Page 57 of Love Sick
“Luna—”
But it’s too late. I saw it, and it’s something I will never forget, regardless of how many treatments of electric shock therapy Alanna gives me.
Dutch lets her go.
She coughs frantically, clutching her throat as she attempts to breathe. But she isn’t scared. She’s excited.
“I found this stowaway spying outside,” “Daddy” says.
None of this makes any sense, and I hate that the only people who can explain it are the people I want to throttle with my bare hands.
“You just can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”
“You bring out the best in me,” I quip, eyeing Alanna something wicked.
I can’t look at Dutch.
She laughs, but it’s hoarse, thanks to Dutch’s grip, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.
I may have forgotten some things, but I can recognize when a man wants a woman, and I saw that reflected in Dutch’s actions.
I feel sick.
“What are we going to do with her?” Daddy presses the gun deeper into my temple.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dutch screams, which only has Daddy tightening the grip on my throat.
I finally meet Dutch’s eyes and it’s apparent we both have come to the same realization—I’m his Achilles’ heel, which is why I’m still alive. And I’ve willingly walked into the lion’s den as prey.
Now that I’m here, they can do with us as they please because they know both Dutch and I will do anything to protect the other.
This is bad. Very bad.
“So you want to keep her?” Daddy asks Alanna like I’m a stray kitten he plucked off the street.
She nods with a sinister grin.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll take her cell and make sure the car she came in is disposed of. We don’t want anyone tracing us back to here. This is dangerous. Are you sure?”
“Yes, Daddy, I am very sure. This is going to be so much fun.”
“Yeah, it’ll be really fun when I slit your fucking throat, bitch.”
Daddy doesn’t appreciate me insulting his maybe daughter and pistol-whips me as a result. I instantly feel the warmth of my blood as it trickles down my face. But it only heartens the fire within me.
Daddy lets me go as he knows as well as everyone that I won’t run. I won’t scream. I won’t do anything in fear of the repercussions it may have for Dutch. And possibly Bobby.
“Strip,” Alanna orders, wishing to humiliate me.
But it’s going to take a lot more than that as I checked my modesty at the door the moment I was tied to that bed in Parkfields and made to use an incontinent pad instead of being able to use the bathroom.
The wet clothes stick to my body, so I am far from graceful, as I take off my sweater and toss it to the floor. I kick off my boots and the jeans soon follow until I’m standing in nothing but my underwear.
Alanna peers at them, hinting those are to be removed also. She won’t be satisfied until I’m completely humiliated, it seems.
But I used to be a stripper.
Taking off my clothes is how I made people do what I wanted, and I plan to exploit that as I bend down to slip off my underwear, giving Daddy a glorious view of my ass.