It’s too hard to think. Isaiah must have given me something for my mind to be this fuzzy.

I lay back on the bed, and my eyes close.

Closing my eyes is a bad idea, because that’s when the voices come and I see flashbacks of the faces of my past.

My dad’s grief before he ran off.

A knowing smile.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Mike. Mike Randolph.”

“I’m a pastor.”

The bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Goddess of wisdom?”

“I need you to trust me.”

The last breath of a woman who paid for her mistakes with her life.

“Not the police.”

The frightened whisper of a young girl who had no idea the evil that waited for her.

“Thank you.”

They surround me in my sleep, whispering of last chances and missed opportunities. They tell me it’s too late now and I’m never going to get out. I’m pressed into the bed and I feel the weight of the last ten years struggle to keep me there. It’s not really a fair fight with all of them against me.

“Wake up.” Someone slaps my face.

I think the suffocating memories of the past are preferable to the person beside the bed, and I try to sink back into sleep.

“Wake up.”

I crack one eye open when Isaiah slaps me again. “Go to hell.”

He laughs. “No doubt, but I have a feeling you’ll get there first.”

He’s binding me to the bed. I struggle, but I’m still weak, and he stops my protest with little effort.

“What the fuck did you drug me with?” I ask.

“Just a little something.”

It occurs to me I should keep him talking and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that men love talking about themselves. I bet he’s no different.

“Are you really a pastor?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? People think I am, that’s the important part.”

“But Mike knows?”

“Mike knows everything, why do you think I suddenly popped up in your life? He knew all about the soft spot Harris has for you.” A knowing grin covers his face. “Or had for you. Who do you think called him tonight and what do you think Mike did once your boyfriend showed up?”

It’s too horrible to think about. Harris can’t be dead. He can’t be. I brace myself against the rage and grief building within me, because I know if I give into it, I will succumb to hysterics. I take a deep breath. “Harris killed him.”

His laugh is cruel. “Unfortunately not. Mike sent me a text right before I came in here.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him and brings a knife up to my face. “No more questions. Keep talking, and I’ll cut your tongue out. Mike was way too lenient with you. Let you get away with too much.”

My entire body goes rigid at the sight of the knife because I have no doubt he’ll use it.

“There we go,” he says, obviously pleased with the fear in my eyes. “Since you’re nice and quiet, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. I have three buyers coming in a few hours and before they buy, they want a taste. That’s why I have you tied up. Have you ever had three men before? I bet you have. Filthy slut.” He runs the knife down my torso and positions the tip at my inner thigh. “You will do anything they want.”

I hear him talk through the fog in my brain. At the same time I’m going through the possible options to escape. I’m totally fucked if he keeps me tied up, but I’m not going to ask for anything with him holding the knife.

“Better get your rest now. You have a busy night tonight.” He stands up, and I think he’s leaving, but he turns back and sits down. “You better hope and pray one of them likes you enough to purchase you.” He takes the knife and holds it to my throat. “One way or another, you won’t be here tomorrow. Understand?”

I nod.

“Good.” He puts the knife on the table beside the bed and starts to undo his pants. “I’ve changed my mind. I think it’s only fair I take a trial run, don’t you think? See firsthand what I’m selling.”

I make up my mind. I’m not leaving this room alive. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone buy me. I faced this decision ten years ago, and I don’t have it in me for another ten. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy. I focus all my attention on my right hand. If I can get it undone, I’ll have a fighting chance.

Isaiah’s taken his pants off ,and I drop my eyes to his erection. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just go on back to sleep. I don't see anything here worth staying awake for.”

“Bitch, I’ll wipe that fucking smile off your face.”

“Yes, but you’ll still have a small dick.” I wasn’t sure what I was doing. If I could somehow get my hand on that knife....

But how, with my hands tied? I twist and wiggle my right hand. I think maybe the rope gives a little.

Above me, his eyes grow murderous. He grabs my face with one hand and holds the knife in the other. “What did I tell you about that mouth? Let’s see how sassy you can be when I’m finished with it.”

I grit my teeth. No way is he getting near my mouth with that knife. I’m just buying time, trying to wear him down, until I can get my hand free. I contort my wrist this way and that. Yes The rope is looser, I just need more time.

A loud crash comes from somewhere above us, and Isaiah freezes. “They’re early. Shit.” He puts the knife down on the table and straightens his pants.

Damn, the knife is further away. I’d worry about that next. For now, I needed to get my hand free. I pull as hard as I can, but the rope doesn’t budge. Fuck. I’ve got to get at least one limb free before those men get here.

Someone’s pounding on the door. “Open up! Police!”

My heart leaps to my chest, not because it’s the police, but because I recognize the voice and he’s not dead.

Unfortunately, Isaiah recognizes it as well and moves fast. When Harris busts through the door, gun raised, Isaiah’s on the bed. And the knife is at my throat once more.

Chapter Twenty

“Game’s up, Martin. Drop it.” Harris has the gun pointed at us both. “Besides, haven’t you heard what happens when you bring a knife to a gun fight?”

Isaiah is frighteningly calm. “I’m not fighting, though. I’m simply going to cut your whore’s throat if you don’t turn around and leave.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then her blood is on your hands.”

Harris is still standing with his gun drawn, and he can’t do anything because I’m too close to Isaiah. I catch Harris’s eyes and I try to silently tell him how sorry I am. For everything. The knife is pressing deeper into my skin, I feel  a trickle of something that’s probably blood.

I twist my right hand again and give it a tug. Isaiah thinks I’m struggling with him and doesn't look at my hands. I wiggle my left fingers to get Harris’s attention. His eyes flicker to me and I hold up five fingers, then four. Isaiah’s watching the knife. Three. Harris nods, understanding something was happening at one. Two. I take a deep breath. One.

I pull with all my strength and my right hand is free. I use the few seconds Isaiah is rendered shocked to push the knife away from me. Harris takes his cue and restrains Isaiah.

“Damn, bitch.” Isaiah is spewing curses, but he’s no longer a threat. Harris waves another officer inside the room to deal with him. Then, with a face void of expression, he turns to me.

Without talking, he drapes a blanket over me that someone has passed him, and begins to untie the rest of my limbs.

“How’s your throat?” he asks.

I put a hand up to check and there’s blood, but not much. “I’m good. It’ll stop in a minute.”

He presses a cloth to it.

“Harris, I wanted —”

His finger on my lips stops me from saying anything further. “Shh, not right now. Later. Let’s get you somewhere safe where you can be checked out.”

“I don’t want to go back to the hospital.”