by Tate James
"Good thing I have antibiotics here, hmm?" he commented, pressing his thumb into the edge of my infected wound. Putrid, yellow-green pus seeped out. "Don't go anywhere, Darling. I'll have you back to fighting fun in no time." Whistling a tune, he left my cell and left the door open as he went to fetch the medication.
It was another damn mind game. I couldn't run. Not with my collar tethered to the wall and fever raging through my body. He was just mocking me.
When he returned, he made quick work of locking my wrists back into the leather restraints on the bed. I said nothing about it, too sick and too weak to give a fuck how he was getting his rocks off today, but he seemed to feel the need to explain.
"I'll need to leave the IV hooked up for a bit," he told me, squeezing my breasts as he spoke. "Can't risk you trying to kill yourself with the needle, now, can I?"
I managed a weak scoff. "I'd rather kill you with it," I mumbled.
He grinned. "That too." He made quick work of hooking up an IV of antibiotics, well-practiced at finding my veins already, then checked the time on his watch. "As much as I'd dearly love to stay and play, I have a call to make.”
He left my cell door open again, laughing to himself as his footsteps faded away. It was just more bullshit power games. He knew full fucking well I was too weak to free myself now. Too sick and frail. Broken.
But he'd underestimated me. My body might be his to play with, damage, starve, and weaken... but he didn't have my mind. Not yet. Damn it, he was close though. If I wanted any hope of getting away with even a shred of sanity, I needed to act soon. Act fast. And if I died in the process, then so fucking be it.
Lucas and Cass would take care of Seph, I knew that. Even if I was dead, they'd continue to protect her just as fiercely as I knew they were now.
Zed... shit. I didn't know what to think. At face value it seemed a whole lot like he'd stabbed me in the back, totally betrayed me and our friendship. But I wasn't so stupid as to take things at face value. There had to be an explanation. But if there wasn't and he really had betrayed me? Well... karma could take care of him.
I'd rather die trying to escape than live under Chase's control for one more day.
He hadn't shot me up with any other drugs through the IV, thank fuck, and it gave me an opportunity to use my brain without the noises of paranoia and delusion. Based on how feverish I felt and how infected my shoulder was, I'd need more than one bag of IV antibiotics. That meant I had some time to plan and to regain some strength if Chase was inclined to feed me while I was hooked to the medicine.
I'd vomited so damn much since he started his abuse. The mixture of drugs seemed to have me constantly nauseated—not to mention my own disgust at the things he'd done to my body. I knew I was malnourished, but I wasn't hanging around to try and regain any weight. The second I saw my opening, I was gone. No matter what condition I was in.
Except sometimes, no matter how determined the mind was, the body simply wouldn't—or couldn't—cooperate.
So I closed my eyes and slowly, deliberately put myself through the mental exercises I'd learned all those years ago. The careful compartmentalizing that had allowed me to survive the first round of abuse I'd suffered at Chase's hands. The same coping mechanisms that’d seen me forge my path of blood and bodies as the leader of the Timberwolves without totally succumbing to insanity. It'd kept me safe then, and it was keeping me safe now. Just.
Piece by piece, I took all the recent torture and abuse—no matter how patchy the memories—and tucked them into a box. Then I locked the box, wrapped it in chains, and dipped it in molten steel. Crack that, motherfucker.
I had plenty of those same boxes littered through the infinite darkness of my mind, each neatly labelled with the damage they contained. But sooner or later, I knew they'd become too heavy to hold.
With that mental exercise complete, I could breathe easier. My pulse slowed back to normal, and the hurt in my body eased. It was an illusion, but I was okay with that. Any reprieve was welcome, and this one allowed me to slip into a restorative sleep. One unsullied with chemicals and blissfully dream-free.
It was the fullest sleep I'd had since being arrested by stupid fucking Jeanette. FBI my ass, there was no way that woman had passed any kind of psych evaluation. Or if she had, they'd left her undercover way too freaking long and she'd cracked.
I wondered what had happened to that yappy little dog she had. The one that peed when it was excited. Damn, I'd laugh if that was the future of their K-9 unit.
A couple of times I roused when Chase returned to my cell, but surprisingly, he didn't touch me. He just changed the IV bag, then sat there beside my bed, staring down at me for ages. Then he'd check his watch and leave without a word. Psychological warfare was basically his middle name.
At some stage my fever broke, and the whole-body chills and aches subsided, allowing me to rest easier between Chase's visits. But as was inevitable, after maybe the fifth or sixth dose of antibiotics, his patience seemed to run out.
I woke from a deep sleep with the suffocating knowledge that he was back, and I blinked my eyes open, then stiffened when I registered how close he was. How close his knife blade was to my eye.
"How easy it would be," he murmured, his single eye glittering with madness, "to carve out this pretty blue eye of yours. Even the score a little. An eye for an eye." The knife in his hand didn't waver, his grip strong. I barely dared to breathe, it was so close to taking my sight—even partially. But I also refused to blink.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Chase remained frozen there, his blade point a millimeter from my pupil and his breathing rough. Then he licked his lips and gave a low chuckle, withdrawing the threat. For now.
"Nah, we'll save that for later. For now, I like you being fully aware of everything happening." His knife tip scraped the skin of my throat, and I swallowed back my disappointment. Maybe if he'd been weaker, if he'd given in to his urge and stabbed me through the eye... maybe he'd have gotten carried away and pushed too deep. That'd end it all.
"You're looking so much healthier, Darling," he murmured as he continued dragging the knife tip over my flesh, circling my nipple and pushing hard enough that it broke the skin. Hot blood trickled down my side, but I clenched my teeth to ignore the sting. "I gave you a little boost in the drip. You're more fun when you can fight back a bit, and lately I'm thinking you just aren't trying hard enough."
I said nothing but couldn't hold back a small grunt of pain when his knife bit into the skin over my ribs. Ever so slowly, he dragged the tip through my flesh, slicing me open in a shallow cut. It was intended to hurt, not maim or kill.
"See what I mean?" he muttered. "Nothing."
He sat back, tapping the bloody knife tip on his cheek as he pondered his next move. Me? I might as well have been a statue. He wanted a reaction? Well fuck that.
But then... goddamn it.
"Did you give me fluids?" I croaked out, my voice rough from a whole lot of involuntary screaming under his care.
Chase arched a brow at me in question, then smirked. "You need to pee, Darling? How uncomfortable."
I scoffed. "You say that like I won't just pee myself right here. I don't give a fuck, Chase. It's you who will either need to clean it up or suffer the smell."
He scowled like he wanted to call my bluff. But I guess urine wasn't one of his kinks, because he put the knife down and started unhooking my IV line. The attached bag was almost empty, anyway.
As unhurried as he was in removing the IV equipment, I was damn close to peeing the bed by the time he returned to unstrap my wrists. He left one wrist cuff on me but removed it from the bed frame and hooked it to the wall chain instead.
"Can't be too careful," he told me with a smirk as I eyed the wrist tether. Did he expect me to protest it or something? Fuck if I knew. He'd literally had me collared and chained up like a dog for fuck knew how long. Days, certainly. Weeks? Maybe.
"You gonna watch, Chasey?" I murmured with my
rough, abused voice as I struggled to push myself upright. Holy shit, I was a mess. Blood coated my side, sticky and wet, but the cuts themselves were only seeping, not deep enough to really even acknowledge.
He didn't answer me, just stood with his arms folded over his chest, watching as I forced my limbs to move and make my way over to the toilet in the corner. I wasn't fucking around with false modesty, so the second my butt hit the cold metal seat, I let go.
There was a lot to be said for the relief of a good pee, and I needed to bite my own cheek to keep from groaning out loud as my bladder emptied. Goddamn, it was good, though.
When I was done, I wiped with the scratchy toilet paper Chase had provided—what a prince—then returned to my cot. With a yawn, I lay back down in exactly the same position I'd been in for... however long I'd been on the IV.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Chase demanded, his scowl tugging his eye patch slightly askew and revealing thicker scars. It warmed me inside to know I'd put those there.
I gave him a dead stare and said nothing.
His jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his side. "This isn't a game you can win, Darling. Whatever you think you're doing... stop it." He spat those last two words with enough frustration to completely contradict the statement. It was definitely working.
Furious, his attention jerked away from me, and he checked his watch. "I'll be back soon. And you'd better be ready to play, or I swear to God, Darling, I'll drag your pretty little sister in here and make you watch while I fuck her to death. Am I clear?"
I gave him a serene smile that was totally at odds with the panic flooding through me. "Crystal."
He glared at me again, but when his watch beeped, he growled a curse and stormed out of my cell. He flipped the lights off and slammed the door behind him, but it bounced slightly against the frame and didn't click shut.
I stared, wide-eyed, at the small crack of light from the hallway, holding my breath in anticipation. He didn't come back and lock it, though. Angry footsteps faded from earshot, and I slowly, silently, pushed myself back to sitting. All the while, my eyes remained locked on the unlatched door.
Was this the opportunity I'd been waiting for? Or just another game?
Fuck. Could I really afford to waste the chance if it wasn't intentional? Hell no. I'd just made a promise to myself to escape by any means possible, and after that threat about Seph? I needed to act now. And act fast. Even if it was a trap... well, anything was better than just giving up.
I made it a couple of steps across the room before my wrist tugged on the chain, reminding me that I was still tethered. Small hurdles, but at least it was only one wrist.
Moving back to the wall I searched with my hands until I found the anchor point and tested it for weaknesses. Totally futile, of course. The fucking thing was cemented into the wall, and I was sadly lacking in super strength.
I groaned to myself and collapsed back onto the bed. Just another fucking tease. Something scraped when I moved my foot, though, and I froze. It'd sounded metallic... And the legs of the bed were bolted to the floor; they couldn’t have made that noise.
Holding my breath, I stood up once more, then crouched down to pat around the floor under the bed. Concrete and more concrete. Great. Maybe Chase had dosed me up and I was starting to hallucinate again. Maybe this whole damn time was just one big delusion and none of it was—
There!
"Get the fuck out of town," I muttered, my fingers closing around the handle of Chase's knife, the same one he'd just used to slice my skin open. It must have gotten knocked under the bed when I got up to pee.
I pulled it out, bringing it up in front of my face and squinting. The tiny crack of light from the door still wasn't enough to see shit, but a light touch with my finger confirmed it was the same knife and not some dummy, fake one.
"This is definitely a trap," I whispered into the darkness. "There's no fucking way he dropped this without knowing. No fucking way."
But the darkness didn't reply, and somehow that made me more anxious than if it had. I was that familiar with my own crazy by now.
"It's a trap," I said again, like I was trying to convince myself. No hallucinations of myself appeared to tell me otherwise, or agree, but I could hear the voice of my own various identities as clear as day inside my head. Their message was unanimous.
Who fucking cared if it was a trap. A slim chance was better than no chance, and stuck in the cell? Strapped to the bed while Chase raped me, burned me, drowned me, choked me? There was no chance there. So... screw it. Escape or die trying.
Swallowing hard, I used touch to bring the knife point to the leather strap around my wrist. Chase hadn't used traditional handcuffs—he’d probably seen me escape from the last set he cuffed me with—and hadn't used zip-ties either, probably knowing I could get out of those, too. No, these were thick leather cuffs locked with an actual padlock. On the one hand, impossible to slip free of. On the other... not impossible to cut through.
Just really freaking hard. Especially when I was using my non-dominant hand to do the cutting, it was pitch black, I was weak, dizzy, panicked, and rushing, and the shoulder on that side was screaming in agony every time I moved.
Several times the blade slipped and bit into my flesh, but I ground my teeth together and kept going. If this was my one and only chance of escape, I wasn't quitting thanks to a few scratches.
I had no idea how long it took me to saw through the leather, but by the time it finally dropped away, my whole wrist was wet. I could only hope it was sweat... but the second I cracked the door open further, I sucked in a breath at the blood coating my hands. Crap.
Peeking out into the hall, I confirmed Chase wasn't just standing there waiting for me. Then I used the light from the hall to rush back to the bed and tear a strip of cloth from it to bind around my bleeding wrist. One of those slips must have gone deeper than I'd realized.
Too damn bad. I was out of here.
As silently as I could, I made my way down the short corridor and crept up the staircase at the end. Not a single stair creaked, and I made it to the top with nothing but the sound of my own pulse rushing in my ears. Chase's voice trickled out from further inside the house, and I stiffened, listening.
His words were muffled as he spoke to someone, too muffled for me to make out. Instead of going in the opposite direction, I crept closer to where his voice was coming from. Call it an instinct, but I silently sought out the room where his voice was loudest. The door was open because why the fuck would he need to close it? Especially if he really hadn't intended for me to break free just now.
I paused outside the room, resting my head against the wall. My fingers clutched the hilt of the knife tight, and I held my bleeding wrist to my chest as I listened. He was on a conference call, and I stood there for way longer than I should have. About ten times longer than any sane escaped captive really should. But goddamn, it would pay off if I really did walk away from this. Six names I committed to memory. Six men who were colluding with my psychotic torturer.
Satisfied with that much, I silently padded back through the house. It was a lavish, show-home style property, all white furniture and impersonal crap. My blood dotted the alabaster floors like a neon sign, and I mentally cursed myself out.
If I was going to go, I needed to do it now.
Luckily, the house was laid out in a semi-logical way, and I found the front door within moments. Not stupid, I grabbed a coat from the hook and picked up a pair of men's boots with numb fingers. They'd be too big to allow for a speedy escape, but at some stage they might come in handy if my feet got all torn up.
The door handle turned soundlessly, and I slipped out into the crystal-clear night. Instantly I saw why Chase was unconcerned with security. There was no driveway, no road... just a helipad. And a helicopter, but goddamn it, my driving skills did not stretch that far.
Past the helipad there was nothing but forest for as far as I could see.
Running
blindly into that with no clothes, no shoes, no freaking clue where I was... it was suicide. But I'd never really been known for taking safe choices to begin with, so I barely hesitated a second before rushing past the dormant helicopter and delving into the treeline.
My heart was in my throat the whole damn time, but I didn't look back, just kept my focus on freedom. Who knew how long my meager strength would hold? I just needed... Fuck, I had no idea. I just needed to not be in that room of horrors any longer.
But the further I stumbled into the forest, the tighter my stomach clenched with fear.
It’d been so easy.
Too damn easy.
There was no longer any doubt in my mind. I'd played right into a trap. But he still had to catch me, and it was about damn time Chase Lockhart realized I wouldn’t go down easy.
5
My absolute confidence that this was all part of a sick game for Chase didn't slow me down as I plunged into the darkness of the forest. It was cold enough to make me shiver, despite being May. Or... I thought we were still in May. Maybe June? Time had lost all meaning.
Thoughts and plans turned over and over in my brain as I forced my feet to keep moving, one after another. I'd tucked the knife into the pocket of the coat I'd taken, and the boots were still clutched under my arm. But they were growing heavy, and I’d need to drop them soon.
My feet were too small to wear them. I'd just trip over shit and break my neck. I'd grabbed them on a whim, thinking they might save me if my feet got damaged, but they were just slowing me down.
Gritting my teeth, I dropped the boots, then forced myself to lay a false trail through soft earth, leaving obvious footprints as I went. I could hear water running somewhere in the distance, but I needed to cover myself. If Chase was following—and he would be—then I couldn't just run blindly in a line and hope he was too dumb not to see the signs of my clumsy passage.
So after a couple of minutes, I dug deep for strength and slowly pulled myself up into a tree. Fuck me dead, it hurt. Way more than I'd anticipated, and I found myself clinging to the first branch and praying I wouldn't pass the fuck out.
