off a man’s dick. I’m still not convinced I did that, but I’m no murderer.
“I see.” I bow my head and try not to swallow my tongue as the next words leave my lips. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
Modesty between us in this small space does not exist. He forces me to use the lavatory with the door open and leaves it open when he’s taking a piss. The only time he closes the door is if he’s taking a dump, jerking off, or using the shower.
I have not been provided that luxury, not the jerking off thing. Gross! I meant the shower. I’m still finding Santa Monica sand in very private places. That stuff is persistent. Those tiny grains are the bane of my existence. Well, next to the whole captured and transported to be a sex-slave thing—again.
This is Strike Two!
Bossman tosses his shirt on the lower bunk, then peels out of his shorts. His naked ass doesn’t interest me, except in determining how to take him down. No way am I going for the dick biting thing. Bossman gets props for being well-endowed, and he’s proud of his monster cock.
I think I’ve got things figured out. There will be only one chance to get this right.
He surprises me when he leaves the door to the bathroom open. My gaze follows and my breath hitches when he stops in front of the small shower enclosure. It’s basically a coffin standing up on edge. There’s no real way to turn around inside of it. He slides open the door and turns the water to hot, but that’s not what really surprises me.
I gasp when he grabs the root of his cock. He, in turn, grins like a motherfucker. The man won’t touch me, but he wants me to watch.
Revulsion rips through me.
He’s jerking himself off because of what I said.
But I’m ready.
It’s now or never.
Seven
Moira
Okay, worst case scenario?
I mess this up and he kills me.
Best case scenario, I take him out.
I may, or may not, survive. In all honesty, if I die, is that really a major loss? My life hasn’t exactly been useful. It’s not like I’m Forest Summers with his Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists out rescuing stolen people, or his sister, Skye Summers, who literally saves lives for a living. I haven’t made a difference in other people’s lives like they have.
If I die tonight, nobody will mourn my passing. I have no mother. She OD’d riding the lethal high of whatever substance she injected in her veins. My father walked away. Or ran. He probably ran from the waste of human flesh my mother was. My foster parents probably had high aspirations for the poor, wretched child they took in. Little did they know I was damaged goods.
It’s not my fault foster daddy dipped his dick in my unwilling flesh. And it’s not my fault foster mommy blamed me and then kicked me out. None of it is my fault.
But all of it is my burden to bear. Honestly, it’s not fair. Mom, dad, foster dad, and foster mom, they can all screw themselves. Not that they care. Not that I matter. As for me, I’m going to take control of my existence on this wretched planet. That begins with ending Bossman’s putrid life.
I’m not ready to say murder, although that’s my intent.
I’m going to kill Bossman.
That’s the truth I shy away from. In this shitty life, I’ve been pushed to this place. I’m going to take a life or lose mine. Either way, I lose. I’ll have to live with the burden of—the burden of—the burden of what? Putting a monster in the ground?
For the past three days, it’s all I’ve thought about.
Kill or be killed.
You know, I deserve a medal. The idea of taking a life is taking a toll on me, and to be completely honest, I’m pissed. Why should I care about Bossman when he doesn’t care about me?
I’m going to kill him.
There are no ifs, ands, or buts. One of us is going to die. I don’t want that person to be me. So, that means I need to kill him.
I’m the victim. Right?
I am the victim.
I feel like if I say it with enough conviction, the Choir of Angels will take notice and agree.
I repeat this again and again. As if saying it makes it so.
I am the victim!
Cue dramatic movie score.
Yeah, I hear the static.
Does it matter? My excuses? Do they justify my actions?
There’s nobody to ask. Like,