Page 35 of Captive

Not after I made such a huge deal over Royal and Abby hooking up. I’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite, and if there’s one thing I never aspired to be, other than the type of man that makes a D.D.K. victim, it’s a hypocrite.

I fold the towel and leave it on top of the stool, barely looking at Abby when I tell her, “I’ll clean this up later.” I walk away, not sparing her or Royal a second glance. I can’t look back, for a whole multitude of reasons.

Mostly Abby.

I don’t know why I opened up like that, why I told her all of those things. Royal and Ezra know, of course, but it’s another thing entirely to spill my guts to someone new, someone who shouldn’t even be here with us.

Seriously, what got into me? What happened to the man who follows the rules without hesitation? I don’t know what to think anymore. She’s making me doubt everything I thought I knew, and for the first time in a long time, the future is hazy.

I can’t see where we go from here.

Chapter Fifteen – Abby

My heart pounds so loudly in my chest I can hear it, like a soundtrack to a horror movie. It thumps and thumps in quick, hard rhythm, and an icy feeling crawls over my skin. I stand in front of a closed door, in a hallway that’s terribly familiar to me, but at the time, I don’t recognize it.

The door in front of me, though, I do recognize. It’s burned a hole in my brain. That, and the inexplicably shiny doorknob that currently calls my name.

I shouldn’t go in there. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, and yet… yet my hand reaches for the doorknob all the same. It trembles as it moves, and the closer that hand gets to its destination, the louder my heart pounds, until I swear I’m hooked up to speakers somehow. There’s no way a heartbeat can possibly be this loud.

My fingers curl around the knob, and I push open the door—and the moment I do, the loud heartbeats stop. I see something I never should see: my sister in the tub, the water a bright, vibrant red.

Her face is tilted to the side, so I can’t see it, but I see everything I need to. The blood-red water. The way her right arm hangs out of the tub, her fingers loose. How pale her flesh is. The knife that rests on the tiled floor, sporting her blood on its sharp edge.

My breath catches, and just like that I’m frozen. Frozen in time, frozen where I am, just fucking frozen. I can’t even say her name.

And then my dead sister turns her head, something she most definitely should not be able to do. Her eyes are glazed over and glassy, and yet she opens her mouth all the same and says, “You were too late. You’re always too late.”

The only thing I can do, the only answer I can give? A scream.

Firm hands jerk me awake, or maybe I was already waking up; either way, when my eyes dart open, I find a shirtless Ezra leaning over me, his hands cautiously on my arms as he shakes me gently.

“Oh, thank God,” he whispers once he sees I’m awake and alert. He sits on the edge of the bed, hunching over, and rubs his hands on his face. The early morning sunlight streams in through the window on the far side of the room, but it’s enough light for me to see just how concerned he is for me.

I remember the dream: it’s the same dream I have every now and then, memories twisted into a never-ending nightmare. But it’s not the dream that has my focus; it’s the man on my bed. The, again, very shirtless man.

Royal has the prize for the bodybuilding competition in the house, but Ezra is a close second. The man is super tall and those abs on his chest are nice to look at. And those tattoos? Phew. I need a fan.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, slow to sit up. As I do so, the blanket falls, revealing my low-cut nighttime shirt. Ezra keeps his gaze averted, as if he’s scared to see the top curve of my tits or something.

Prude.

“I was going to get some coffee from the kitchen,” he says. “Just walking by, when I heard you… screaming.” That last word he says quietly, as if he’s not used to saying it. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, but it looked like you were still sleeping—”

Right then, another large presence lumbers into the room: Royal. He wears nothing but gray sweats that leave nothing to the imagination, his bulging muscles on display. I swear to God he flexes as he looks all around the room, like there’s an intruder or something. “What the fuck’s going on?” He loses some macho points by yawning, though.

“Ezra beat you to the punch,” I dryly say.

Royal frowns slightly, and he frowns even more when someone turns the corner and literally runs right into his wide back. He doesn’t move an inch, but the one who ran into him stumbles back and winces.

“Christ, you’re a brick wall,” Hawthorne mutters, pausing to fix his glasses before he peers around the muscular man at me and Ezra on the bed. “Is everything okay in here? I’m pretty sure I heard screaming.”

Jeez. Scream a little in your dream and in real life and apparently there are three men in this house ready to do something about it. I don’t know what they thought I was screaming about, but it is kind of funny they each came a-running.

“I’m okay,” I say. Even Ezra gives me a long look after that one, no longer keeping his gaze averted. Well, I should say, no longer keeping his gaze averted from me. From my tits? He’s definitely still avoiding those. The others are too far away for me to tell exactly where they’re looking.

When it’s beyond clear none of them believe me, I say, “I’m fine, really. It was just a dream.”

“Call me crazy,” Royal says with a semi-grumpy-sounding harrumph, “but you don’t seem like the type of person who has nightmares.” The others all nod in agreement, the jerks. “What the fuck kind of nightmare could have someone like you screaming?”