The chest-of-drawers contained panties and bras that I recognized as my own. Lovely...a goddamn underwear thief. Fortunately, I had woken up in my clothes, so I didn't have to deal with the mental image of my kidnapper undressing me while I was unconscious.
The armoire stood open to reveal a single yellow sundress. It wasn't mine, and I tried not to think too hard about the fact that it seemed my size. If he expects me to wear that, he can fucking choke on it.
As I searched the room, my memories of last night came trickling back. I'd managed to kick Grey out of our life, but not out of my mind. Conflicted and miserable, with a massive amount of pent-up sexual frustration, I had slogged through my dance routines, just trying to survive until the end of the evening. And the customers could tell I was phoning it in. At least, one customer could.
Brant had come up to the stage to ask me what was wrong. Normally I'd remind him to buy a lap dance if he wanted one-on-one time, but I didn't have the emotional energy to handle him gracefully. So I had let Bruce tell him off and show him back to his table. But Brant couldn't seem to keep his ass in his seat. He kept walking up, over and over, as if he didn't notice me ignoring him. When he'd reached out to rest his hand on my ankle, Bruce had tossed him out into the parking lot.
But he still couldn't take the hint. After my shift finally ended, I'd trudged out to my car, only to almost run face-first into Brant.
“Let me help you, Finley,” he had pleaded. “I just want to be there for you.”
Rubbing my forehead, I'd squinted at him through the sickly glow of the sodium lamps. “Have you been standing out here all night?”
“Of course. That's what you do when you love someone.”
That was when I'd snapped. Everything hurt so bad—my feet, my back, my heart—and I just couldn't take anymore. Night after night, I'd gritted my teeth and smiled through Brant's bullshit. I'd shaken my ass in high heels when I was so tired I could barely think straight. I’d worked entire nights without even earning my house fee. I'd eaten thousands of ramen cups and PB&J sandwiches. I'd paid my bills in wadded-up singles while the bank tellers whispered and pointed at me. I'd chased Grey away forever. I'd been such a good girl for so long, and what did I have to show for it? Where had it gotten me? Trapped in a parking lot at two in the morning with a delusional moron. His big tips couldn't buy another second of my patience.
Staring Brant square in the eye, I'd snapped, “What the hell are you talking about? You don't love me. You don't even know me. And I sure as hell don't love you.”
He'd blinked several times in quick succession, as if I'd suddenly sprouted a second head. “But...I don't understand,” he'd squeaked. “What do you mean? I've always thought you were so perfect, and you're always so nice to me...”
“That's called customer service, Brant. Do you think the girl who makes your coffee wants your dick, too?” With that, I turned on my heel and left him.
Brant had just watched, stunned, as I got into my car and drove away. I didn't give a fuck. All I could think about was food, sleep...and Grey. I'd been so distracted, it was a miracle I hadn't gotten in a car wreck. I'd walked to my door and was flipping through my keys. Then a figure in the darkness, hands digging into me, a sickly sweet smell, thrashing and kicking and biting and suddenly falling, falling...
I froze, my hands buried in a mound of spare linens. Brant. Suddenly everything clicked. He must have followed me home and chloroformed me. He'd made no secret of being obsessed with me...but I had never dreamed he'd take it this far. I bit my lip, holding back a wave of tears and nausea.
Despite how close I felt to a nervous breakdown, I gave a very quiet cheer when I found my purse in the very back of the vanity's bottom drawer. I'd just assumed that Brant would confiscate all my stuff. He was either incredibly confident or incredibly stupid. I eagerly dumped out my purse on the bed and clawed through the pile. This nightmare would all be over as soon as I found my phone.
Two minutes later, my heart had sunk back into my roiling stomach. Brant had thought of taking everything vital. My phone, wallet, and keys were gone. There was only one thing I could put to any use: Grey's business card. I'd shoved it into the hidden zippered pocket of my purse, crumpling and dirtying the cardstock, unknowingly saving it from Brant's attention. I didn't even know why I'd kept it at all, at that time Grey was the last person I wanted to call.
But now he was the first person I wanted to call. If I called the police, Brant could shoot first and ask questions later—leaving me alone again, this time with a pissed-off madman. He'd already managed to overpower me once, so who knew what he was capable of? No, I needed someone with stealth as well as strength. Someone who could get in, get the job done, and get out before Brant even knew we were missing.
I memorized the contact number on the card and tucked it away again. There had to be a phone somewhere in this godforsaken house.
Just as I'd stashed my purse back in the drawer, the doorknob turned. My heart jumped into my throat. I quickly sat back on the bed and tried to look innocent.
The door cracked and Brant's beady eye peeked through. At the sight of me, he smiled and let himself in. “I see someone's awake,” he said. His tone was gently teasing, as if he'd found me sleeping late on a Sunday morning.
“Where am I?” I asked, trying not to let my voice tremble.