IDON’T WANT TO WEARthe fucking negligée. I want to roll it into a ball and set it on fire.
But I can’t do that. My face is still stinging from the slap Don gave me, and I have no doubt he’s capable of worse. Much worse. If I don’t put it on, he’ll probably cart me out there naked.
The outfit cups my breasts perfectly, creating impressive cleavage. It flares out from beneath the bust, but the material is almost transparent. The silky bow between my breasts holds the two sides of the negligée together. I hadn’t noticed when Don had first handed it to me, but it also comes with a ridiculously tiny thong, which I’ve also put on. I figure that some underwear is better than none.
Movement comes at the door again. “You can use the bathroom now.”
I grit my teeth. What am I supposed to do? Thank him?
My bladder wants to thank him, however. I’m so desperate now, it hurts, and it’s all I can do to stop myself hopping from foot to foot and squeezing my thighs together like a recently potty-trained toddler. I’d threaten to piss in the lingerie, but for all I know, Don and his friends might be into kinks like that.
The lock opens, and I burst out of the bedroom door and head straight to the bathroom without even giving Don a glance. It’s partly out of necessity, but also because I don’t want him ogling me in the outfit. I don’t want to see the hunger in his eyes or find out anything more about what waits for me. For the moment, at least, I’ll have a little privacy. The time I spend in the bathroom will delay what happens to me next.
As I’d discovered last night, there isn’t a lock on the door. I wish I could put something up against it, but there’s nothing I can use. Don can burst in here at any moment, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
My desperation counteracts any self-consciousness I might be experiencing, and I drop down onto the toilet with a groan of relief. I finish up and flush, and then linger at the sink to wash my hands and face and use the toothbrush that’s been provided for me. I rake my damp hands through my hair, trying to tame it into submission. There are red marks on my cheeks where he hit me, five stripes in the shapes of fingerprints. I note that no makeup has been provided for me. They want me bare-faced and young looking. Innocent.
But I’m far from innocent. Not anymore.
I can’t help my thoughts going back to the guys. They’re never far from my heart. I say their names over and over as though in prayer—Rafferty, Asher, Wilder, Brody. Yes, even Brody. Strangely, I find myself thinking of him the most, wondering how he’ll be feeling now I’m gone. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? I’m not on the island anymore. Maybe it didn’t happen quite as he’d planned, but the result is still the same.
Yet, somehow, I can’t imagine Brody is happy with what’s gone down, and not only because the others will be furious with him when—or if—they find out. Deep down, I’m hoping this will make him see how wrong he was and that he’ll now feel differently about my place on the island with them. It may be too late, though. If Don and whoever his friends are get to do whatever they want with me, the guys might not even want me back. I’ll be damaged. Defiled. The thought of putting their hands and mouths on me after Don has done God only knows what with me might disgust them.
That’s if I even live long enough for that to happen.
A knock comes at the door.
“Time’s up, Honor.”
He could just barge his way in here, if he wants, so I go to the door and open it. I haven’t heard anyone else arrive yet, but that doesn’t mean we’re still alone. I have the crazy idea that maybe whoever is coming to the house will be willing to help me, but I quickly quash it. First of all, the last time I tried to get someone to help me, it got that person killed. Secondly, the people coming here are like Don. They’re the predators, and I’m the prey.
There will be no help.
I draw a breath and open the bathroom door.