Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 62- Callie

Resuming yesterday's interrupted cleaning keeps me out of Colt's way and my anger simmering. I attack every spot and dust bunny with a viciousness worthy of a coked-out housewife. Taking out my frustrations on the stubborn stains of unknown origin, I quietly try to keep track of Colt's movements, looking for some kind of routine that I can take advantage of. As content as he seems with my actions, he doesn't give me too much alone time, checking in on me frequently to offer notes or praise on my progress.

Lunch is a mindless affair of salad for me and a sandwich he oh so graciously allowed me to make him, sans even a butter knife. I needed to keep an eye on my figure, he pointed out when I tried to make myself a sandwich as well. The urge to imagine each piece of lettuce as his eyes and stab them as I eat rides me strong and I just barely resist. The smile I tried so hard to maintain is fickle, there one minute and gone the rest, but I'm coming to the realization this version of Colt doesn't so much care about the picture I present anymore. He's more focused on the idea of possession.

His touches are light, but increasingly frequent as the day goes on. A brush against my shoulders here, a twirl turned sharp little tug of my hair there. Each time I feel it infect me like some slimy, dark ooze coating my skin in his filth. I only just tolerated sleeping beside him last night and I clearly can't trust my subconscious from calling out for my guys. My skin still aches at the evidence of my misstep. I can't risk another night with him.

What I would do if I escaped is a whole other issue. To most calling the cops would be obvious, but I've tried that route before. It resulted in a broken arm and an elaborate story about wakeboarding on the lake gone wrong. I didn't bother trying again.

The weather outside reflects my forlorn attitude. The slightly overcast view outside the window swiftly changing to a blustery, shadowy haze that comes just before a torrential rain. The air carries a different weight that pressures a person to just lie down and take a nap, that everything will be fine in the morning. My eyes feel hooded and lazy and the urge to curl up with a good book is right there, if I was at home. Instead I watch the lazy, lethal way Colt eyes me up and down, my legs on full display in the dress he had me wear. I can only remain so unaffected as he licks his lips in a way I'm sure he means to be inviting. It's about as effective on me as it is when the snake tries it on the unsuspecting mouse.

The energy in the cabin feels charged, most likely an effect of the upcoming storm. I find myself praying so hard for some kind of sign, I'm half convinced I caught a glimpse of God's cream-colored mask in the window. A blink and it's gone.

Real or imagined, the hope is short-lived. Colt has taken to directly supervising my efforts, phone in hand, and his handgun strapped onto his holster. It had been empty earlier and I curse myself for not noticing him grab it. Had it been in the house the whole time? I had been so focused on staying out of his path, I had missed a prime opportunity. Doubtful I will get another. He'll never let me get close enough. Holster, safety, and shoot. Three steps and that's just with the assumption that he keeps it loaded. It could just be a threat, as much a weapon in his hand loaded as it is unloaded as the lump buried in my hair could attest.

The cabin is close to gleaming. I could eat off of every surface and know it was likely cleaner than the dishes. I tried to clean those, but Colt informed me that he had taken care of that before I had arrived. Arrived, I huffed a bitter laugh at the word, like I was just some guest who could leave at any time. Oh, Colt and his wonderful way with words. It had seemed endearing and sweet when we had been teens. He had wooed me with his masterful prose, convinced me of his adoration, and seduced me away with whispered words of forever and always. Once upon a time, I fell for it. Fortunately, enough for me time and distance had granted me maturity and clarity to see him for the charlatan he was. Not that it was helpful now. Seeing the monster I was trapped with didn't erase the fact that I was still trapped. I could see the teeth as they dripped with hunger, but not a way out. Not yet.

"The cabin looks wonderful Calista. Truly unrecognizable," he praises. Coming from any of the guys in the bunker, I would be preening. Intrusive thoughts will me to destroy it all. Stain the fabric, rip the curtains, and toss the nearest lamp through the window. A deep breath and those thoughts settle. Besides, the lamps are damn near bolted down. I already tested while I dusted. All my cleaning has been a thorough investigation into weaknesses and I've come up with zilch.

The windows don't scratch, not like any glass I'm familiar with. The furniture doesn't move, any of it. I could probably wrestle the curtains down, but not before I was discovered and subdued. His recent attachment to his phone makes me question whether I could get far without cameras picking up my movements. Knowing him, they're not just on the house. As long I I've been watching behind my back, he's been preparing to have me back beneath his thumb.

"Thank you," I dip my head. "Are you hungry? I'm famished after getting this place straightened up. I could make you a drink," I offer.

His eyes roam over my face, for what I'm not sure, but he appears pleased by what he finds. "Two fingers of bourbon, top right cabinet. Light ice."

I nod quickly, moving toward the kitchen to grab his drink when he snags me around the waist, pulling me down into his lap. I tense before I allow myself to pretend the lightly padded stomach behind me belongs to, I recall the face I imagined while I was cleaning, God and relax. His hand pulls me in closer until his desire is unmistakable and force myself to imagine a different lap, my resistance dropping. His nose trails along my neck, inhaling the floral scent he provided and the cleaning chemicals I've surrounded myself in for the past however many hours. All I can do is allow it. I have to, for any future chance at freedom.

His kiss, gentle as it may be, scalds me worse than the coffee he flung at me. I am allowing him to touch me, something I swore to myself three years ago I would never do again. Breaking that promise to myself cuts as deeply as Rave's betrayal, worse because he owed me nothing.

"I love the way you taste on my tongue Doll, like mine." Another kiss. Another cut on my soul. "I can't wait to show you how much I've missed you," he caresses my chest, softly at first, before he digs his fingers in to my breast, twisting until I wince at the pain, unable to stop myself from squirming away. "I'll erase any other man who has touched what is mine Calista," he whispers in my ear. The hand around my waist slides down to grip my thigh, tightly until I'm sure there will be a mark there as well as my chest. "Understand?"

I'm unable to hold back the tears welling in my eyes as they spill down my face silently. I nod mutely.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch that. I asked if you understood me Calista. I expect to hear you answer me," he squeezes at me harder to the point that I let out a squeak at the pain.

"Yes Colt. I understand," I whisper.

He releases my thigh and my chest, gives each a sound pat that stings further, and smooshes my cheeks together till my teeth dig in to the sides. "Good girl," he says, with a solid bite to my ear. Marking me like a prized heifer.

I stand on shaking legs and continue on to the kitchen where I proceed to pour his drink, light on the ice, and march it back to him. "That's perfect Doll. You can get started on dinner if you'd like. Perhaps spaghetti and meatballs with side salad. You can find the ingredients in the pantry and fridge. I stocked up on all of our favorites ahead of time. Didn't want to waste a second of time together," he tells me. Aware or not, each word lands like nails in my coffin.

I nod like I'm not screaming inside, the tear streaks drying on my face, the salt stinging against the blistering burns as I drift back to the kitchen. The swirling mass of grey and black sky reflecting my despondent situation. Reality staring me in the face, my reflection in the window over the sink depressing enough that I can barely stomach looking at her.

A flash of lightning in the distance illuminates the mass of trees surrounding the kitchen, the lake invisible through the sheets of rain starting to come down.

The lightning shows it all, including the four masked men standing in the woods.