Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) by Becca Jameson (best books to read fiction .TXT) 📗

I’m going to have to face my future soon, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to relax in this tub while I close my eyes and pretend I’m the little girl of wealthy parents who has her own bathroom and bedroom with fresh linens and towels.

I lock the bathroom door just in case Davis returns while I’m in the tub. After stripping out of my clothes, I climb into the tub and let it fill with warm water. It’s luxurious.

I’ve lived in my studio apartment for two years. It doesn’t have a tub, nor would I touch the floor of it with my bare feet. It’s moldy and gross. I wear dollar-store flip flops when I shower.

I sigh as the water rises over my small body. I don’t care that the products are going to make me smell like a baby, I use all of them. All but the hair remover. I ignore that. If I tried to put that on my legs or anywhere else, I might end up burning myself with the chemicals. I’ll just have to wait to shave until Davis brings my stuff and hope he grabs a razor.

While the conditioner sits in my hair, I wrap it up around my head to keep it out of the water and lean back. If it weren’t for the fact that I can’t seem to block out the men who intend to buy and sell me, this might be the best thirty minutes of my life. Actually, even though I’ve been auctioned off by human traffickers and I can’t imagine what my future looks like, it’s still the best half-hour of my life.

I stay in the tub so long that my skin is wrinkly. I feel lethargic when I get out. After drying off, I realize I have no choice but to put on what I’d already been wearing. Until Davis returns with my stuff, I don’t have clean clothes.

I step back into my plain white panties and pull my white tank top over my head. I’m exhausted. It’s late. Should I wait up for Davis? I decide not to. The bed is calling to me. The mattress will be the nicest one I’ve ever slept on.

Without another thought, I climb between the brand-new, fresh sheets, pull the comforter up to my shoulders, snuggle into one of the pillows, and pull the other one to hug it against my chest.

I’m smiling, so very comfortable, when I realize the pillow between my arms is replacing Bunny. My heart rate picks up as I think about my one-and-only childhood possession lying on my bed at my apartment.

I wonder if Davis noticed her when he went there. Half of me hopes he grabbed her. In fact, half of me wishes I had added Bunny to the list. I hadn’t been thinking clearly. But I also don’t think I want Davis to know that a grown woman sleeps with a stuffed animal.

It’s silly that I still have her, but I’ve never spent a night without Bunny. She’s like a security blanket. She’s all I have. I don’t even know who gave her to me or when because I can’t remember back that far. I assume either the state or one of my first foster parents put her in my crib.

I hug the pillow tighter and blow out a breath. I can’t do anything about the possible embarrassment over Bunny right now. I’ll have to face it later. Either Davis grabbed her or he didn’t. If he did, he might make fun of me. If he didn’t, he’s going to have to go back and get her at some point. I don’t care about much of anything else in that apartment, but I do want Bunny.

Chapter 8

Master Davis

It’s late when I quietly enter the house. There are no lights on, so I assume Britney has gone to sleep. I hope so. I hate the idea of her waiting up for me or worrying.

Now that I know more, I realize she should be scared out of her mind. I am. We’re going to have to talk about her situation in the morning. It’s bad. Worse than I expected, and I entered the Sky Lounge with very low expectations.

The door to Britney’s room is closed as I pass it, and I’m kind of relieved. I only pause long enough to acknowledge there’s no sound coming from inside. I pray she’s sleeping as I continue to the master bedroom. I strip out of my clothes as I enter the master bathroom, and then I flip on the shower.

There’s no way I can possibly sleep until I’ve washed off the filth that was my evening. It’s not literal, but I feel dirty from being inside Lazinski’s office. Breathing the same air as that piece of human shit.

When I return to my bedroom, it occurs to me that I probably should have shut the door. I’m not used to having someone else in my home. I’ve never had a guest in this particular house. I doubt if my guest wants to walk in on me naked, and though I usually sleep in the nude, I decide against it tonight and pull a pair of flannel pants out of my drawer.

I shrug into them and climb into bed, deciding to leave the door open. If she needs anything, I want her to feel welcome to come get me.

I run a hand down my face and stare at the ceiling. The dim light coming in from around the blinds is enough to keep the room in a soft glow. There’s a woman in my home, one room over. A sexy woman. One I would ordinarily be attracted to.

She’s young, I remind myself. Twenty-two.

Am I doing the right thing? I go over my options in my mind. I still don’t think calling the police is a good idea. I’m familiar with what happens in cases like this. No real crime has been committed. I have nothing but the word