Colter help you remember who Summer is?"

When she finally smiled, Bridger nearly fell off the bed. Progress. He reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. "You have the prettiest dimples when you smile."

She tipped her head into his palm. "It's been a long time since someone touched me with kindness."

"Well, you will only find kindness here, baby. I promise. Let's go to the kitchen and eat some dinner. Marie leaves us dinner every night. I'm sure it's amazing. She's a great cook."

Summer stared at him. "Am I dreaming?"

"Nope. You're awake, and you're safe." He couldn't say that often enough because she was struggling to believe him.

Bridger rose and lifted out a hand.

Summer took it and slid off the side of the bed onto her bare feet. "Thank you for the T-shirt."

He faced her, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. "Do you want more than that? We don't have any women's clothes in the house, but if you want some sweatpants, I bet we can roll them up and make them work."

She shook her head. "It feels weird to have anything touching my skin."

Bridger cringed internally. "Tomorrow, we'll get you more appropriate clothes. You can choose."

"I don't want you to spend money on me. I have no way to repay you."

Bridger continued to hold her hand as he led her out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the great room. He guided her over to the wall of windows, angled her so she could look out at the city lights, and set his palms on her shoulders from behind.

Summer gasped. "It's so pretty."

"We're on the top floor of an apartment building. Colter and I own this penthouse. It spans the entire floor. We own a business together. Trust me when I say we can afford to buy you some clothes, okay?"

She gave a slight nod. "Okay."

"These windows are tinted. No one can see inside. Even if the lights are on." He slid his hand back down to hers and guided her to the kitchen island. The spacious kitchen area was extremely modern. Everything was stainless steel and gray.

Summer gasped when he lifted her off her feet and set her on one of the stools.

He left her there and opened the warmer. The kitchen filled with the scent of red sauce. "Looks like Marie made lasagna today. Her Italian is always the best in the city." He pulled out the casserole dish, carried it to the island, and set it in the middle. "Do you like Italian?"

Summer was staring at the steaming dish with wide eyes. "I haven't had anything that amazing in a long time. I can't even remember what it tastes like, but I used to like it."

Colter joined them. "I spoke to Marie." He didn't say more.

Bridger grabbed a salad from the fridge. "Colter, meet Summer."

Colter grinned as he set a hand on her shoulder. "Summer. Love that name."

She smiled at him.

His eyes widened. "Love that look even more."

Bridger wasn't surprised his partner noticed her beaming smile also. Who wouldn't?

Colter grabbed plates and silverware and brought them to the island. He set the table so that he and Bridger would flank Summer.

"What do you want to drink, honey?" he asked her.

She looked shell-shocked. She was gradually coming back into herself, but every new reminder startled her. "I don't know."

Bridger brought over a loaf of French bread from the warmer next. "We have just about everything. Water? Tea? Soda?"

She licked her lips. "Whatever you'd like me to have."

Colter was closer to her, and he lifted her chin. "From now on, you need to make your own choices. You're not a slave. We'll help you reclaim your autonomy, honey, but tell us what you like to drink."

"Do you have lemon-lime soda?" she asked timidly.

"We sure do." Bridger grabbed one from the bottom of the fridge before getting a glass and some ice. He brought it over to her, popped the lid on the can, and poured it into the glass.

She covered her mouth, trembling. More tears.

His heart hurt. He wanted to help her so badly, and he would. Colter would, too, but she was so abused and neglected that everything made her cry. And Bridger couldn't help but remind himself over and over again that he and Colter couldn't just keep her and tell no one. This was madness.

"Take a drink, honey," Colter encouraged.

She lifted the glass, took a sip, and moaned. Her eyes rolled back. "That's so good."

A fucking clear soda. Jesus.

Bridger filled her plate with some of everything.

Colter set four types of salad dressing in front of her. "Pick whatever you want. If there's something you love that you don't see, let us know, and we'll order it for delivery."

Her hand shook as she chose the ranch dressing and poured some on her salad. "It smells so good."

"Is it triggering your memory?" Bridger asked as he took the stool next to her.

She slowly shook her head. "No. Master J ate well. We served him and his men every day. I'm used to the scent of delicious foods. I just haven't eaten any for a long time."

Bridger stiffened. "You served the men, but you didn't eat the same food?"

"No. We were only permitted to eat specific bland, boring meals with no flavor, and permitted is not the right word. We were forced to eat what was in front of us."

Bridger gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry. I hope you'll open up and tell us everything as you feel more comfortable."

She looked at him. "Trust me, you don't want to hear what I've been through."

He reached out and set his hand on top of hers over the island. "We do. Every detail. It will help you work through the pain." What am I, a fucking shrink?

"You've said ‘we' several times," Colter pointed out. "Were there other women with you, honey?"

She nodded. "Six of us."

Six. Jesus. Where were the others? "Eat, baby." Bridger pointed at her plate.

She lifted her fork, cut a small bite of lasagna, and brought it to her mouth. Her eyes slid shut again as she chewed and swallowed and then moaned.

Bridger lifted his fork, too, but it was hard to take a bite under the circumstances. He noticed Colter struggling also. A freed sex slave was in their kitchen, and Bridger had no fucking clue what they were going to do next.

They left her alone to eat, watching her constantly. Bridger realized now that she was underweight, which was not surprising since she hadn't been fed well for over a year.

She didn't eat enough, but it would probably take some time for her to return to normal eating habits. Bridger didn't say anything. When she set her fork down, she glanced at him, her hand shaking.

Colter set his hand on top of hers. "It's okay, honey. You don't have to finish it."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"When was the last time you had a full night's rest?" Bridger asked her. There were dark circles under her eyes.

She smirked, an unexpected reaction. Her personality was starting to come out. "Sixteen months ago."

"Let's find you a toothbrush and let you get some sleep then," Colter said as he rose from his stool. He lifted her off her seat and set her on her feet, much as Bridger had lifted her onto the stool in the first place. Something about her called to both of them, something that made them need to nurture her.

Ignoring the dishes, Bridger followed the two of them to the guest room and through to the guest bath.

Colter pointed things out. "Everything you need should be in here somewhere. We try to keep it stocked for guests." He opened a drawer and removed a new toothbrush as he continued, "Towels are in the closet." He pointed toward it. "Shampoo, conditioner, and a variety of soaps are in the shower. There's a comb and brush in the drawer. A basket under the sink has deodorant, lotions, and bath salts. If you need anything else, we'll order it tomorrow, okay?"

She stared at him, her hands clasped in front of her. "Such normal things," she murmured.

Bridger rounded to cup her cheek. "Hopefully, normal things will help you find yourself."

Her eyes watered again. That was bound to happen a lot.

"It's okay to cry, honey," Colter said. "It's understandable. Don't hold it in. Let it out."

She was trembling, so Bridger took a risk and pulled her into his arms. He nestled her head against his chest and threaded his fingers into her loose braid. "We're going to help you."

She slumped against him.

Colter set a hand on her back. "I hate to ask you something uncomfortable, but it's important."

She buried her face deeper into Bridger's chest.

Bridger winced, imagining what Colter was about to say.

"It seems like you must have had a shower recently because, well, you smell good." Colter drew in a breath. "But, Summer, I need to know if anyone violated you since then. If there's…" Colter rubbed a hand down his face.

This was fucking difficult. Bridger felt for him. He tipped her head back. "Summer, if there's any chance semen might be left inside you, you really need a rape kit."

Her eyes went wide, and her cheeks turned bright pink. "You don't know…"

Bridger frowned. "Know what, baby?"

"What I was trained for. What I was sold for."

Bridger glanced at Colter, shaking his head. "No, Summer. Not a clue. I didn't buy you."

She swallowed hard. "No one has touched me that way."

Bridger flinched. It took him a moment to fully grasp what she was saying. "Ever?"

She nodded.

"Wait…" Colter said. "So, someone abducted you sixteen months ago and held you to sell you because you were a virgin?"

She dropped her head and pressed her forehead against Bridger's chest. "That's way oversimplifying, but yes."

Bridger wanted that information to make him feel better, but somehow it didn't. At least she hadn't been raped, but he got the impression there were far worse things that could happen to a person than rape. However, now wasn't the time to push her to tell them. She needed sleep.

He rubbed her back. "We're going to give you some time in the bathroom, baby. We'll wait in the bedroom and make sure you have what you need before you sleep."

He released her, keeping his hands on her shoulders for a moment to make sure she was steady. She looked like she might hyperventilate as he stepped back.

She grabbed his forearm. "Could you stay?"

He frowned. "We should step out so you can use the toilet, Summer. I promise we won't call the police." Maybe she was afraid that, as soon as they left her, they would contact the authorities.

She glanced at the toilet and stared at it for long seconds.

For the love of God, it seemed like she wasn't even sure what to do with a toilet.

"Summer?" Colter encouraged. "Can we wait outside, honey?"

She jerked her attention to him and glanced back and forth between them. Suddenly, she took several steps back until she ran into the wall. It was a good-sized bathroom. There was plenty of space for all three of them to stand inside, but Bridger's chest tightened at the panic he saw in her eyes.

She slid down the wall, pulled her knees against her chest, and started rocking. A soft moaning sound filled the room.

Bridger glanced at Colter, who looked just as confused. When he looked back, he stepped closer and squatted down in front of her. "Summer, talk to us."

She set her hands on her head. "I'm such a mess."

"Understandable. All you need to do right now is focus on one thing at a time. Brush your teeth, and then use the toilet. Can you do that?"

She lifted her gaze. "Not without supervision."

His heart stopped.

"Fuck," Colter muttered.

She squeezed her head with her hands. "I'm so confused. You're both so…nice. And…normal. I can't remember that. I can't remember peeing alone. I'm not allowed to…"

Bridger was shaking almost as badly as she was. He really didn't want to hear the rest of that sentence, but it was necessary. He reached out and pulled one of her hands away from her head to hold it in his. "You're not allowed to what, baby?"

She lowered her face. "Touch myself…" she whispered.

Colter set a hand on the wall next to her. "You weren't allowed to wipe?"

Silence filled the air as she slowly nodded, and then she spoke again, facing the floor. "I'm breaking so many rules, and it's confusing. I'm not in my body. I don't know what's real."

"What rules are you breaking, honey?" Colter asked.

Bridger held his breath. Did they want to know? They needed to. They wouldn't be able to help or understand her without asking questions and listening to the answers.

"I'm not allowed to wear clothes. I'm not allowed to look anyone in the eye. I'm not allowed to speak out of turn. I'm not allowed to ask questions. I'm only permitted to say ‘yes, Sir.' I'm not allowed to touch my pussy. I'm not allowed to touch my tits. I'm not allowed to cross my arms or sit on furniture or eat at the table or leave food on my plate or pee without supervision or wipe my butt or defy you in any way."

Bridger dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms, thankful when she slumped against him.

She started sobbing again, and he rubbed the back of her head. More words flooded out of her. "I'm so fucked up. I haven't touched my…my-my pussy in over a year. This T-shirt feels so weird against my skin. My nipples are… The material is touching them." She sobbed in between words, making it difficult to understand her. "I'm not even allowed to cry."

Bridger fought back tears himself. Motherfucker. What kind of animals held this woman in captivity?