The Tracker

by Leslie Georgeson

  Periodic. What did that mean? Once a day? Once a week? What kind of “payments” did he expect from me?

  Didn’t matter. I was doing this for Eliza.

  “Okay.” My voice came out as a breathless squeak. “We have a deal. When do I start?”

  His brow shot up again. Was he surprised that I’d agreed to the deal? Then he grinned. “Right now.” He turned me back toward the apartment and shoved me forward. I stumbled into the room, the flashlight beam bouncing along the walls.

  “Clean the apartment, make the bed, sanitize the bathroom and kitchen areas. Then make me something to eat. There’s plenty of food in the fridge and I just restocked the pantry.” That cold gleam was back in his eyes. I instinctively knew this was a man you didn’t say no to. “I want the entire apartment cleaned before I come back. This is your chance to prove yourself. If you can meet this task, then we have a deal.”

  So he expected me to work for free before he agreed to anything?

  “That’s not really fair–” I stopped short as his eyes darkened, narrowed.

  “You don’t like the deal, then leave.” He pointed out into the dark hallway.

  I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from blurting something else that would get me kicked out of here before I found my sister.

  He waited a beat, watching my face.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it.”

  He stared at me a moment longer, then headed down the corridor.

  “Wait!” I rushed after him. “Where are you going?”

  He paused and turned back to me. “I’m going to put out some feelers on your sister, see if anyone knows anything.”

  “Oh, okay.” That was good. But it meant he was going to leave me alone in here. For God knew how long. With who-knew-what residing in this maze.

  His lips twitched, amusement again dancing in his eyes. What did he find so funny about me?

  “Get to work, slave.” He walked away, quickly disappearing into the darkness.

  Slave. I stared down the dark corridor, listening as his soft footfalls echoed off the walls.

  A sound came from the other end of the tunnel, making my hair stand on end. I scurried back into his apartment and slammed the door, my heart racing. I was trapped here. Sort of. Though I knew how to get back out of the maze of tunnels that lead to the surface—thanks to my photographic memory—I couldn’t leave until The Tracker found Eliza. Besides, I was too scared to venture back out into that corridor now that he was gone. His apartment was safer than those dark tunnels. I could lock the door if I had to.

  But I was now alone inside an insane dreg’s lair. Beneath a haunted plantation. Deep in a forest.

  His slave.

  For as long as he wanted.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jessica

  There was a light switch by the door. Of course, there was.

  I flicked it on and glanced around the room. It was a small, one-bedroom, modernized apartment. The Tracker didn’t have much in the way of furniture. Just an armchair, a small brown loveseat, and an end table that sat between the two. A large television hung on the wall across from the furniture. To the right, along the far wall, was a bookshelf packed full of books. He was a reader? Interesting. I had a hard time picturing the frightening man I’d just met sitting quietly reading a book.

  Next to the bookshelf was a small round table and chair. On top of the table sat a thick sketch pad and a packet of drawing pencils. Curious, I walked up to the table.

  The sketchpad was open, a partially completed drawing catching my eye. He was an artist?

  A lifelike drawing of a shirtless man covered the page. He knelt, his head thrown back, his mouth open in a silent scream. His hands were bound behind his back with thick ropes. The sketch was extremely realistic, outlining each muscle in his tied-back arms, the planes and angles of his rigid, muscular torso so lifelike, so detailed, it was almost as if I were looking at a real person. Even his short, tousled hair was drawn in intricate detail, each strand of hair so soft-looking and real. The word “Defeat” was scrawled above the drawing in bold, black letters.

  It was haunting. Heart-wrenching.

  I shivered and stepped back. What would cause him to draw such a disturbing image?

  My curiosity getting the best of me, I flipped through the sketchpad, looking at other drawings, wanting to know more about the man I’d made a deal with.

  The next page contained a rose with numerous, sharp-looking thorns on its stem with the title, “Beauty equals deadly.”

  Another page was a heart with a jagged line cracking it down the middle. This one had no title. But then, it didn’t need one.

  I turned the page.

  A serpent of chains with locks connecting it at different angles and a skull chained in the middle. This one was titled, “Imprisoned.” I stared at it for a long moment. This represented as much pain as the first one. Perhaps more. I could feel it. What had happened to The Tracker to make him draw such heart-wrenching things? Was this how he dealt with his pain?

  I flipped the page.

  A human skull with bloody eyeballs in the eye sockets. The title read, “Don’t look.”

  That one was a little creepy.

  I turned another page.

  This one was a naked woman with a body to die for. Busty and full-figured, she made thin women like me feel boyish. A smile touched my lips. The drawing was what all men imagined the “perfect woman” looked like. She blew a kiss at me, making me feel like she was real. Her other hand rested between her legs.

  A blush crept into my face.

  I flipped through a couple of pages, then paused.

  The next image could only be described as erotic. It was a naked couple, embracing. The woman’s back pressed against the man’s front. It wasn’t vulgar or indecent but, like the other drawings, extremely detailed. The man’s hands cupped the woman’s breasts while she arched back into him, their bodies so close together it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The man’s head was lowered while he nuzzled the woman’s neck.

  My cheeks grew hotter. I slapped the sketchpad closed as awareness pooled in my loins.

  The Tracker was a very talented artist. I couldn’t deny my curiosity about his drawings. About him. Did he have a girlfriend, a lover? If so, where did she live? Did she ever visit him here? What would she think if she knew I was here?

  Though I was eager to see more of his drawings, to flip through the rest of the sketchpad, I needed to get to work. I didn’t know when he’d be back, but I vowed I’d have the place cleaned before he returned. I couldn’t give him a reason to back out of our deal.

  I walked into the kitchen area, noting the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. I strode into the bedroom, seeing the queen-size bed that was unmade, the covers rumpled and tossed aside, as if he’d woken in a hurry and rushed out. A pile of dirty laundry lay in the corner near the door. He was cleaner than most, messier than some. It wouldn’t be difficult to tidy up the place. I walked into the bathroom that consisted of a toilet, a sink, and an old cast iron tub with a clear, plastic shower curtain. It was small, but at least he had the basic necessities, which I no longer had.

  And down here underneath the mansion, deep in the forest, no one would bother him.

  As long as I stayed, no one would bother me. Or would they? Would he pass me over to his dreg friends, let them use me as their slaves too?

  I paused at that thought, the idea making me shiver. Or would he protect me, keep me safe from the outside world? Safe from everyone except himself?

  Stop scaring yourself, Jess. He didn’t seem all that bad.

  Those drawings…

  Just because he’d drawn some disturbing images didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was his way of dealing with his pain. In truth, not all of the images had been disturbing. The one of the naked woman and the couple embracing had been frankly erotic. Maybe he was a romantic at heart. Or maybe he just liked drawing naked women. There was nothing wrong
with that.

  Whatever.

  Giving myself a mental shake, I turned back to the task at hand.

  Food. He’d said to make him something to eat. It had been two days since I’d had a decent meal. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. But first I needed to clean. I could have this place cleaned before he got back. Easily.

  And I was going to have real food again. At least for tonight. Assuming he decided to feed me. Guilt stabbed at me as I imagined Eliza out there somewhere. Alone. Frightened. Was she hungry? Had her captors fed her? Was she hurt?

  Stop torturing yourself and get to work, Jess. You’ll find her. The Tracker agreed to help you. Just be grateful the man didn’t expect something else from you.

  Cleaning and cooking I could do. It was the other possible things he might want from me that terrified me. Those erotic drawings flashed through my mind. Did he expect me to have sex with him?

  Maybe he thought I was ugly. That was okay. It wasn’t like I was anything special to look at anyway. Or maybe he swung the other way. No, I doubted a gay man would draw pictures of naked women or embracing couples. And he’d seemed way too masculine.

  If all I ever had to do for The Tracker was cook and clean, then my end of the deal would be easy. I wasn’t afraid of a little hard work.

  I quickly set about cleaning the place. I found cleaning supplies underneath the bathroom sink, fresh sheets in the tiny linen closet next to the kitchen pantry. I stripped the bed, made it up with fresh sheets, and swept the concrete floors. Washed and dried the dirty dishes and put them in the kitchen cupboards. Scoured the bathroom and gathered up all the dirty laundry and dumped it in a pile near the bathroom door. Where was the closest laundry mat? How did the man do his laundry? When he got back, I would ask.

  Soon the place was spotless.

  So, I started dinner. Spaghetti was an easy meal to cook, and The Tracker had all the ingredients. I soon lost track of time as I prepared the meal.

  Sometime later dinner was ready, the sauce slowly simmering on the stove, the noodles cooked and ready to eat. Fresh garlic cheese bread waited on a plate covered with a towel. Though my stomach rumbled at the scent of food, I ignored it. The Tracker hadn’t given me permission to eat his food, and I didn’t dare eat without his permission. I needed to find Eliza, and he was my only hope. I couldn’t anger him in any way. I couldn’t give him a reason to back out of our deal.

  But how will he know you ate anything if he’s not here to see?

  Snatching up a slice of garlic cheese bread, I practically inhaled it as I set the small table with one place setting, not daring to presume that he would invite me to eat with him. He never needed to know I’d stolen one piece of bread.

  I moved to the brown armchair and slumped into it to wait for The Tracker to return.

  Exhaustion set in. My eyelids drooped. What time was it? I had no idea. Late, certainly. Midnight? Who ate dinner at midnight?

  I would just take a quick nap before he returned…

  A sound jerked me awake.

  I glanced around, confused. A man knelt across the room from me, doing something in the corner.

  The Tracker.

  My breath caught.

  I could see him more clearly now in the light. He was big and broad, his back muscles outlined beneath the black T-shirt. He leaned over something as he unfolded a blanket.

  “What’s that?” I whispered, leaning forward in the chair.

  “Your bed.”

  I came fully awake then, staring at the small cot he’d put together in the corner. A cot of my own was certainly better than sharing a bed with him, even if it might not be as comfortable as a bed. This meant he was letting me stay here. Gratitude swept through me. I didn’t have to go back out onto Augusta’s streets and try to find a quiet place to hide out from the gangs terrorizing the citizens. A cot in a warm room sounded wonderful right now. Being a slave to The Tracker wasn’t so bad. Eliza and I had been evicted from our apartment four days ago when one of the gangs had swarmed in and taken over the building, kicking out all the residents. They’d given us thirty seconds to leave. We’d fled with nothing more than the clothes on our backs. I didn’t have my cell phone, my purse, my car keys. No clothes or personal items. And no money. I wasn’t dumb enough to go back to try to retrieve anything. I did want to live.

  This was the first act of kindness anyone had done for me in a long time.

  “Thank you.” My words were heartfelt, sincere.

  His gaze sliced at me from across the room. “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing it to be nice. I’m doing it to keep you out of my bed.”

  What? A wave of heat washed into my face. He wasn’t being kind, after all. Did he think I would willingly sleep with him? Those drawings…What kind of lover would a man who drew like that be?

  Stop it, Jess. You don’t want to know.

  I was not attracted to him, no matter how big or muscular he was. No matter how talented an artist he was. No matter if he had a deep, sexy voice that was so different from everyone else I’d met before. A voice that drew me in and made me pay attention to everything he said.

  I cleared my throat. “What time is it?”

  “Five a.m.”

  I’d slept all night? Oh crap. The food!

  I jumped up from the chair. “I, um, fixed dinner. Though I guess it’s a little late—or a little early now that’s it morning—for dinner.”

  He rose and turned to face me. He wasn’t the giant I’d first imagined, probably just a little over six feet tall. Six one? Six two? But his presence was still imposing. His big muscles intimidating. “Yes. I already turned the stove off. You left it burning.”

  Heat returned to my cheeks in a rush. “Sorry. I didn’t know when you’d be back. I wanted to keep it warm for you.”

  He glanced around the room, his sharp gaze taking in the cleanliness. I stared at his face, his strong jaw, his deep-set gray eyes that looked silver in the light. He really wasn’t bad looking, I decided. In fact, some women might even find him attractive. But not me. No. He was too…frightening for my taste. Too dark. Too dangerous. I’d never been attracted to dark and dangerous before. I wasn’t about to start now.

  Who are you kidding, Jess? Just admit it. He’s hot.

  The man intrigued me like no other. I’d never met anyone like him. And I couldn’t deny he made my pulse race in a way no other man ever had before. Who was this dark warrior who lived underground?

  “Do you like it?” I motioned around the apartment. “I cleaned everything.”

  He grunted, then moved into the kitchen. He washed his hands in the sink, then dried them on a kitchen towel. He moved to the table and sat, glancing up at me expectantly.

  He was ready to eat. Okay. Apparently he didn’t mind eating spaghetti for breakfast. I hurried into the kitchen and quickly served him dinner/breakfast. My stomach rumbled again, reminding me I’d stolen only one slice of bread and that it hadn’t been enough to satisfy my hunger.

  His gaze flickered to my face, then moved down my body and back up, causing my cheeks to heat again. He motioned to the pan of sauce I’d just returned to the stove. “Go ahead. Eat. I can’t have my slave keeling over from starvation.”

  I hesitated, unsure if he was joking or not.

  His brow shot up. “You’re not hungry? You look half starved.” He paused, his gaze narrowing on me. “Or was that bread you ate enough to satisfy you?”

  Heat flooded my cheeks. How did he know? I lifted a hand to my mouth, a small bread crumb falling off at the touch of my fingers. Oh crap!

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was going to wait for you, but I was so hungry I couldn’t resist.”

  His gaze turned cold. “If you want something, just ask. I’ll decide whether or not to give it to you. You’re not here because I want you to be. Just do as I say and stay out of my way. If I ever catch you stealing, the deal will be off.”

  I nodded slowly. No problem. “Did…did you find out anythin
g about who might have taken Eliza?”

  He stuffed a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth and motioned to the stove again, indicating I should eat. I turned away, removing a plate from the cupboard and a fork from the silverware drawer. I quickly filled my plate and took the empty seat across from him.

  He watched in silence while I took a bite, savoring the delicious flavor. Food had never tasted so good. I moaned softly. I’d always been a good cook, but as there had been no food to cook since Eliza and I had been evicted from our apartment, I was starving.

  Slowly, his gaze dropped to my mouth as I licked spaghetti sauce from my lips.

  My heart went wild. I stared at his face. What was he thinking? Something predatory entered his gaze, something that made my breath catch. I dropped the fork, unable to look away from that predatory gleam in his eyes.

  “Eat.” He shoveled more spaghetti into his mouth.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, I did as he ordered, keeping my gaze lowered until I was done. He rose from the table, leaving his dirty dishes behind.

  “You didn’t say if you found out anything about Eliza,” I reminded.

  He turned around, his silver gaze skewering me. “I’m still working on it.” He strode into the bathroom and closed the door. Several moments later, the toilet flushed. Then the shower turned on. I rose from the table and cleaned up the mess. By the time he came back out of the bathroom, everything was clean, and I was sitting quietly on my cot in the corner, waiting for my next instructions.

  He motioned to the bathroom. “Your turn.”

  I hesitated. What did that mean? Your turn to go pee? Your turn to take a shower? I couldn’t deny I desperately needed a shower.

  His gaze narrowed. “Shall I rephrase that, slave? Take a shower. Clean that stench off of you. I don’t want you stinking up my apartment.”

  I jumped up from the cot, my cheeks flaming. How rude! I lifted my chin. “It’s not my fault. One of the gangs kicked us out of our apartment. Eliza and I have been living off the streets. I had no access to a shower.”

  He snickered. “Oh, poor, pitiful you. I could teach you a thing or two about suffering.” He paused, his gaze scrutinizing me. “In fact, I think I will.”