He was right. I was usually the one to volunteer for the riskiest, toughest assignments out there. I didn’t believe in the word no. But this time, I was starting to realize...maybe I should.
Wait a minute. What was I thinking? Fuck that defeatist bullshit. The caveman in me wanted to take her by force if necessary – sit her down and make her listen to every reason I had about why this could work. Even if Finley didn't want to touch me, I could handle that. I was a big boy. I knew how to jerk myself off. I didn't need to sleep with her to keep helping her and Maple. They still needed me to be there for them. And by God, I was going to do my duty, blue balls and all.
Chapter Ten
Finley
A scream of rage and fear dragged me awake.
Maple? I would recognize her little voice anywhere, but I'd almost never heard her howl like that. Had she fallen out of her crib somehow? Or did she just have a nightmare?
I struggled to push off the covers. But they were oddly heavy, so plush my hands sank into them. My limbs felt as weak and floppy as wet noodles. Had I picked up a bad flu? Great, that was all I fucking needed. No way could I afford to miss work.
But maybe I'd have no choice. My stomach rolled with nausea and even opening my eyes took effort. I blinked away a strange, swimming blur...then frowned. Something felt wrong here. This room was half the size of my entire apartment and way too clean. It had a high, peaked ceiling instead of flat stucco. Hardwood floors instead of stained carpet. Even the sheets against my skin felt weirdly smooth and cool.
Unless I was so sick I'd started hallucinating, I wasn't at home. So where the hell was I?
At the renewed wail from the next room, I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the answering throb in my head. I could figure that out later. Wherever I'd gone, Maple had come with me, and she needed my help immediately. Without thinking, I jumped to my feet—only to be jerked up short. Frantically I glanced around and saw a thin silver chain dangling from a cuff on my wrist. It trailed onto the floor and under the bed, where the other cuff was locked around the bedpost.
What the actual fuck? My mouth dried up. Dizzy, I sat down again and tried to slow my pounding heart. My wobbly legs still wouldn't let me stand for too long; my arms weren't in much better shape. I wasn't strong enough yet to lift up the bed and slip the cuff off its leg. And I really didn't want to sit around waiting to recover. But maybe I could find something to break the chain or pick the lock?
I scanned the room, more slowly this time. The furniture was all matching cherry wood with fancy scrollwork: a nightstand, a chest-of-drawers, an armoire, and a vanity. I gasped at the sight of myself in the mirror. Jesus, I look like shit. My eye was surrounded by a huge, ugly purple bruise and my lip was swollen and bloodied. And was that a lump on my head? I fingered the spot gently and winced. Clearly I hadn't come to this place willingly. And if there'd been a fight, there must have been an attacker. A kidnapper...who might still be nearby. All the more reason to get my ass in gear.
I carefully stood back up and turned on the light. My chain was too short for me to reach most of the room—including the shuttered window—but I was able to start pawing through most of the furniture.
The chest-of-drawers contained panties and bras that I recognized as my own. Lovely...a goddamn underwear thief. Fortunately, I had woken up in my clothes, so I didn't have to deal with the mental image of my kidnapper undressing me while I was unconscious.
The armoire stood open to reveal a single yellow sundress. It wasn't mine, and I tried not to think too hard about the fact that it seemed my size. If he expects me to wear that, he can fucking choke on it.
As I searched the room, my memories of last night came trickling back. I'd managed to kick Grey out of our life, but not out of my mind. Conflicted and miserable, with a massive amount of pent-up sexual frustration, I had slogged through my dance routines, just trying to survive until the end of the evening. And the customers could tell I was phoning it in. At least, one customer could.
Brant had come up to the stage to ask me what was wrong. Normally I'd remind him to buy a lap dance if he wanted one-on-one time, but I didn't have the emotional energy to handle him gracefully. So I had let Bruce tell him off and show him back to his table. But Brant couldn't seem to keep his ass in his seat. He kept walking up, over and over, as if he didn't notice me ignoring him. When he'd reached out to rest his hand on my ankle, Bruce had tossed him out into the parking lot.
But he still couldn't take the hint. After my shift finally ended, I'd trudged out to my car, only to almost run face-first into Brant.
“Let me help you, Finley,” he had pleaded. “I just want to be there for you.”
Rubbing my forehead, I'd squinted at him through the sickly glow of the sodium lamps. “Have you been standing out here all night?”