The next morning Tyler was the first to wake. She blinked in confusion at her surroundings, wondering for a few strange seconds where she was and why she wasn't in her room in her dad's apartment. Then everything came back to her in a rush and she realized that Billy had pulled her against him again at some point during the night, and his arm was hooked around her waist again.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, tensing when Billy moved in his sleep and pressed his face against the back of her neck. She didn't even shiver or tremble in response to his being so dangerously close; she knew that the real fear should and would come later, when Billy wouldn't feel compelled to wear clothing or be gentle when he held her against him.

She realized how much she needed to pee and wondered if she could slip out of Billy's grasp without waking him up. She didn't know about sliding out from under his arm, so she reached out and gingerly grabbed his wrist. She lifted his arm slowly, careful because she didn't know if he would resist in his sleep, and she set it down on the mattress. Then she took a deep breath and slid out from under the blanket as quietly as she could. She stepped off of the bed and walked backwards towards the corner of the room where the bathroom was located, watching Billy carefully as she went.

When she reached the bathroom she closed the door quietly and locked it. Not that locking it now would protect her from Billy's eyes later, but it still gave her some comfort. When she had flushed the toilet and washed her hands she stood in front of the mirror and stared at herself. Her hair had come out of the bun, and she combed it with her fingers before tying it in a messy-but-firm bun on the back of her head. The eye makeup she had worn the day before to school had smudged, and she used a piece of moist toilet paper to wipe away the black marks under and around her eyes. It seemed like forever ago that she'd stood in the bathroom in her dad's apartment and done her makeup and her hair for school.

She frowned at the dirty mirror and then at the messy bathroom around her and instinctively squatted down and opened the cabinet beneath the sink. Half a roll of paper towels, a quarter of a bottle of tile and sink cleaner, and a sprinkling of Comet toilet cleaner greeted her there. She took out the meager cleaning things and set them on the counter around the sink. Then she turned around and unlocked the door; if Billy woke up it would be better if he was able to burst in on her. Then she started to clean.

She hadn't looked at the clock when she got out of bed, but when she put the cleaning products back under the sink and left the bathroom, it was seven o'clock. Hmm, she thought dryly, nothing like three hours of sleep. When she looked away from the clock she realized that Billy was still asleep. She pondered whether he would be angry if he woke to find that she had left the bed and was snooping around his room—she refused to think of it as their room—and eventually decided that it would be best to slide back onto the mattress beside him.

And she did just that, creeping back to the bedside and getting under the blanket as quietly as she could and without making the mattress move much. She might have to be back in bed with him, but that didn't mean she had to curl up with him. She got under the blanket but stayed as far away from him as she could, nearly lying right on the edge of the mattress.

She knew that it hadn't really hit her yet that she wouldn't ever see her family again. Of course, she could have been optimistic and thought that she might never see her family again. But she knew how serious the situation was. She knew that she'd been taken at least an hour away from where she was kidnapped and the murders happened. And she knew that if she was lucky enough to ever leave Billy's room, it would only be because he was sick of her and was sending her with one of his guys. And that was just as terrifying as waiting there in bed with him was. She knew that when it did hit her that she wouldn't ever see her family or her friends again, it was going to hit hard. And it was going to hurt. And there would be tears. Probably in front of Billy, but that didn't really matter. Well, it didn't matter on the large scale of things. But in a way it did matter, especially since all she'd done since she was kidnapped was keep her head held high and make sure that she had witty comebacks and remarks to make toward her captors. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. It was her one and only desire, if she never made it out to see the people she loved, that she could at least go down fighting tooth and nail.

Her resolve faltered momentarily when Billy's arm found her waist and he pulled her back to him. He was only half awake. "Don't go so fuckin' far," he mumbled, "I was comfortable until you fucked things up and crawled away."

"I apologize," she said wryly. Then she added, "To all the baby pygmies."

His arm tightened around her and his breath was on her ear. "The fuck'd you say?" he asked, still mumbling. He pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could look down at her.

She turned her head to look back at him and repeated, "I apologize to all the baby pygmies."

This seemed to confuse him further. He frowned, blinking eyes still bleary from sleep at her.

It occurred to her that if they hadn't been in this situation, if he hadn't been a killer and a drunk and a druggie and a cruel person, if he hadn't been planning on raping her that night, that she would have found his early-morning confusion cute, even endearing. Shaking her head lightly to try and forget that revelation, she switched her attention back to him. He seemed conscious now.

His voice was as loud as it had been the day before, and he sounded awake when he asked, "Pygmies?"

He was frowning, and had one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Pygmies," Tyler said, her expression deadly serious.

She knew he saw when her frown deteriorated into a pained look, and she turned away. She realized that she'd been quoting her father. Every time he made a mistake that was small enough to joke about, he would say, "I apologize to all the baby pygmies." And now, even though it still hadn't quite hit her that she would most likely never hear her dad say those words again, she missed him terribly and tears welled up in her eyes.

She blinked rapidly, fighting back the liquid that had risen unbidden and quite unwelcome. She sniffed as she brushed away the single tear that managed to leak down her cheek. She didn't turn back to look at Billy again until he started to move. When she did look at him, he was shaking his head.

"Crazy bitch," he muttered as he crawled over her and got out of bed. She watched him pull on his jeans and thread his belt through the loops. Then he found his shirt, and as he was putting that on he looked at the clock on the desk. He cursed under his breath and rubbed his eyes, seeming to have momentarily forgotten Tyler's presence. He ambled towards the bathroom, and halfway there he stopped and lifted his nose to sniff the air.

He walked to the bathroom and looked around inside, seeming surprised. He turned back to look at her, his expression one of annoyance. "You fucking got out of bed to fucking clean the bathroom?" Then he turned and went into the bathroom and closed the door without waiting for her response.

When he returned he pulled on his leather jacket. She expected him to go to the door without saying anything to her, but he turned and walked her way. She'd sat up in bed with her legs pulled up to her chest, and she hugged her knees as he approached.

She looked him right in the eyes as he moved towards her, doing her best not to appear as afraid of him as she was. He stopped, standing beside the bed, and grabbed her chin, lifting it towards him. Then he leaned down, placing a hard, sloppy kiss on her lips and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She didn't kiss him back at first, but he released her chin in favor of grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her to him more firmly. Then he pinched her, hard, and he didn't stop until she got the message and kissed him back just as vigorously as he was kissing her.

When at last he broke the kiss and pulled back, she lifted a hand to wipe her lips. He watched her wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and grinned at her. "You taste good, sweetheart," he said. "I'll be back later, and then the fun'll really begin."

Tyler took a deep breath. She waited until he'd closed and locked the door behind him before she said, "I can hardly wait," without much emotion in her voice. She stared at the door for another moment and then swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She'd worn a sweatshirt yesterday, her favorite one as a matter of fact, and it was lying on the floor with her jeans and her shoes. But she wasn't cold, so she didn't even bother to change into her jeans.

She stood there, beside the bed, for several minutes. Then she walked over to the window and pulled the curtains back. By the cloud of dust that rose when she moved them, she guessed that they hadn't been opened in ages. Coughing and waving a hand in front of her face to clear the air, she managed to get the window open. It was large enough for her to crawl through if she really tried, but it would take some effort because of how high it was set in the wall and how short she was. But when she stuck her head out and looked around, crawling out left her mind completely; she couldn't quite remember how many flights of stairs she'd been forced to climb the day before, but she figured she had to be on at least the third floor. There was nothing outside of the window for her to climb down or cling to, just a straight drop to the concrete steps far below.

Sighing, she tried to focus on the positive; at least the curtains and the window weren't nailed shut and she could get some light and fresh air into the place. She looked at the room around her and wondered how smart Billy Darley really was; if she'd been suicidal, there would have been a million options for her to choose from when it came to her death wish. Lucky for him, she'd never been suicidal and even now, faced with the night with Billy that was always approaching, she didn't feel like killing herself and ending it all.

She looked at the floor and wrinkled her nose; Billy might be able to keep her locked up in here, but if she was going to stay here then she was going to do a bit of cleaning. She couldn't stand such dirty conditions and cleaning house had always brought her satisfaction and enjoyment in the past, and she knew that it would probably calm her now. So she dropped to her hands and knees and started plucking wrappers and papers and cigarette butts from the carpet one by one. It had crossed her mind to leave the room, but the door locked from the inside and she'd heard footsteps that weren't Billy's several times in the hall outside that morning, and she didn't want to run into any men who were hanging around out there.

In about two hours the carpet was deep red and free of any trash. When she was finished with the floor she turned to the bed. She shook out all of the sheets and blankets, and was pleased to find that they were in fact the right size for the bed. So she made the bed, starting by stretching the bottom sheet over the mattress and ending by spreading a blanket neatly across it and smoothing it down. There were two pillows on the bed, and she fluffed them and put them back nicely. Then she folded the sheets and blankets that she didn't use and set them in a neat pile at the foot of the bed.

When that was finished she went to the bathroom to investigate the bathing accommodations. The shower worked, and it managed a steady stream of clean-looking, clean-smelling hot water. There were no bottles of shampoo, conditioner, or body wash lying around, and no razor was in sight. So she went to look under the sink again, and when she dug behind the few cleaning products she'd used earlier she found a small plastic tub. Inside was a bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, a washcloth, and an unopened three-pack of women's razors. There was also a plastic bag containing a toothbrush and a full tube of toothpaste. When she discovered the contents of the box she picked it up and hugged it to her chest, leaning back and lifting her head. "If there is a god," she whispered, "then thank you."

She hated giving Billy the satisfaction of her cleaning or being physically clean herself, but if she was going to be forced to have sex that night then she was going to do it right. A clean room, a clean body, and a clean, well-made bed were things that she wished she could deny him but refused to deny herself.

She toyed with the shower until she got it to the proper temperature, and then she stripped and stepped inside. It felt amazing to have the water streaming over her, washing away the smell of the trafficking building and the blood from the little boy that had been killed before her eyes. She pushed those thoughts away, though, and tried to enjoy the feel of the water when it hit her skin. She savored the feeling of the soaped-up washcloth as she washed herself, and she prolonged the process of rubbing the shampoo into her hair and then washing it out. She had always brushed her teeth in the shower when she was back at home, and she did it now. When she was clean she grabbed the razor and shaved everything but her head.

There was a single towel in the bathroom, and she hastily dried her body and then her hair when she turned the water off. Then she combed through her hair with her fingers and tied it up in a pony-tail high on the back of her head. Then she wrapped the towel around her body and left the bathroom. She hoped and prayed that Billy wouldn't walk in now, when she was so scantily clad, but at the same time she was beyond caring, knowing that modesty would get her nowhere that night when he came back.

She went to the closet and looked around just as Billy had before, when he found the running shorts. She found a large black trash bag that looked like it was stuffed with fabric, and when she opened it she found that it was full of brand-new women's clothes. She was sure they were new because all of the clothes had tags and stickers on them still, and a few things were still on hangers. She dug around until she found an unopened bag of bikini underwear. That was the kind she usually wore, and they were her size. So she set the panties aside and found a bra her size, which she set aside also. Then she found a t-shirt that was a size too big for her, and she changed into her new clothes, though she wore the running shorts from the night before with the other new things. She closed the bag and put it back in its corner when she was finished looking through it.

She wondered absently if Billy would be pissed with her for looking through his stuff. Then again, she sort of hoped that it would piss him off; anything to keep her in the lead in their silently-fought battle. She looked around the closet for deodorant or perfume, but found none. So she went and stood by the window, where a breeze blew in and she wouldn't sweat. She wasn't keeping clean for Billy; she hated being dirty and smelling bad. Of course, she'd grown up on a ranch and knew how to work hard and wasn't afraid to work and sweat and get covered from head to toe in dirt. But she hated sleeping dirty or spending longer than she needed to in a state of bad hygiene.

She watched the clock and waited, and at eleven o'clock someone was at the door. Whoever it was had a key and unlocked it. She was seated on the bed with her legs crossed and she watched Billy walk in and close the door behind him. His eyes swept the room and then found her, and when he saw her he scrutinized her. She knew that she had wet hair and her makeup had been washed away, along with whatever perfume she'd had on the day before. Now she was just simple, plain Tyler with no enhancements or things to hide her natural appearance from him.

His eyes darted to the closet and then back to her, then to the window and the curtains that she'd opened, and then back to her. She realized that he was holding a white plastic bag, the kind that you could get at a grocery or convenience store.

"You cleaned up," he said as he walked over. "I'm flattered."

She watched his approach. "Don't be," she said flatly.

He smiled at her impudence and stopped, standing beside the bed and in front of her. He held out the bag and dropped it in her lap. He didn't tell her to open it, and even though she was curious about what was in the bag—since it was obviously more than a bottle of birth control pills or meds—she didn't give him the satisfaction.

"Don't look so fuckin' nervous," he said after a moment, "I'll be back later, and that's when I'll be sticking around for the night."

She said nothing and stared right back at him when he continued to look at her and didn't walk away. She waited for his explanation and he said at last, "I'm not leaving until you open that bag and take those meds.

She remembered the bag in her lap and looked down, slowly opening it. Inside was deodorant, a hairbrush, a bottle of water, an apple, and a clear plastic bag. She wished she could focus on the other items, but the contents of the clear plastic bag caught and held her attention.

The bag held three small syringes, an unopened plastic box of sterilized needles, and a bottle of milky-white liquid. She let herself forget about the other things in the bag Billy had given her, and she took the bag of syringes and needles out. She read the label on the bottle of liquid. So it was birth control. But a new, different kind. A kind that would prevent her from having periods for a whole six months. She made sure that none of the bottles or containers had been opened or used before. Not that it would matter much; she knew that he'd make her take the meds whether they were clean or not.

Sighing to herself, she opened the box of needles and selected the proper size. She knew how to give shots; she'd done it hundreds of times to the calves on her parents' ranch. She knew what she needed to do. She attached the needle and loaded the syringe with the right amount of white liquid. Then she got rid of any air bubbles in the liquid and set the syringe beside her on the bed. She looked up at Billy, who was watching her every move carefully. He snatched the bottle of liquid from her and read the label to make sure she was following the instructions.

She waited until she had his nod of approval and then picked the syringe up, staring at the needle that she was about to stick into her arm.

"Hold up," Billy said as she was about to do it, "you know what you're doing?"

She wanted to laugh, but she didn't. "Yeah," she said.

"Now, are you basing your skill-level on what you've learned from watching nurses give shots?" he asked. "Because you don't seem like the type to faint at blood or pain, but . . ." he trailed off suggestively, watching her expression closely.

She hated telling him anything about her life before him, but she looked him in the eye and said, "I grew up on a ranch. I was the person in charge of giving shots and medication when we branded and castrated. I know exactly what I'm doing."

He lifted his hands in mock surrender, but she hadn't missed the way his eye twitched when she said "branded and castrated."

Taking a deep breath, she held the needle over her upper-arm for a split-second and then stuck the needle in herself, not even flinching when she did. She injected the fluid slowly and then took out the needle, gently rubbing the place where she'd just injected herself. Then she stood up and walked to the bathroom, where she washed the syringe and the needle thoroughly. She put them both back in their bag and container, but she knew which ones she'd already used.

She had expected Billy to leave while she was in the bathroom, but he was still there when she got back and he just watched her as she moved around. "It says that the meds won't kick in for twenty-four hours," she said without looking at him.

She looked up when he shrugged and said, "If you get pregnant tonight, sweetheart, the meds'll kick in tomorrow and you'll abort."

She swallowed. "Great," she said.

But his mind seemed to be on other things. "So," he said after a moment, "I got me a cowgirl."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I lived in California until I was eleven. But I grew up visiting the ranch and we moved there just before my twelfth birthday. Why, regretting your decision to purchase me?"

His eyes turned cold and he laughed cruelly. "I'll decide that later when we find out whether you know how to ride."

She rolled her eyes. "Clever," she said, curling her lip at him in disgust.

He grinned and started to walk away.

She should have kept her mouth shut, but she couldn't help it; he was almost to the door when she said, "You know, I wasn't always in charge of medicating and giving shots. I learned how to brand and castrate too."

He turned and looked at her for a moment before he said, "And I kill men and sell drugs and steal things for a living. We're one hell of a fuckin' skilled pair, we are."

She waited until he left and then she jumped on the bag that contained the food. She put on deodorant and brushed her hair before she took a small sip of water and ate her apple. She ate slowly, enjoying her food because she didn't know when her next meal would be. She was far from overweight, so she didn't think Billy would put her on a diet or try to starve her, but she didn't know what he thought she needed to survive. She took small sips of water, trying to conserve it as best she could; she could always refill it in the bathroom, but she didn't quite trust the water enough to drink it unless she absolutely had to.

When she had finished eating, having thoroughly cleaned every edible bit of the apple from the core, she tossed it into the trash and glanced at the clock. It read twelve-thirty. She sighed, wondering exactly when "later" was and Billy would be back. She certainly wasn't looking forward to his return, but it was inevitable, and the things that would take place after he came back were unavoidable.

She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth again after eating. Then she went and sat on the edge of the bed, looking over herself. She had showered, brushed her teeth and her hair, and was wearing clean clothes. Because she'd pulled it up, her hair was still damp, so she let it down and brushed it again.

Part of her was tired enough to get back into bed and take a nap, but she was afraid that Billy would come back while she was sleeping. Not that it would make any difference in what he did to her, but she would feel a lot safer if she was awake and completely aware of him when he walked in.

She sat crisscross-applesauce on the bed and when she had finished brushing her hair she set the brush on the bed beside her. She thought over what had happened to her so far. It was bad, but it wasn't half as bad as what was going to happen to her when Billy got back. The she thought about Billy, and she thought about what she thought of him.

She knew that if she'd met him in any other place and he hadn't been who he was, she would have found him very attractive. Hell, she found him incredibly sexy as it was, even under the current circumstances. He had the kind of attractively-messy facial hair she wanted to feel scratching her face. And those stunning green eyes that were always watching her. His smile was dazzling, and even though he'd only smile cruelly at her and with bad intentions so far, it had always taken her breath away. And she clearly remembered what he'd looked like shirtless the night before; he'd looked pretty damn hot.

He was muscled and toned, but not too much, and that was what she had always liked in men. He had a large frame and was easily four or five inches taller than her, and his shoulders were wider than hers. She was petite and thin, but she hadn't always been and it was always something she looked for in a guy, that his shoulders were broader than hers. She had sat on Billy's lap. She knew he could easily lift and carry her.

He was a very handsome man, but that only made things more complicated because Tyler knew that she was supposed to hate him. And she was terrified of what he would do to her that night. She knew he'd give her reason to hate him then. But even after he'd taken her virginity, she knew that she would always find him attractive and part of her brain would always imagine her threading her fingers through his or wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

She knew that she should be afraid of what he would do to her, and in a way, she was. But more than anything, she was afraid that she would enjoy what he did to her. Of course she doubted that he would be gentle with her, and she knew it would probably hurt her, but she had always been active and she wasn't ignorant when it came to pleasuring herself, so she was pretty sure she knew what was coming. Besides, she had a very high pain tolerance and she was stubborn as hell, and she wasn't going to let Billy get a single scream out of her, no matter how much he hurt her.

She sat there on the edge of the bed thinking for another hour. Then she stood up and walked to where she'd put her new deodorant under the sink, placing her hairbrush there as well. Then she walked back to the bed, glancing out the window on her way. But when she looked out the window she stopped dead in her tracks and stared; a small family of four was walking on the sidewalk a ways away. They were too far to hear her if she called out to them, and she knew that they would steer clear of the building she was in. But it wasn't the hope of rescue that stopped her cold. It was the way her throat closed up when she saw that the little girl was sitting on her dad's shoulders, her hands on his bald head as walked. And his little boy walked beside him, clinging to one of his father's fingers because it was all that would fit in his tiny hand.

She could remember countless times that she had ridden on her dad's shoulders. And she remembered driving with him to the store for truck parts multiple times, and always they would walk through the parking lot side by side with her holding one or two of his fingers.

She was close to her mom, too, and her little brothers. But in spite of the many differences between her father and her and the many times he had hurt her feelings and she his, she was closest to him. It was why he asked if she wanted to go to California with him and live in his apartment for the month that he would be staying. He'd asked because he knew that she could cook and clean and do her own school, and he wouldn't have to worry about keeping her in check or taking care of her. She could take care of herself, and she'd taken care of him, too. She'd made him dinner plenty of times, and he'd come home from a long day at work to a hot, home-cooked meal waiting for him. She knew how to duplicate his homemade recipe for the best martinis anyone ever tasted, and she knew exactly how he liked to drink his beers. She knew how early he liked to get up before work and she had always been sure to get up half an hour before him so she could make him coffee and breakfast, and so she would be there to hug and kiss him goodbye before he left for work.

She knew what he'd come home to the night before; she'd made her mom's recipe for homemade macaroni and cheese and had left it in the oven, planning to be back before he got home. But just in case she was a little late, she'd written a quick note. She could picture herself writing the words even now:

Dad,

Went to Joe's station to grab a snack and some beef jerky for you. Dinner's in the oven. Be home in a few. –Tyler

She knew he would have read the note and checked to make sure that the food was still hot and that it wasn't burning, and then he would have sat down in front of the TV to wait until she got back. She knew that he would wait half an hour before calling the gas station where she'd gone. He would know that Joe didn't close shop until nine, and it was five-thirty when he got home. When nobody answered he had probably assumed that Joe was busy chatting with her or that he was helping someone. But when he left a friendly message that wasn't returned half an hour later, he got worried.

She felt like someone was slowly squeezing all of the air out of her lungs when it hit her; her dad would have gotten into the car and driven to the gas station after trying to call a few more times. He was probably the first person to arrive at the scene after the gang showed up and took her. He was probably the first person to see Joe's blood spattered across the shelves of cigarettes and chewing tobacco that stood behind the counter. She could picture her dad panicking when he saw the blood and then when he saw Joe's lifeless body. But she knew that he wouldn't call the cops right away. No, her silly, protective, oversensitive father would look for his little girl before he called the authorities.

She knew that he would have called for her and started walking around through the aisles, looking for some sign of her. She knew that he would come to the candy aisle and see the pool of blood before he saw Timmy's headless corpse. She knew that he would think it was her blood until he saw Timmy. And she knew that he would find her bag there on the floor with Timmy, right where she'd dropped it when she pushed the little boy to the ground and attempted to shield his body with her own as the men came to the back of the store and pointed guns at them. And he would know, she was sure. Sure, he'd look in the bathrooms and run around screaming for her, but deep down he would know as he held her blood-splattered bag to his chest that his baby girl had been taken.

Then he would call the cops. He would demand that they come now. And they would. And he'd explain and tell them that he'd found his daughter's bag. Surely her bag would be enough, but even if it wasn't, she was always leaving one of her long blonde hairs around, and they were sure to find one of those.

She had seen her dad when he was panicking before, and it was when one of her brothers had been in an accident while playing and nearly lost his eye. His cheek had been bleeding profusely beneath his eye and at first glance it had looked like her three-year old brother would have only one eye for the rest of his life. Her dad had been so concerned, so afraid, and it had showed on his face. They'd all looked to him in the emergency and he'd been strong, but behind his stoic face Tyler had seen how scared he really was. And she knew that he didn't have a family to be brave for when he found her bag and not her. She knew he wouldn't look so stoic. No, the panic and the fear would be obvious, even in front of the cops.

And then it really did hit her. She would never see her dad again. There wasn't any "might" or "maybe" about it. But she didn't care about herself. She didn't care what happened to her, she just felt so, so bad that she'd left her daddy wondering what had happened to his baby girl.

She turned around and leaned against the wall, sliding down it until she was sitting down. "Daddy," she sobbed, breaking down, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Daddy. I love you. I'm sorry. It'll be okay. I don't know how, but I promise that it will."

She realized that he couldn't hear her and then she started to cry harder. And blubbering to him wasn't helping him find her or giving him peace of mind about how she was doing. So she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her head in her hands and just let it all flow out. Eventually she slid down onto the floor and curled up on her side in the fetal position, hugging her knees and gasping as her body was racked with sobs. She didn't know how long she lay there, but she didn't have the strength to get up or to look at the clock.

She finally pulled herself together and sat up, her knees still against her chest. She wiped away the tears and stood up to walk to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror and used a wet edge of the washcloth to clean up her face. Then she brushed her hair again. When she'd finished cleaning herself up and there was no sign that she'd ever been crying aside from the dull ache in her chest, she went and sat down on the bed.

She spent the rest of her time alone trying to think of anything but her family, especially her dad. And she managed until he got back.

The sun was setting outside when Billy returned at around eight o'clock. Tyler hadn't left her seat on the edge of the bed and she looked up when he walked in. Those piercing green eyes looked right back, and as soon as he'd closed and locked the door behind him he walked to the window. He closed it, and shut the curtains, never letting his gaze waver from her. When the curtains were closed and they were in semi-darkness, he started walking towards her. He had started to strip as he walked from the door to the window. His jacket was first to come off, and then he reached up and grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He kicked off his shoes, and his belt and jeans were on the floor an instant later.

She watched his face, waiting for his boxers to join the rest of his clothes, lying at his feet. But he stopped stripping then, and said, "Come here."

She knew what was coming. And she trembled in frightened anticipation. There was no escape. But she wasn't going to break. He wasn't going to crack her resolve. She was going to dance with the devil, but she was going to do it with grace and she wasn't going to lose her pride or her decency in the process. So she stood up and walked to where he stood. She didn't stop until she could walk no further without treading on his toes. But she held her head high and looked him in the eye the entire time.

He reached up to trace her jawline with a finger and he said, "Hello, sweetheart."

Moments later her shorts and t-shirt were on the floor, and his boxers and her bra and panties followed suite. She knew that he expected that he would have to tell her what to do, and she knew it surprised him when she acted without his order. She knew just where to kiss him, and how, and where to touch him, and when. He seemed taken aback but pleased by her skill.

And then he pushed her into the bed on her back and got on top of her. She was surprised that he'd chosen such a simple position but didn't say a word about it. A million things were running through her mind, but she pushed them all aside in favor of staring defiantly up at him as he leaned back to look at her, lying there naked beneath him. Then he lowered himself so that they were pressed together and she was bearing his weight. She had wondered in passing how heavy he was, but his weight felt natural on her, even comfortable.

And he had his way with her.

She had sworn to herself that she would not scream or cry out should it hurt, but her real problem turned out to be that she had to remember to keep quiet because it didn't. There was a dull, initial pain at first, but that was gone in an instant, replaced by pleasure. She'd promised herself that she would lie unresponsive on the bed as long as he would let her, but she found herself with her arms wrapped around his neck and her face pressed into his shoulder, clinging to him and trying to remember to breathe.

But the worst thing was that she actually liked it. The enjoyment was not allowed, and she was not supposed to be holding back moans of pleasure. She was supposed to be holding back groans and screams of pain. She hated Billy, but she didn't hate the way that he made her feel during sex, and she hated herself for not hating it. And there, on the bed, she lost her virginity to the man that would probably be doing this very same thing to her every night for the next ten years of her life, if both of them lived that long.