AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A part of me wishes they really would put me in a cell. Having them define my role as prisoner would actually make things easier for me. If I’m a prisoner, there’s at least a hope of finding freedom, but the more they treat me like a permanent resident, the quicker all hope of escape is bleeding out of me. And I need that hope. I need something to cling on to, something to keep me afloat when reality forces me to accept that I might never get off this island and away from these men.
Flopping onto my back, I exhale, wondering how the hell I ended up in this position. A few days ago, I lost my job, my home, and got mugged by junkie assholes. I honestly thought that my luck could only get better… then I woke up here.
If I was a different type of woman, maybe I’d think about seducing one or all of my captors, but I don’t know the first thing about being sexy enough to get a man to do anything, let alone help me escape from the very men I’d be seducing.
Roza and Tanya could be helpful. It’s clear neither woman is a huge fan of me being here, but would they risk themselves to help me escape? I doubt it. The guards could be an option, but if Dimitri has told them that anyone who tries to help me leave will be killed, I’d be surprised if any of them would assist me either.
It feels like the only way to free myself is to wait it out. Pushing upright, I look down at my outfit and decide as much as I’d rather be fully dressed, I can’t sleep in thick sweatpants. Using the bathroom, I slide the sweatpants down and fold them, placing them on the chair in the corner of the room.
Even though I hate being so exposed, I slip beneath the comforter in the big bed, curling up into a ball as close to the edge as I can. Closing my eyes, I try to sleep, but I flinch at every sound. After a while I hear someone enter the room and the sound of quiet rustling fills the air. Freezing, I try to even out my breaths and pretend to be asleep while I wait for one of the bedroom doors to close.
The mattress dips and I snap upright, turning and finding Dimitri, pulling back the comforter and climbing into the other side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting into bed,” he says calmly.
“Don’t you have a room, with a bed and a door?” I snark, shuffling even farther away until I’m so close to the edge I’m almost falling off.
“You’re in this bed, although we can sleep in my room if you’d prefer,” he says, arching a brow.
“How ’bout you sleep in here, and I’ll sleep in your room, with the door locked and shut?” I suggest derisively, instantly regretting the words the moment they’re out of my mouth.
“I thought prisoners did as they were told?”
“They usually get a cell with locked door,” I snap, cursing myself for not just staying quiet.
“Do you think a locked door would help in this situation? You wouldn’t have the key, we would, you’d only have the illusion of safety.”
“God, you’re all so fucking confusing. I don’t know what you want from me. You’re an asshole, Viktor is a psycho, and Lev is pretending to be nice. Just spell out exactly what the hell you want from me?” I blurt.
“For now, all we want is for you to sleep. If a closed door will make you feel better, then let us find you a door.” Sliding back out of bed, he walks around the edge, then holds out a hand to me. It’s not the first time he’s offered me his hand, but it’s the first time I accept, placing my fingers against his palm, and allowing him to help me slide down from the high bed.
“I won’t have sex with you. I meant what I said, if any of you touch me, it’ll be without my consent,” I warn.
“I won’t touch you, beyond holding you in your sleep.”
“I don’t think I want that either.”
“I wasn’t offering you a choice. If you want to sleep in my bed, hidden behind the closed door you desire so much, it’ll be in my arms.” Not waiting for an answer, he smirks, leading me to the third door and opening it.
Following him into the room, I’m surprised to find that it’s almost identical to the main part of the bedroom, even the bed is the same, but just a king instead of orgy sized.
“There’s a closet full of sleepwear you could have picked, instead of the clothes you wore to dinner.”
“I’ve never worn a nightgown in my life and certainly not a pale pink, lacy one. I’m more comfortable in an old shirt.”
“You don’t like the clothes we got you?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“Have you been watching me for the last year too?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers easily.
“Have I ever worn pink, or silk, or anything with flowers or girly shit on them?”
“You shopped in thrift stores and dumpsters,” he says wrinkling his nose.
“There was pink stuff in the thrift store too, I just never bought any of it. I was poor, but I had options.”
