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"Good," he said again. He finished with his ministrations and slapped me once on the ass, hard enough to make me cry out in both surprise and pain. "There's a beautiful desert day dawning and it's only going to get hotter. Get up, get dressed. Jog bra, tights. No underwear. You'll find a range of running shoes and socks in your size. I suggest you put your hair up. We'll be going for our first run and starting your new morning routine."
There was a pause then, while I hoped fervently that he'd leave the room before I had to stand. He didn't say anything about that. Instead he said, "I hope you're in good shape."
Then he stood without another word and left the room. I didn't stall, afraid I'd fall back to sleep. I'd tossed and turned the first half of the night, too uncomfortable to sleep. My body had hurt all over, the muscles from fighting the pain of what he did to me and my ass and thighs from the beating.
Just as painful had been all my thoughts. That I had subjected myself to this, it was all my own stupidity. If I had never taken that first taste of fentanyl.
That sent a frisson of wanting through me for everything I'd left behind. I wanted to see my father, I wanted an update on him. If I were undercover I'd be further gone than I was here. At least here Cole was willing to get regular updates on my dad's condition. If something happened, I was pretty sure he'd let me go, either to help my mother or to see my father if he was recovering.
Or slipping.
So for now I was truly in the no news is good news world. It wasn't a place I found comfortable.
Cole had already exited the room when I stood, pulling up my panties before I turned around, remembering only then he'd said no underwear. Then again, that was once I was dressed for running.
There was a bathroom off the room where I was being kept and off the bath, a walk-in closet that would make my sisters wet themselves. It was giant and I thought I could wander through it for hours before I'd seen everything in it.
I had no interest in the majority of its contents. There were long, elegant, formal gowns, and cocktail dresses, all of them accompanied by the most amazing come-fuck-me pumps and high heeled sandals and elegant ballet flats.
I couldn't imagine wearing any of those clothes or the shoes. I couldn't move fast in them or conceal a weapon and my life still revolved around those considerations.
On one side of the closet I found the workout clothes, including the jog bras, a bewildering array of them, with t-shirts for cover up. I hadn't expected that but maybe he didn't want to draw attention to me. An in-shape girl running with just a bra top gets attention. On the other hand, I thought we were far enough away from civilization for him not to worry about it.
I hoped I was in shape. He was taller than me and leaner, and he hadn't just gone through months of addiction and attempted recovery following a period of being undercover. Most of the people I was with during my assignments weren't really the get up at dawn and go running sort.
Neither was I. Even before the assignments I didn't go running as often as I should. I had a bad feeling about what would happen if I couldn't keep up with Cole.
I chose a pair of capri length running tights because shorts rolled up into my crotch and I liked the fit of running tights. A pullover jog bra from Title 9. Thick, blister-buster Nike socks. A pair of Skechers he'd found somewhere that had memory foam and were meant for trails. If I had a chance before he dragged me out, I'd ask whether we were running on trails or asphalt.
Cole came back for me so fast after I finished dressing I completely believed the room was under surveillance and did my best not to look around for the cameras right then.
"Ready?"
"Almost, sir."
That got both a nod and a look of annoyance. "Why?"
I asked about trails or city streets and he said trails, allowing me to choose my shoes. I laced them on and joined him.
The morning was dusty rose colored. The desert dirt was hardpan with a layer of soft tan dirt over it. The sun over distant Nevada mountains was still down, though the morning had lightened toward dawn and it was easy to see. The air was chill and I wished I'd grabbed one of the hoodies from the closet, but I'd warm up soon enough.
Cole walked us out from the compound far enough I got an idea how huge it was with multiple buildings, all of them the same desert tan as the landscape around us. The Las Vegas day was heating up as fast as he'd said, and I was grateful in no time that I didn't have a sweatshirt tied around my waist.
The bruises on my ass throbbed as I broke into a run behind Cole, and my hips, back and shoulders felt tight from all the resistance I'd been offering up last night, trying to shake off the pain and not let it hurt in the first place.
Cole ran easily, a natural, loose-limbed runner. I followed behind him, panting. Most of the time I was fairly steady and able to run but it was never what I was really good at. Martial arts were, and lifting, though I sucked at yoga and dreaded that part of his program.
Running, though, I lost my acclimation for right away and I was already dragging behind him and dropping farther and farther behind, wheezing. Finally Cole circled back and told me I could walk the remainder of the trial if I wanted.
Sensing a trap, I waited, stubbornly – and slowly – moving forward. He laughed finally, having run circles around me, and said, "Good decision. We would have broken your miles down into the number of feet and then had a discussion with you about the missing numbers.
Even out here in the warming desert I felt cold at that. It meant he was playing games like I had expected, and that there were traps in everything.
I'd do best to never, ever drop my guard.
