Chapter 8

Out.

I just needed to get out.

Run.

I'd seen the heavily wooded surroundings when we'd arrived at Dalton's house the night before, but that hadn't worried me because I'd run through woods like that when I'd escaped Ivan's house.

I forced myself to bide my time before dropping the blanket wrapped around me, running past the small kitchen table, and flying out the front door that was only a handful of steps away. Despite all the old and now new aches, my instinct to survive was the same as it had been the night Maggie and I had made our escape.

I kept my eye on the door and mentally counted the seconds down even as I tried to sense exactly where Dalton was behind me. I knew if he wanted to catch me, he probably could. Despite how much pain I'd seen him experience in the past twenty-four hours, none of it had seemed to exist the second he'd grabbed my arm and thrown me to the floor. That pain hadn't been there when he'd put his forearm against my neck and applied pressure.

Except…

I stopped abruptly and immediately felt something hit my back. A solid wall of muscle.

But I was too caught up in my thoughts to care. Despite the awkwardly long blanket, I managed to spin around.

"It wasn't me," I blurted. I had to look up to catch Dalton's eyes.

Eyes that were now filled with remorse and shame.

There'd been nothing in those eyes just moments ago when he'd had me pinned beneath him, but truth be told, I'd been more scared than anything. Ivan had done far worse when he'd wrapped his big hands around my throat as he'd fucked me. Dalton was a big guy and I suspected that if he'd used all his strength, I would have been dead before I'd even had the chance to get his attention.

"It wasn't me," I repeated.

I was surprised when Dalton dropped his eyes.

Men never did that around me. I did it. I was the one who always dropped my eyes because that was one of the many things I'd had to do to survive my captivity.

"It wasn't me," I repeated softly, more to myself than anything else. "Maggie and the other girls… they sometimes accidentally slapped me when I woke them up from a scary dream. Or they tried to get as far away from me as they could before they realized it was me."

The words coming out of my mouth sounded raspy, but the discomfort was minimal.

Dalton didn't look up, nor did he respond. It was like the floor had become the most interesting thing in the room. His lack of reaction gave me a few seconds to study him. He was breathing hard, like he'd just run a race or something.

Or like he'd been the one who'd been running for his life through a maze of trees and brush in a desperate attempt to escape. He was sweating, and his features were drawn tight. I doubted it had anything to do with holding me down on the floor because that hadn't seemed to take any effort on his part.

"Dalton…?"

"We should get that ice on your neck," he murmured. He tried to step around me, but I stopped him by putting my fingers beneath his chin. I wasn't sure who was more surprised, him or me, because as soon as I lifted his face enough that our eyes could meet, we both sucked in our breath. I'd touched him in the same way to get his attention when he'd been cutting off my air supply.

"It wasn't me that you were seeing, was it?" I asked.

All I got was a brief shake of his head and then he was carefully maneuvering his big body around me and striding for the kitchen. One of his hands brushed over my stomach as he gently moved me aside so he could get past me. The comforter kept his hand from coming in direct contact with my body, but I still felt his touch and all the shame and despair that came with it.

The need to run evaporated completely. I released the blanket enough to bunch it up against my body and then made my way to the kitchen. Besides my pained throat, my back hurt a little, but as I replayed the scene in my head, I realized it could have been much worse because even as Dalton had thrown me to the floor, he'd put his arms around me in a way that had somehow shielded both my back and head. I wondered if he'd even been aware of that. I doubted he would have done that with a true threat.

I eased my body into one of the odd-looking kitchen chairs and then draped the ends of the still-tangled blanket over my lap. Dalton had his back to me, but I suspected it was intentional. Every move he made as he gathered the ice and began putting it into this weird-looking fabric tubing was frantic, and he ended up spilling more ice into the sink than getting it into what I assumed was an ice pack.

A weird discomfort grew in my belly as each second passed and Dalton got more and more frustrated with what he was doing. I wanted to tell him that he had enough ice in the thing, but I didn't dare open my mouth. Not to mention I was focused on a strange ache building in my stomach. It hadn't hurt a couple of minutes ago. The feeling began to spread through my upper body and landed hard in my chest.

Yes, my chest had hurt from what had happened when I'd hit the floor with Dalton's heavy weight coming down on me, but this was different. I didn't hurt because of him… I hurt for him.

The idea was so confusing and disturbing that I tore my eyes from Dalton and began looking around the small kitchen. It looked nothing like the massive kitchen in Ivan's house. Dalton's entire house probably could have fit into Ivan's kitchen. And whereas Ivan's kitchen had always been gleaming because his maids had worked hard to make it so, Dalton's kitchen had a very used look. The chairs were strange because they weren't made of wood. The material I was sitting on was somewhat slippery and the back of the chair was attached to the seat with metal rods. There was nothing special about the table. It looked like wood, but it also didn't because it was peeling in a few spots. The refrigerator and stove were tiny compared to Ivan's, but I didn't know anything about how Americans decorated their houses, so maybe that was normal.

A quick glance at the windows showed them covered with dusty material that looked like it might have had fish on it. The thing that was most intriguing to me, though, was the clock that hung on the wall near the door. It was clearly supposed to look like a cat but in a bizarre way. The round black belly served as the time part, but for some reason the cat's tail and eyes moved back and forth every second. I found myself caught up in the rhythm and closed my eyes. The sudden sound of kids laughing had my eyes popping open.

But there were no kids in sight.

I shook off the strange reaction and focused on Dalton as he moved behind me, his steps slow and careful. "I'm just going to put this around your neck so that most of the ice will cover your throat. It's got some Velcro at the end which I'll adjust to stay around your neck so you won't have to hold it in place."

I had no clue what Velcro was, but I didn't dare move an inch as Dalton placed the weird tube around my neck. The material was soft, and I immediately felt the coolness of the ice.

"Good?" Dalton asked hesitantly.

"Yes," I responded simply. My nerves and the awkwardness over the whole situation and what would come next had me on edge. Despite what had happened moments earlier, I still owed this man free use of my body if I wanted the money he'd promised me. The idea of Dalton hauling me to my feet and pressing me over the table so he could shove himself inside of me had the backs of my eyes stinging. Ivan certainly wouldn't have hesitated to fuck me despite the physical condition I was in. But he also wouldn't have taken the time to wrap ice around my neck, especially since holding my throat as he pounded into me with loud grunts was one of his favorite things to do.

"Silver?"

My name coming from Dalton's lips had me snapping my eyes open and lifting them. Dalton was sitting in the chair across the table from me, his eyes filled with shame and remorse. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't been thinking about his unexpected attack, but I definitely wasn't going to tell him what memory I had been caught up in.

The mere fact that Dalton was sitting across from me meant I was getting a reprieve, at least for the moment. The relief was so profound I let out a sharp breath. Along with it came another memory.

Dalton's kiss.

The one from the day before.

My first kiss.

Ever.

"Silver?" Dalton repeated.

Damn, I really did need to focus on the present. "Yes?" I managed to get out.

"I need to know about your injuries," he said, his voice sounding rough and hoarse, as if he'd been the one who'd had his air supply cut off.

"Injuries?" I asked stupidly. "Oh, you mean… I'm okay." It was mostly true. I could breathe easier now and it didn't hurt to speak as much as it had earlier.

"Silver—" Dalton began as he ran his fingers through his already rumpled hair. It looked soft but his beard had felt a little rougher when I'd touched his face. I hadn't minded how it felt…

"I'm fine," I said, cutting him off because I hated how broken he looked. He'd been in so much pain the previous day as we'd made the long drive to his house, but he'd still treated me with kindness and patience. And that kiss…

God, I needed to get control of myself. The man had just attacked me and here I was fantasizing about what it would feel like if he kissed me again. Yesterday I'd been adamant that the kiss had all been a ploy to get me into his car, but today my brain was conveniently forgetting that fact.

It didn't matter. I needed to focus on the here and now.

"I shouldn't have touched you when I tried to wake you up from your dream," I said.

Dalton shook his head. "Silver, none of what happened is your fault?—"

"Did you mean to hurt me, Dalton?" I interjected. "If you got angry with me, would you…" I began to ask but realized I didn't truly know the answer to that question since I'd only met the man twenty-four hours earlier.

"No," Dalton responded quickly. "No, Silver, I would never raise my hand in anger to you or anyone else. It was like you said… I wasn't seeing you."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him who he had been seeing, but I held my tongue when I saw Dalton begin rhythmically tapping one of his fingers on the table.

"Are you okay here for a few minutes while I get cleaned up?" Dalton asked. He was on his feet before I could even finish nodding.

Once he was gone, I worked to get the blanket untangled and rearranged it so that I was completely covered. The piece of bedding was worn from frequent use, but it was thick and warm.

And it smelled like him.

Just like the sweats he'd loaned me the day before that I was still wearing. I hadn't even thought to get my wet clothes out of Dalton's car the night before when we'd reached his place because Dalton had been shuffling toward the house within seconds of parking the car in front of it. Watching him move had made my own body ache. I'd ignored his rude response when I'd asked if he needed help getting up his stairs, and I'd continued to ignore all his protests as I'd gotten him in his bed. It wasn't until Dalton had dumped the pills in his hand and swallowed them down that the first wave of true fear had hit me.

Ivan had done that… taken an unknown number of pills and swallowed them like they were candy. And like Dalton, he'd taken one drink after another from various bottles of alcohol that were always available to him. While that behavior had served me well as Ivan had gotten older, it hadn't done me any favors when I'd been a kid since whatever drugs he'd taken had made him violent and cruel instead of docile and sleepy.

Despite seeing Dalton down the pills and liquor, I'd managed to continue to undress him, but it wasn't until I'd seen the strange scars all over his back as I'd worked his shirt off him that I'd forgotten to be afraid. Some of the scars had been longer and more raised, others had been smaller. There had been at least seven of them along the length of his spine with another half dozen over his shoulders and along his ribs.

At that point, it had been easy to remember Dalton wasn't Ivan.

So I'd focused on getting Dalton comfortable. I hadn't planned to massage him but when I'd seen how tight the muscles of his upper body were as he'd tried to find a comfortable position to settle into as he waited for the pills to work, instinct had taken over.

Instinct and the confusing yet undeniable need to lessen the bigger man's pain, even if only for a short time.

It was the latter part that had kept me awake for hours after I'd left a sleeping Dalton in his bed and found my way to the other bedroom. Although calling the room a bedroom was a stretch. There'd been nothing more than a bed with a small side table and lamp. Literally nothing more. The closet had been empty, the walls free of any pictures or paintings, and the wood floors had no shine to them. There'd been nothing in the room that had given me any idea of Dalton, the man.

Ivan's house had been a collection of gleaming marble, pristine white walls, expensive paintings with little lights above them to accentuate their value, and priceless vases, statues, and other works of art. It had been a perfect representation of what Ivan had wanted the world to see. Successful, wealthy, untouchable businessman. But the back part of the house—the part that could only be accessed by a short, innocuous carpeted hallway and simple, always locked white door—had been Ivan's true showpiece. Hidden behind that door had been a dozen closed-off bedrooms. Each thick, decorative wooden door had opened to a different kind of room, ranging from soft and luxurious to dark and dungeonlike. Those rooms had included various pieces of odd-looking equipment rather than beds.

I'd been in each room and had experienced most of the "toys," as Ivan's men had liked to call them. It had usually been when Ivan had been in a particularly cruel mood, and it hadn't mattered if the room looked like the most extravagant of bedrooms or the darkest of prison cells, they'd all held pieces of Ivan's true nature in them.

They hadn't been the only rooms in that part of the house, though. There'd been another set of them in the basement. I'd seen those rooms too. They'd been more proof of Ivan's depravity and inhumanity. Behind each of those doors had been nothing but a stained mattress covered with a thin blanket, a toilet and sink, and not much else.

Except for the women.

There'd nearly always been one in each of the dozen rooms. None of the rooms had ever been empty for long. Maggie had given birth to her beautiful daughter on one of those disgusting mattresses…

"Silver?"

The sound of my name being spoken softly next to me ripped me from my daze and as I tried to escape it and all the memories of what had happened in that ugly house, the blanket I'd so carefully wrapped myself up in prevented me from catching myself as I tried to jump out of the chair. Strong hands grabbed me mid-fall.

Familiar hands.

"Dalton?" I asked, even though I knew that was who was keeping me sitting on the chair instead of face-planting on the floor.

"It's me," he murmured. "I need you to try and slow your breathing, okay?"

My breathing?

What was wrong with my breathing?

My muddled mind began to clear as I remembered where I was and what had led me down the rabbit hole that was my past. I'd been thinking about the night before and how Dalton's second bedroom hadn't told me anything about the man. I'd still been awake as the sun had come through the one window in the room. That was why I'd been able to hear the evidence of Dalton's nightmare.

"I'm fine," I said with a nod. "Just…" I began to add but I couldn't form the words.

"Not seeing me?" Dalton supplied.

I couldn't help but smile and nod again. "Ghosts," I said. "Just lots of… ghosts."

Dalton's chuckle as he released me and rose from where he'd been crouching next to me made my body go all warm inside.

"They'll be in good company here," he said.

Although the topic should have been a dark one, it somehow felt light. Easy.

This was him… the real Dalton. The one who'd pressed me against his SUV and kissed me. The one who'd turned his back to me on a busy road to reassure me that I had complete privacy as I'd changed out of my wet clothes and into his sweats in the back seat of his vehicle.

"How is your throat feeling?" Dalton asked as he checked the ice pack around my neck.

"Two," I said.

I shivered when a rough finger gently slid over the skin between the ice pack and the underside of my chin. I could feel the goose bumps on my arms at the simple contact.

"Do you want me to take this off or do you want it on a bit longer?" Dalton asked as he repeated the move. I couldn't stop myself from pressing my cheek against his palm. God, what was happening to me? Was this what it was supposed to feel like when…?

"Silver?"

The man had to say my name two more times before I could croak out, "Off." I missed his touch the second he removed his hand from my cheek but thankfully, those damn goose bumps were going away.

The relief lasted about two seconds because the moment Dalton grazed his fingers over the back of my neck right above the ice pack, heat engulfed me and it was all I could do to remain silent as a shiver of sensation raced up my spine.

The sound of the ice pack being undone made me want to laugh and cry. "Velcro," I whispered with a harsh laugh as I recognized the sound of the two pieces of material holding the ice pack in place being pulled apart.

"What?" Dalton asked as he eased the ice pack from my neck.

"Nothing," I murmured. I was glad when Dalton stepped away from me, but he was back a moment later. He pulled the chair he'd been sitting in earlier around the table and set it down so he could sit in front of me. The corner of the table was the only thing separating us when he sat down.

"You said Velcro," Dalton said. I could feel his eyes on me as I stared at the blanket still wrapped around me and pretended it was the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen. I barely managed to keep still when his fingers began softly exploring my now cold neck. The combination of his hot skin on my chilled throat sent most of the blood in my body southward and I had to lock my jaw to keep the moan inside of me as my dick began to get hard.

I'd gotten erections plenty of times, but they'd always been something I'd woken up to in the morning, and with Ivan's sour breath on the back of my neck and his beefy arm wrapped around my waist as he slept, my normal bodily function had thankfully always died a quick death. There'd been one or two times that I'd tried to touch myself when I'd been in the shower and had known Ivan wasn't anywhere nearby, but there had been no pleasure, only frustration, so I'd given up on it.

So on the one hand, I understood what was happening to me, but on the other, I wasn't ready for it. Shame consumed me and tears stung the backs of my eyes as Dalton continued to examine me and my dick grew harder and harder with each touch of his gentle fingers.

"I'm fine," I snapped as I jerked my head away from Dalton's hands. My body felt so tight and overheated that I was certain I'd snap in two at any moment. As each second passed, I got hotter and hotter until it was so fucking uncomfortable that I wanted to rip the blanket from my body. Unfortunately, the material was the only thing hiding the proof of what Dalton's touch had been doing to me.

Any lightness that might have been in the room was sucked out of it almost instantaneously. I was staring at the tabletop, but I could see Dalton in my peripheral vision. His look of guilt fed into my own. He was probably assuming I was upset about what had happened to cause him to need to examine my throat in the first place. I wanted to tell him it wasn't anything he'd done wrong, but what was I supposed to say? That every time he put his hands on me, my dick thickened painfully? Or that I was terrified of what it all meant? What would happen if I put my hand around my erection now and tried what I'd tried in that shower those couple of times so long ago? Worse yet, what would happen if Dalton wrapped his strong fingers around me and began stroking?

"Silver, I wasn't making fun of you," Dalton murmured.

"What?" I managed to ask, still too caught up in my body's reaction to Dalton to really hear him.

"The Velcro thing… I don't even know why I said it in the first place. I guess I just wanted to keep you talking. I swear that I wasn't?—"

"Velcro?" I nearly shouted. Was the man serious? He thought I was upset about me having only just made sense of what Velcro was?

Dalton opened his mouth to say something else, but I was too far gone. I didn't even consider my words when I responded with, "It's not about the fucking Velcro!"

At that point I could only plead temporary insanity to explain why I did what I did next.