Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

Nothing better to ease nausea than a shot of whiskey. Damn, nothing but a TV.
    The dizziness returned. She held on to the footboard, waffling as her legs almost buckled beneath her. One step, then another. She would not let anyone see her vomit, so she shuffled to the bathroom, resisting the urge to flash her middle finger at the camera. She turned on the light and closed the door behind her.
    N ausea and lightheadedness played tag as they surged and ebbed like ocean waves. Still weak, she lowered herself to the edge of the tub and waited for the sickness to either pass or erupt. Within a few minutes, she began to feel better. She searched the room. No suspicious holes in the walls, nothing in the vent. At least these people afforded their hostages a modicum of privacy.
    What happened to her when she was out cold, helpless in the presence of the people who’d done this to her? She examined her body. It didn’t seem as if she’d been violated. Rage grew within her that she even had to check , and she shrugged off her dark thoughts.
    Toothbrush and toothpaste, towels, a robe . Yeah, they ’d prepared for her arrival . How could she and Lucier have been so naïve? He ’d warned her not to go, but she wouldn’t listen. History repeated itself, and she ignor ed its lessons.
    She brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face, dismissing the thought that her recklessness had endangered Lucier .
    Concentrate on what to do to get out of this .
    She was their prize , but they didn’t need her cooperation. Drugged, she became the object of the group’s adoration . Somehow, she suspected that was n’t all they had in mind for her.
    She needed a shower to revive. Deep breath, Diana. Let it out. Opening the door, she went back into the bedroom and checked the dresser drawers. Lingerie. Black, silk, and lacy. No surprise there. Satan’s women would never wear white cotton Jockeys. She looked at the camera, waved the underwear in the air, and disappeared inside the bathroom. She doubted Lucier basked in such luxurious accommodations.
    Ernie . Guilt washed over her. She wanted to pray for his well-being, but years of tracking the horrors man perpetrated on other men and women and children had destroyed her faith. Maybe that’s part of the bond she shared with Edward Slater. Their journey to the dark side left their blood-pulsing organs numbed. F or Lucier, she said a silent prayer. Please, God, if you’re listening, protect him .
    Diana opened the glass door of the marble enclosure and turned on the water full blast hot. Too hot. She adjusted the temperature and stepped inside. Streams of liquid pleasure pulsed from multiple jets, pelting her awake, massaging her body like tiny fingers. A gold shower caddy held everything a woman needed. Expensive shampoo and conditioner, French-milled soap, a brand new loufa wrapped in cellophane. They spared n othing for the Goddess Diana. The luxury was lost on her. How could she enjoy anything in this place?
    She needed time to think. Time to plan an escape. But how? She’d bury her anger and rage and let things play out ― see what happened.
    She showered quickly . The hot water relieved some of her tension, though she still felt lightheaded. She left her hair to dry naturally, then put on the lingerie to find the group’s one miscalculation in their perfectly orchestrated imprisonment. The bra was at least one size too big. She donned the terrycloth robe and stepped from the bathroom.
    After a fleeting acknowledgement to the camera, she rummaged through the closet. The clothes were not at all to her taste. She favored tailored, simple lines, but the outfits in the closet were either ultra-feminine décolleté dresses of flowing silk or slinky black vixen numbers. Not a pair of slacks anywhere.
    The key jiggled in the door. Diana cinched the robe tighter. Though scared witless, s he’d be damned if she’d let them treat her without respect. After all, she was Diana, Goddess of the Moon , and she’d play the role to the hilt . Then she thought, this wa sn’t a game . Not one bit.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Diana, but ― ”
    The voluptuous blonde’s hesitant tone gave her the clue Diana needed. “You have no right to barge into my room … Brigid, isn’t it?”
    The girl nodded.
    “Now get out!” Diana demanded .
    Brigid turned bright red and stuttered, “ It’s just ― just, um, that someone wants to see you.”
    “I said get out. If someone wants to see me, they