Page 80 of Ghost Hunted

He opens the door and pulls me toward the living room, where a dark-haired, pale-faced man is sprawled on a couch, drinking a glass of whisky, a gun on his knee. A slim girl with a tumble of black hair sits beside him, but I barely look at her, my eyes glued to the gun on the man’s knee.

I make a sudden movement toward it, but the masked man slams an arm against my middle, holding me back.

“Easy, now.”

The whisky-drinking man turns to my captor, blinking at him lazily.

“Aren’t you gonna take that mask off? Bet your face is getting pretty sweaty under it.”

“Shut up, Damien. I’ll be right back. I have to lock this one in her cage.”

“Okay. By the way, Everest just said they think a DNA test is possible. For Jane, I mean.”

I tense.

“Jane…” I gasp. “Jane…”

“That name means something to you, doesn’t it?” murmurs the masked man. “Who’s Jane?”

I shake my head, loud sobs leaving my throat. “I don’t… know…”

“You’ve been hunting her.” His fingers play with my hair, and I have to force myself not to sink into his touch. “But you don’t know who she is. And the Puicin Gang have been after you. What do you call them again? The black holes?”

I shudder. “You’re one of them.”

“Hmm.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, baby. I’m going to give you a bath and put you to bed.”

The masked man leads me to a bathroom and runs a bath. I take a few steps back, flattening myself against the wall.

“It’s just water and soap,” he murmurs. “It won’t kill you.”

Unlocking my handcuffs with a key he must have found in the police car, he pulls up my shirt and tugs down my jeans, which are, I guess, very dirty. I’ve had more important things to do than focus on laundry lately. In fact, I don’t think I had any spare clothes. I don’t really remember, though.

“Alright, baby.” He removes his own shirt, and I stare at the injuries riddling his torso. Half the skin on his chest is missing; it’s reddened and scabbed. And then, there’s the hand that’s got the ugly beginnings of a deep scar on the palm. I hadn’t noticed it before. And his arm, which also seems to be recovering from a bullet wound.

I wonder if I once shot him with a bazooka, or if his injuries were caused by something else.

“Are you going to…” I swallow nervously. “...get in the bath with me?”

“Uh huh. Come on.” Now entirely naked, he walks over to me. I try hard to avert my eyes from his massive cock as he slips an arm around me and pulls me to the tub. “You’re awfully nervous for a girl who’s been going around killing people, aren’t you?”

“I… no, I’m not.”

“Mhm hmm. That’s okay. I like it when you’re my little scaredy-cat. Come on.”

Ignoring my mumbled protest, he lifts me gently into the tub, leaning me against him. I can’t help it, I feel myself relax into him. He lathers me with soap, running his hands all over me, and it feels so good. I must have been very tense for a very long time. Before I can help it, I moan softly.

“You’re a very grimy baby,” he croons, lathering up my hair and touching some bald spots I didn’t know I had. “You’re going to feel a lot better after this.”

I whine in regret when he pulls me gently out of the tub, wrapping me in a thick towel. He dries me, rubbing me all over with it, before throwing it aside.

“My clothes,” I shiver.

“You don’t need clothes. No clothes anymore. You’ll have to earn them.”

He carries me into the adjoining room, and my body tenses again when I see what can only be described as a massive gold cage.

“What the hell?”