The House Without A Key: A twisted, suspenseful thriller by Marin Montgomery

Author:Marin Montgomery [Montgomery, Marin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wilted Lilly L.L.C.
Published: 2019-10-07T22:00:00+00:00

21

Allegra

“Will you at least tell me something?” I consider the top of his head as he focuses on his cell.

“What?”

“Do they know I’m here yet?”

“Who?” Muscleman is distracted with his phone, his eyes glued to the screen. He’s playing a game of some sort, and since he warned me about keeping the thin shower curtain open, it’s in view.

I’m able to glimpse the time. It’s after seven pm.

“My parents.”

“Of course.”

“Then why am I still here?”

“You’d have to ask them.”

“Certainly,” I reach my dripping hand out of the shower. “Can I make a call?”

He smacks my hand away with a glare. “Time to get out.” I shut the water off and wait for him to throw me a threadbare towel to dry off with. He doesn’t leer at my body but keeps his head down.

My wet hair drips water droplets down my back, and I uncontrollably shiver, from fear or cold, it’s hard to say. My spine tenses as he runs a hand down it. “You’re freezing.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

Handing me a thin robe from the back of the door, he motions for me to put it on. A pair of nondescript flip-flops are underneath it. “Try these on. I think they might be the right size.” He shrugs. “They used to belong to Olive, except she’s no longer with us.”

I can tell he wants a reaction out of me, so I stay silent.

“Are you ready?”

Ready for what, I want to scream.

Instead, I say, “Yes, sir.” My half-closed lids burn from a lack of sleep and the steam of the shower. My body has been in a constant state of fight or flight, and I can feel the adrenaline starting to subside, at least for the moment.

“Grab your belongings.”

I tilt my head.

“The plastic bag. That’s yours to take.”

I’m tempted to respond with a sarcastic, “Oh, how kind,” but I doubt it will be well-received. Biting my lip, I towel off the razor and shaving cream can and replace them in the bag.

I watch him stand behind me in the mirror, both of our faces and bodies blurred by the fog, and I lower my head, grateful I can’t stare at my own reflection right now.

“You need a brush,” he remarks, catching his hand in my tangled, wet hair. “They’ll have one at the house.” I’m against using other people’s hair tools but realize this hardly matters anymore. If you’re willing to run a prostitution ring, I doubt you give a shit about lice.

“Let’s go,” he yanks my wrist in command.

I assume the fabric hood will go back over my head to keep me from seeing where we’re headed. Surprised when it doesn’t, he leads me farther down the hall to a back door, a window shade tilted precariously off of it.

His hands move deftly over a deadbolt and another three locks beneath it. He’s done this a million times, hasn’t he? I gulp as I consider the answer.

“The sister-wives’ house is across the road.” He grabs my elbow and leads me out into the dusk.

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