After Our Kiss Read online

  I leaned a hair closer, as much as I could. Information was better than food and I was starving. “What's stopping us?”

  He looked at the ceiling, perhaps wondering if it was a bad idea to tell me more. Were we really on the same side? Could he be an ally? “This house is in the middle of nowhere. There's no one around for miles. Dad has the only car, he keeps it locked up in the garage, and Lonnie is always watching.”

  “Lonnie?”

  “My younger brother.” His arm fell to his side. “He worships our father. He'll make sure no one escapes. Georgia, the best we can hope for is to keep my father from harming you. If you don't do anything stupid—” He stopped himself, recognizing that what he was saying was ridiculously offensive.

  I kept my expression steady. “Okay. If we need time, then let's create time.” I swallowed, wanting my voice to come out with levity on the next word. “Conway.” It worked. His name from my tongue made the boy lock up and stare at me. “Tell me how to stay alive.”

  - Chapter Two -

  Georgia Mary King

  Most of my fluid existence was spent in that room.

  Facile kept the lights off at all times. I wasn't given much food, and water came only when it was absolutely necessary. It was frightening how he knew the exact edge to balance me on, keeping me weak but alive. I wouldn't starve to death, I wouldn't dehydrate; he'd always come at the last moment to hand-feed me some oatmeal or dribble water onto my parched lips.

  After the first month, I wished he would kill me.

  I only knew a month had passed because Conway told me. It could have been night or day, but as I was lying there in the sweat stained bed, reeking of my own staleness, a crack of light came through the door. It was brief—open, then shut.

  Conway's voice whispered beside my ear. “I brought you something.”

  Pathetically, I sobbed. “Let me go, please, just get me out of here.”

  His hand cupped my cheek, his touch made warmer by my blind senses. The edge of something hard perched on my mouth. “Drink,” he told me. “You need calories. Dad hasn't fed you much in four weeks. He's acting more insane than usual.”

  Carefully I swallowed; it wasn't just water, it was sugary lemonade. Gulping greedily, I took in too much. I struggled to sit up as I choked. Conway couldn't help me with the straps keeping me down; I sensed his panic, it rivaled my own as I worked to get oxygen into my fluid filled lungs.

  For the first time since I'd awoke in this place, my wrists were freed.

  Conway forced me into a sitting position. He rubbed my back as I hacked. Sucking in air, I listened to his calming voice, rocked into his kind touch. In the blackness I could pretend, for just a moment, that I wasn't a prisoner.

  I rubbed the raw skin on my inner arms and hissed.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, tracing his hands down my naked shoulders until he touched my sore spots. I jerked in pain, and when I did, he growled. “I hate that asshole so much. I'll bring some antiseptic next time to make sure these don't get infected.”

  “Wait,” I gasped, pushing at him, reaching for my ankles. “Untie me! You can get me out of here!”

  “No, not yet. It's not safe yet.” He fumbled for my fingers. I knew he was going to tie me back up but when I yanked at him, my muscles were as useful as overcooked spaghetti. “Don't, Georgia, please.” He guided me down onto the mattress. “He'll know. I have to put the straps on again.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks. I tasted the salt, shaking as I began to cry. “Four weeks?” I asked softly. “That's how long it's been? I'm never getting out of here. You're letting me die in this bed.” Mom, I'm so sorry. I don't want to leave you alone. I don't know what to do.

  He froze where he was clasping my wrists. His fingers drifted down my sensitive skin until they vanished. “I won't let you die here. It's okay if I don't tie you back up, for now. Dad won't check on you until morning. We have some hours.”

  So it's the middle of the night. Knowing how long I'd been here, what time it was, it gave me something to grab at. The ground was under my feet again. I can live through this. Conway wasn't my enemy. He wanted to help me.

  If I was stupid to believe in him... so be it.

  What else did I have to grasp in the dark but naive hope?

  His body rested beside mine. I could move my arms, but I was hesitant. Freedom was funny after such a long time without it. Warily, I pulled my hands down to my sides. As I moved, my elbow bumped something firm and hot—Conway's hip. “Sorry,” I said quickly, “I can't see at all.”

  He tensed up. “It's okay. I... don't worry.”

  I waited, but when he said no more, I brought my hands to my face. Exploring my skin, I traced the contour of my cheeks, the bridge of my nose. I wanted to make sure I was still here- all of me.

  Down I moved, feeling my collarbone and my ribs. Those were more notable than they'd ever been. I'd lost a ton of weight. “Is there more lemonade?” I asked eagerly. Conway handed me the bottle. Sitting up again, I hunched over my knees and drank until I was sucking the drops from the rim. Fuck, it burned so good in my throat. The sugar gave my brain the energy it needed to function again. “Why is he starving me? Why torture me and not...”

  I didn't want to say the word. It had been on my mind since day one—the harshly whispered fear that all parents warn their daughters against.

  Why hadn't Facile raped me?

  Conway was quiet. I knew he'd picked up my meaning. Cloth scraped; he'd shifted on the bed. Was he wearing jeans? I tried to picture it, resisting the urge to reach out and know for sure. “Dad wants you to be pliable. If you're weak, hungry, he can make you do what he wants. He can reward you.”

  “Like I'm a hungry dog,” I scoffed. It was disgusting.

  “Exactly like that.”

  Turning the bottle in my hands, I considered my next question. “Thank you for this. Will you... come back and bring me more?”

  He moved again, his body taking up enough of the mattress that he rubbed against my thigh. I twitched, putting my hand down nervously—it landed on top of his. Those fingers were thick with strength a teenager shouldn't have. I wanted to believe it was caused by something innocent like yard work.

  Conway didn't pull away.

  I did.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, clasping my hands in my lap.

  “Don't be.” His voice was creamy enough that I could have rubbed it into my skin or coated it on my tongue. This hot beacon inside of me was new—it flared at the richness that Conway brought to my world. “I'll bring you food when I can. It's the least I can do.”

  ****

  On month number three, he didn't just bring food.

  He brought me a book.

  Flicking on a small flashlight, Conway exposed the pages to us both. “It's The Call of the Wild,” he said.

  I knew the book. I'd read it before, but I grabbed it like I'd never seen such a treasure. A book was something to do. I'd been craving mental stimulation.

  Together we read, and quickly, I learned that Conway loved books as much as I did- maybe more. He knew this one by heart. In the hours when we were alone and I was untied, we huddled in the single beam of light, moths drawn to a flame, and we read about a cold wilderness that was more appealing than my prison.

  Sometimes, we sat on the floor. Other times, we lay pressed together at our elbows on the mattress. Like this, Conway would hold the book above us, allowing me to aim the light. If I wobbled, it would bounce off the mirror and blind us. It made us snort with laughter. It was so stupid; I adored it.

  Conway made me feel safe. Normal. Lying together like this, I could feel his wiry muscles; take deep pulls of his musky scent. He reminded me a lot of Thornton, the kind master in the book. Did that mean I was Buck, the dog that'd been fished away from his comfy world and thrown into icy madness?

  Picturing myself as a bold animal made stronger by a comforting hand like Conway's turned me fuzzy. It was a good feeling and a weird one. If I'm Buck,
then Facile must be The Man who beats him with a club until he breaks.

  One evening, Conway brought a new book.

  “It's called The Valley of the Horses,” he said, sitting lotus-style on the bed. I was doing light jumping jacks in the flashlight's halo. If I didn't move around, I'd grow weaker. It was what Facile wanted—for me to change into a figment of my former self—so I railed against it.

  Lately, the awful man had taken to coming into my room during the day. All he did was stare at me with his infuriating smile. Waiting for him to do something was part of the torture.

  “Come and sit down,” Conway said, his eyes flashing in the dark. He was watching me with more intensity than usual. His eyes held a laser focus that turned his pupils into tiny specks. “Read this with me.”

  I sank beside him and took a swig from the lemonade he'd brought. “This is book two of a series,” I said, reading the inside of the cover. “You don't have the first?”

  He shifted side to side. “After my mother died, Dad brought us here. He didn't want any of her things. I managed to sneak off with a few of her books, but not all of them.”

  “Oh.” I shut the book gently. “I'm so sorry, I didn't know about your mom.”

  Shrugging his wide shoulders up, Conway took the book from me. “I haven't read this one yet. I thought you'd like it, though, because it has horses.”

  I bit back a giggle. “Do you think girls naturally like horses or something?”

  To my amazement, he blushed red up to his temples. “I didn't mean...”

  I brought our bodies closer together on the mattress. “Shut up and read it to me.” He regarded me with one eyebrow arched. “For your information, I actually do like horses. Don't rub it in.”

  We read together in the shadows, his voice low, emotive. At times I'd take over so that, soon, we were seamlessly tearing through the pages. It was a book about a hard world and what it takes to survive, much like The Call of the Wild.

  We didn't know it was also a romance.

  Both of us laughed nervously when the characters began to fall for each other. It wasn't until they began having descriptive sex that our voices went tight in our throats. Conway was reading, and suddenly, he just stopped. “What's wrong?” I asked, knowing full well.

  He couldn't look at me. His fingertips slid over the raised text on the book's cover. “Maybe we shouldn't keep reading this one.”

  “Why, because they're banging?” I said it bluntly to get a reaction. I got one; Conway snapped his face towards mine with his eyes wide, and his soft-looking lips parted. After going months feeling like I had no power, this new ability made me swell like a wave. I wanted to crash down on Conway and make him bow before me. I'd never felt like this-all warm and wiggly and wicked to my core.

  Narrowing his gaze, he considered me seriously. “How old are you, Georgia?”

  “Thirteen.” I paused. “Wait, what day is it?”

  “November tenth.”

  My stomach dropped. “My birthday was the 2nd. Guess I'm fourteen, now.”

  He didn't twitch an eyelash. “Sorry about your birthday. Maybe I can sneak you some cake next time.”

  “For real?”

  “Sure. What's your favorite kind?”

  Cracking a smile, I kicked my feet. “Strawberries and cream. Mom used to get me this really cheap kind every year, from this awful grocery store, but I loved it.”

  “Then I'll do that.”

  Little wings flapped in my chest. It was such a stupid thing to offer. But I loved him for it. “Promise?”

  He held out his pinky finger, wrapping it in mine. We both squeezed. “Promise.”

  Biting my lip, I tucked my hands in my lap. “Your turn. How old are you?”

  “Fourteen. I'm only two months older than you.”

  Beneath our silence was something new. It beat like a heart, an ever-growing pressure that shot upwards in a peak I couldn't anticipate. It had to go somewhere, because if it didn't, I'd go mad from dissatisfaction. “Have you ever done any of this?” I whispered, waving at the pages.

  He shook his head. “No. Have—”

  “No,” I said quickly. Chewing the corner of my lip, I examined my knees. “I've never even kissed someone.” I hadn't cared about boys or dating. None of the guys at school had caught my eye. I'd always figured when I was older, dating would make sense. I'd find a guy I could connect with. But what if I never did?

  Conway leaned closer. “Why are you frowning?”

  “Because I just realized I might die before I kiss anyone,” I said, holding back a wave of tears. Rubbing my eyes vigorously, I smiled up at him through my own fear. “What if I never get to experience that? Can you imagine?”

  His hair was casting his face in shadow. “You won't die before your first kiss, Georgia.”

  “I might. You can't say I won't, you can't know.” I stared at him closely, trying to read his expression. I noticed how lacquered his lips looked. I saw the hard lines of muscle just beginning to grow across his chest and arms, places his tight shirt didn't hide.

  When I swallowed, I pushed my knees together. The book fell from my lap and hit the floor. Neither of us moved to get it. “Conway,” I said softly. “You could do it.”

  The knob in his throat shifted. “Do what?”

  “Kiss me.” My eyes were getting dry but I didn't dare blink. “You could be my first.”

  “Georgia...”

  “Please.”

  “What if I'm bad at it?” he asked honestly.

  A flash of empathy rocked my whole body. Conway was actually worried about being the first boy to kiss me. It was sweet—it made me want him more. “If it's bad, it's okay. I'll take that over never getting to do it at all.”

  His hands slid down my shoulders. He was barely touching me, as if he expected me to disintegrate if he went too fast. The black of his irises was rich. It drew me in. I was floating in the Milky Way with nothing tethering me to solid ground but this stranger-

  this kind boy who was a victim like me.

  Conway kissed me gently. He tasted like lemonade, the flavor entering my taste buds and shooting to my brain. I'd eavesdropped on older girls at school when they giggled about their boyfriends. The main complaint was too much tongue.

  He was pure finesse, never daring to use anything but his soft lips on mine. Not even a hint of his teeth rubbed across my mouth. Were all first kisses this magical? Or was it enhanced by the spice of danger... the erotic nature of the book we'd shared?

  It was over too fast. He leaned away, his breath quick and shallow. “Was it alright?”

  Touching my own lips, I shivered. “I used to hate watching people make out in the park. Now I understand why they couldn't control themselves.”

  With my nights full of Conway, my captivity became bearable. I'd now done six months, so surely I could do seven. Or eight...even a year. I could manage it all as long as I believed my freedom was on the horizon- as long as I had my unlikely hero at my side.

  On day 187, I met Lonnie.

  - Chapter Three -

  Georgia Mary King

  The lights flicked on and blinded me.

  Groaning, I shut my eyes. It took a second for me to adjust enough to see the figure standing in the doorway. His lips were pink and full, stuck in a half smile that made my veins pump quicker. Wearing dark jeans and a gray sweater that was one size too big, I noticed how thin his wrists were; how jagged his collarbone was where it peeked through the wide neck hole.

  “Hi,” he said, closing the door. I heard it lock. “I'm Lonnie.”

  Conway had said he was the older brother, which meant Lonnie couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve. He was a frail kid—nothing like his father.

  Except in his powder blue eyes. They had the same hungry way of looking at me.

  “You're Georgia, right?”

  I didn't reply.

  “Georgia, like the peach,” he said, laughing at his own commentary. In three steps he was ne
xt to my bed. He hovered over me, arms folded at the small of his back as he squinted. He didn't stop smiling while he inspected my bare feet, my thinning legs, my concave belly, and finally... my face. “You really do look so much like her.”

  I tensed up. “Who?”

  “My sister.” His features screwed up, eradicating the pretend politeness. Underneath I saw his confusion, his lips twitching like he'd tasted something foul. “That's probably why Dad took you, if I had a guess.”

  His sister? Conway hadn't mentioned any siblings besides Lonnie. The dread in me grew legs, stomping over my chest so that breathing became difficult. The idea that I'd been taken because I looked like someone else, and not just some random attack, was chilling. Madness was one thing, being kidnapped with intent... that was something else.

  From his pocket, he pulled out half of a chocolate bar. The sight of it made my stomach rumble. If Conway hadn't been slipping me food, I'd have started drooling. As it was, it only felt like my stomach was gnawing at itself. “You must be starving by now.”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  Lonnie brought it close, dangling it over my nose by a corner between two fingers. It swung like a blade ready to slice me in two. “Want some?”

  Keeping my attention on him, I wet my lips. “Don't waste your time.”

  “What?” He stopped swinging the chocolate.

  “You're here because you want something. I'm not going to give it to you in exchange for some chocolate.”

  His face went slack. I'd stunned him—I enjoyed that. “You're not supposed to talk back.”

  “Says who?”

  “Dad. He says when we own something, it does what we say.” Lonnie twisted the chocolate around, holding it flat in his palm. “Don't bother acting tough.” His fingers clamped together, crushing the candy into brown smears that squished between the gaps in his fist. “Everyone breaks for him. Everyone.”

  Chocolate dripped onto my knee. I flinched, but didn't look away from him. “You don't know me.”