I’d stick my tongue out or flip him off, brimming with contempt. Mandy would jab me in the ribs with her elbow, and sometimes my mother would scold me for being rude.

Ha! Rude.

Wrapping my entire car in plastic before a life-changing job interview is fucking rude.

I try to ignore the sound of his voice and close my eyes, but I find the raspy melodies to be oddly calming. He’s singing one of my favorite songs—Hey Jude by The Beatles.

And somehow, despite the fear and uncertainty, despite the gravel digging into my thighs and the terror digging into my heart, I manage to fall asleep.

Chapter Three

“Wakey, wakey.”

I jolt awake, thinking that for one exquisite moment, it was all a dream.

A sick, horrible dream.

But the man is looming over me with breath that now reeks of tobacco and dirty socks, and his lips are curled up into a grotesque smirk.

I’m definitely in a nightmare, but it’s not one I’ll be waking up from any time soon—and it’s only just begun.

I slither back on the cool cement, the soles of my heels scuffing against the floor. I try to twist my way around the pole, as if he won’t be able to reach me somehow, but he yanks me by the hair and pulls me up to my feet. I shriek in protest, my scalp burning.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Dean shouts from the opposite corner.

I use the temporary distraction to knee the motherfucker in the balls. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging. The man howls in pain and releases my hair, then slaps me hard across the jaw with the back of his hand. The pain radiates through my entire head, and it feels like my brain might start oozing out of my ears.

“Silly little cunt,” the man barks, then spits at my face.

His saliva dribbles down my cheek and I almost puke.

“You’re a feisty little kitten, aren’t you?” he continues, plucking my chin between his fingers and forcing me to look at him.

I return the gesture and spit right back at him, watching it hit him in the eye. Then I brace myself for the inevitable punishment to follow.

The man freezes for a solid five seconds, completely blindsided by my actions. He wipes the spit from his eye, gawking at me, his expression unreadable.

And then he laughs.

He doubles over laughing, his voice squeaking and breaking, his butterball hands clasped around his knees. I glance over at Dean, who’s watching the scene with cautious interest, a frown etched between his eyes and his arms still tugging at his restraints.

“Kitten likes to play.”

The man lunges at me, tearing my dress straight down the middle.

God, no.

“You’ve been waiting to play with Earl, haven’t you?” he goads, his slimy hands palming my newly exposed breasts sheathed in a turquoise lace bra.