Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(9)

Darla gives me eye contact for the first time, and her gaze is full of hate. Before I can react, she jumps up from the couch. I move without thinking and grab her wrist to stop her from fleeing. Her panicked crying startles the living shit out of me.

"Whoa," I say, letting go of her. "Don't freak."

Standing somehow straight, yet seeming in a fetal position, Darla hides right before me. Whimpering behind a curtain of her hair, she shakes in terror.

I take a deep breath and remember her file. The doctors were vague on the specifics of her time with Locke, but I got the gist.

"You can run back to your room. Or you can remember that I'm the nice man who made you popcorn."

Darla doesn't move, but her crying softens. I feel the urge to react, to move towards the problem rather than away from it.

"I'm going to sit down and watch the game," I murmur as if talking to a lover. "I'll keep my eyes on the batter while you decide if you want to be alone in your room or hang out here with me."

Despite my nature, I force my ass back in the chair and stare at the TV. The need to control this situation - to control Darla really - is killing me. After all, I know what's best, and she's ridiculous to disagree.

This was why Minka and I got together years ago. I am an * who pushes people around. She is a bitch who never let me give her grief. Minka is the only woman capable of dealing with my shit. The problem was we couldn't seem to fall in love. I thought of her as a sexy pal rather than a real woman. No amount of f*cking could make me view her as a woman.

Darla is nothing like Minka. Though her hateful glare does remind me of my ex's temper. All soft and curvy with too many feelings right on the surface, Darla is the kind of woman I avoid.

I don't know how she stands in the same place for so long, but Darla doesn't move for nearly fifteen minutes. Her crying stops first. The whimpering ends next. Finally, she's a silent creature unable to run, yet unwilling to sit down. Realizing she's clearly stuck, I get the urge to help her make the decision.

Holding my tongue, I pretend to give a shit about the game. The score isn't even close, but I lean forward as if gripped by the action. My face is stony, showing her none of the edginess I feel. I keep my gaze stuck on the TV, only stealing glances at her occasionally. Each time, I hope she'll move. Forward or back doesn't matter at this point. I just want her to do something.





7


~~~

Darla

No Right Answer

Locke always gave me choices. Choose correctly, and I was allowed to eat what he wanted or wear what he picked out. Choose incorrectly, and I was punished. Often the choices weren't clear. Picking between two salads to prove I knew which one Locke preferred. If I were his Rose, I should know the right answer. If I weren't his Rose, I required more help remembering.

The fear of punishment paralyzed me until I became unable to choose. I'd only stare at the two ties or peanuts or whatever insane test he put before me. Unable to choose, I'd freeze because no answer was right and every choice led to punishment. When I couldn't act, he sent me to my room to think it over.

"I'm a patient man, Rose," Locke told me a million times.

His patience always came at a cost, though. The only way to be truly free was to dig deep enough into my mind that nothing felt real anymore. I was in a darkness where the pain was no more than a dull ache. Fear became diluted too. When Locke's gaze focused on me, I didn't squirm under the chill of his obscene needs. Hidden in my mind, I felt freer than I'd ever been.

Now Troy offers me choices, and he demands I know the correct answer. Like Locke, he pretends to be a calm man, but I feel his need for me to respond appropriately. Understanding his needs and accepting his demands, Troy just wants me to f*cking behave.

I don't know if I should return to my room or remain with Troy. I can't decide what the right answer is. What happens if I make the wrong choice? What if the decision isn't truly mine? What if Troy's testing me like Locke did a million times?

Stuck between imagining myself in the bedroom and back on the couch, I can't move. I don't even know how long I stand next to the couch. A minute? An hour? Time means nothing when I fade into my mind. Weeks flew by with Locke, leaving me surprised by the changing season.

Free now, I need to dig my way back out. Yet my skin crawls from Troy's touch and the heat of sweating so much for so long. In my mind, I hear Shelley's voice telling me how Vern hired these professional killers to protect us. Keep it on the DL, she said. No one needs to know they're criminals, but this security team is the real deal. Lie, cheat, steal, and kill, they'll do whatever necessary to get the job done.

I promise myself Troy is not Locke. He is not my enemy or jailer. I have power in this situation. No choice is wrong. None of them will lead to punishment. Yet the fog drowns out my common sense. I can't find my way back to this place with this man.

I stare at Troy through my blonde hair. He has blond hair too. I focus on the strands covering his forehead. A few flutter in the air blowing from the air conditioning vent above him. I study the way his dark lashes look against his bronzed skin whenever he blinks. His blue eyes flicker towards me occasionally. My gaze takes in his perfectly straight nose and sharp chin. He's flawless except for a white scar across this throat.

I focus on his hands. Passivity from an aggressive man, they're so still on his lap. I'm fascinated by how calm he looks. He lies so well. I sense he's edgy, but I have no proof to what he's really feeling. So rather than choosing between staying and going, I consider his struggle.