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I’ve always been stubborn, but I’ve never been quite as bullheaded as I am when I’m going against Kane. He brings it out of me. The more he tries to break me down, the more I refuse to let him. Even if he breaks me on the inside, I’ll never show it to him. I’ll die with a smile on my face before I give him a glimpse of my discomfort. He’ll have to do worse than what he’s tried so far if he wants to break someone who’s already used to bending.
My stomach churns with each bite I take, but I clean my plate. There’s no telling when I’ll be treated to another meal like this. We’re almost in Tennessee now, and I don’t know if he’ll drive straight on to Texas from here. Part of me hopes so. The sooner we get to Texas, the closer I am to making my way back to New York.
Thoughts of my parents burrow into my chest and squeeze my heart. These aren’t fond thoughts. Fear shrouds my brain. Telling them what I’ve done—leaving college and becoming a sex worker—isn’t possible, but I don’t know how to explain what I’ve been through. Even if I figure out what to say, they won’t hear it. And if my father has been drinking?—
“I’m going to go pay,” he says, his eyes narrowing on me. “Cut what’s left of my steak into small pieces and wrap it in a napkin.”
I clear my throat and nod as he eases out of the booth. Once I’ve done as he asked and packed the leftover meat into the napkin, I turn to look at him. He stands at the register, locked in a conversation with the waitress. I could make a run for it, but I probably wouldn’t make it across the diner before he stopped me, and something tells me the waitress wouldn’t believe anything that would cast her little crush in a bad light.
If I wanted to escape, I should have said something at the inspection site. So what does that say about me? Do I really plan to stick with these guys until my fate is revealed? Because I’m still not sure what happens at the end of the line. He could kill me. He could drive me to New York.
Neither option appeals to me.
With a deep sigh, I slide out of the booth. “Let’s go...Daddy,” I say as I come up behind him.
He fakes a smile, takes the napkin, and stuffs it into his pocket, then wraps an arm around me. His muscles tense as our bodies make contact, which tells me he’s not used to close human interaction.
“Come on, sweetie,” he says, and it’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever heard leave a man’s lips. He isn’t meant to say nice fucking things. That much is clear.
He keeps up the act as we walk outside, but his lips tighten and he releases me a few steps onto the asphalt. As he lifts his shoe, a trail of gum tethers him to the concrete.
“Son of a bitch.” His gait changes as he guides me to the truck by my hair. Once we’re inside, he throws me onto the floor, sits in the driver’s seat, and kicks his feet out in front of him. “Clean my boots,” he commands.
Jesus fucking Christ. This guy.
I don’t move at first. I just stare up at him. He can’t be serious.
“Crawl to me and lick my boots clean. If I have to say it again, I’ll shove my boot down your goddamn throat.”
I crawl over to him. Just do it, I pep-talk myself.
He picks up the boot that doesn’t have the gum on it and steps on my neck, pushing me to the ground as he grinds the leather sole into my throat. He puts the other boot by my mouth, and I force out my tongue to lick the side of his shoe. The rich scents of leather and polish rush toward my nose. It tastes how it smells, like a natural musk.
His boot hovers over my face as he pulls it back a few inches and releases the other boot from my neck. A glob of blue gum sticks to the bottom. I try not to think about the mouth who chewed this gum. I try not to think about the pavement it was stuck to and all the feet that walked across it. I just arch my neck, lift my mouth to the gum, and rip it from the rubber. It spreads into thin strings, but it eventually lets go and lands on my tongue. A very subtle mint flavor lingers in the glob, and an earthy note from the ground follows it.
I refuse to gag. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Chew it and swallow it,” he says as he leans back.
“You don’t want me to blow a bubble too?”
I roll my eyes and do as I’m told. He reaches down, and I cock my head at him before he shakes his wrist, encouraging me to take his hand. Stunned, I allow him to help me to my feet.
He leans closer, and his breath rushes over my ear. “I got the tattoo. I like when you bitches call me daddy.”
For some reason, I don’t believe him. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit that someone like Tobin has more control over what’s on his body than he does.
Kane whistles for Pup, and she leaps off the bed, trots to his side, and sits obediently at his feet. Her tail thumps against the floor as he pulls the napkin from his pocket and feeds her his leftovers.
“Good girl,” he whispers, trying to keep me from hearing his momentary softness. But I definitely heard it, and I can’t pretend I’m not running those gentle words through my mind now.
Good girl.
Kane kicks off his now-clean boots and drags me toward the bed. He pushes me onto the mattress, and I think Tobin has taken over. He still looks like Kane, though. The mannerisms, the way he moves. Then he speaks, and I’m sure he’s still Kane.
“Time for bed, dropout,” he says as he unbuttons his shirt. I’d be worried he was going to force himself on me if he didn’t look so repulsed by our close proximity.
“We’re sleeping in bed together?” I ask, surprised.
