Reckoning (Sacrifical Duet Book 1)

by Riley Ashby

  His hand cracked across my cheek, though not as hard as he could have. At least he avoided my left side.

  “Don’t lie to me, Mads. This day has been marked on my calendar for years.”

  I glared at him, pulled back into the present by the renewed pain radiating down my spine. “Don’t fucking call me that.” That was my parents’ name for me; he wasn’t allowed to use it.

  He slapped me again, and this one had more force behind it. My teeth cut into my cheek. “I’ll call you what I want. You get no say in the matter or anything else ever again. Now tell me, do you know why you’re here?”

  We stared at each other. I could barely see out of one eye, and he was immaculately handsome even with the hangover that must be plaguing him, judging by the lines on his forehead and around his eyes. His voice was scratchy, and I wondered if he’d thrown up. I had no power at all, and if I fought him, I’d have even less.

  Relenting, I shook my head again. “I don’t know, Meyer. That’s the truth.”

  He sighed, almost sounding relieved.

  “Go get yourself cleaned up. You’re disgusting.” He grabbed my chin again, eyes traveling my body, and I became acutely aware that I was still clad only in my underwear. I said a small prayer of thanks that they had decided to stop there when undressing me in the back of the van. Preparing me for slaughter. The shepherd brought to the lamb for sacrifice. “Not that a shower could clean the true filth off you.”

  I would have spit on him then, consequences be damned, if he wasn’t holding my face so tightly. Nonetheless, he saw the movement of my lips, and a slow smile dragged across his face. I nearly expected a slap anyway, but he just dropped my face and grabbed my arm instead, pulling me across the room.

  “Please, stop!” I didn’t care that I was begging. My wrists were raw from the twine, and his rough hands only added to the bruises.

  He stopped suddenly and turned to face me, pulling me against him.

  “Stop doesn’t work on me,” he said, and his voice carried real danger. I felt myself cowering in his arms even as he threatened me. “That is one word you will never say to me. Do you understand?”

  Cowed into silence, I nodded mutely. His eyes landed on my lips, and then he pushed me away.

  “Get in there,” he commanded, stepping aside and pointing at the bathroom. Averting my eyes, I brushed by him and stepped from soft carpet to cold tile. “Door open,” he snapped as I moved to close it behind me. He wanted me to strip in front of him, and it didn’t look like I had much choice. Refusing to turn back around, I forced myself to peel off my filthy bra and panties. They were covered with dirt and blood, so much so I doubted they would ever be clean. Seeing nowhere else to put them, I dropped them on the floor. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Meyer was still watching me. His eyes moved endlessly up and down my legs, and I clasped my hands over my butt to try to save what was left of my dignity. He sneered and met my eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, the expression on his face making him look rather petulant. It was amazing how much my perception of him changed once I was out of striking range.

  I kept my back to him, hoping he couldn’t see the blush crawling up my neck. Stepping into the shower, I stood to the side while I waited for the water to warm, then eased myself under the flow. Every drop felt like a hammer against my sore skin, and I was glad the water hid my tears. I struggled to raise my arms high enough to wash my hair, and bending over to wash my legs was out of the question. Eventually, I just stood under the water and prayed it would wash away whatever residual filth remained on my skin.

  Stepping out into the bathroom, I jumped when I realized Meyer was standing at the sink. I hadn’t heard him come in, so I rushed to cover my nakedness. He looked at me casually, all traces of interest in my naked body gone, and then threw me a towel as he focused on brushing his teeth. I dried my body and spotted a small pile of clothes on the counter next to him and moved to put them on. But bending over to hold my panties so I could step into them would be impossible, especially while trying to hold the towel around my body with one hand. I curved forward as far as I could, stopping with a gasp when a bruised rib protested the movement. My eyes burned.

  “What the fuck is bothering you now?” he asked, spitting into the sink and turning to face me. I pressed my fingers into the corners of my eyes, trying to hold back the tears.

  “I need help,” I said meekly.

  Though my eyes were closed, I felt him move closer.

  “Say that again,” he said, his voice soft.

  I dropped my hands and stared at the ceiling, blinking furiously.

  “I need help,” I repeated. “Please.”

  He grabbed my neck and pressed his lips to my cheek, trailing along my skin to my ear. “Get used to this,” he growled. He tugged at the towel, and I let it fall away reluctantly. He traced one finger over my nipple, and though my skin had grown soft in the warm water, it hardened and pebbled beneath his touch. A grin played across his lips. “I own you now. You need my help with everything.” He stepped back and looked at me. There was a long moment where he stared at me, making me want to jump right back into the shower and scour myself again, no matter the pain.

  Finally, he seemed to shake himself loose from whatever thoughts were occupying his mind. “Hold up your arms.”

  I did as I was told, as much as I could, and he slid a loose-fitting T-shirt over my head. I was grateful once more that he wasn’t forcing me into a bra, then berated myself for feeling grateful for anything. I could see in the mirror that the left side of my face was severely swollen and bruised, and I knew I quite possibly had a fractured bone somewhere in my face. There were bruises on my neck and chest as well as a small bald spot near my temple where a chunk of hair had been ripped out. I knew I could be in a lot worse shape, but not much.

  Bending over, Meyer held out a pair of cotton underwear and then gym shorts for me, and I stepped into them shamefully. He bit my thigh as he stood, dragging his hand between my legs. I jumped backward, only to find his hand between my shoulder blades kept me from moving away. He grabbed a brand-new hairbrush from one of the drawers on the vanity and dragged it roughly through my hair, sending fresh tears cascading down my cheeks. When my tangles were pulled out, he threw it onto the marble with a clatter.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pushing me through the door before I could formulate a response. He led me down a hallway and a flight of stairs before coming to a brightly lit sunroom with a small table. It was set with a breakfast spread I might expect to find at a high-end hotel—piles of fruit and stacks of pancakes with a brimming pot of coffee and three types of creamer. His hand never left my back as he guided me to a chair, then handed me the ice pack sitting next to the plate.

  I was so shocked by the gesture that I couldn’t even reach out to take it. Exasperated, Meyer grabbed my hand and put the ice on it.

  “Thank you,” I said so quietly I barely heard myself. He grunted and sat across from me as I pressed the blessedly cold ice against my face. I didn’t know how much good it would do, but I was grateful to have it nonetheless. My skin hissed at the sensation and then settled into numbness.

  We ate breakfast in silence, me taking small bites and chewing gingerly while Meyer scrolled through his phone.

  “Your parents are posting on social media,” he said casually, taking a large gulp of black coffee. “Your mom is hysterical. Serves her right.”

  I slammed my fork down with a clatter. Meyer looked up slowly, and I saw fury building in his eyes.

  “You’ve destroyed my body already. There’s no need to be cruel.” I spat out the words before I could think better of challenging him.

  Meyer leaned across the table toward me, mouth in a harsh grin, but he wasn’t the one who spoke next.

  “We haven’t come anywhere close to destroying your body, little girl.”

  I was on the ground the moment I heard his voice. The chair clattered to the floor as I crab-walked backward away from the man who h
ad just walked into the room.

  Conrad Schaf, Meyer’s father, was the kingpin of the Schaf Industries weapons company, a government contractor who developed and built the deadliest war machines on the planet, and the bane of my family’s existence. The last time I saw him, before last night, was six years ago on my sixteenth birthday. He had arrived unannounced with Meyer in tow. My mother had a panic attack that lasted hours after they left.

  That was the night my mother told me to watch out for his family. She wouldn’t give me any details, but she made me stare at Conrad’s photo until I had committed his face to memory. Not that I would have been able to forget him after the scene he made at my house. It had been a long time since that day, but I remembered every inch of that despicable man’s face. I remembered the ring on his hand circled around my mom’s throat. I remembered the shoes he had been wearing when he kicked my father to the ground for trying to defend her. Most of all, I remembered the way he looked at me when he promised he would be back for me.

  Meyer had his calendar marked when we’d meet again, but so had I. I just hadn’t known the date.

  Meyer looked at my toppled chair with distaste, but Conrad laughed. My back hit the wall, leaving me nowhere else to go. Meyer went back to eating his food.

  “What do you want?” he asked with feigned disinterest. He gripped his utensils tightly.

  Conrad frowned. “Is that any way to speak to your father after he gives you the greatest birthday present you could ever hope to receive?”

  Meyer put down his phone and turned to face him, partially blocking my view of his father. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, as you might imagine.”

  Conrad snorted. “Fair enough. I just came by to check on our latest acquisition and see if she was settling in all right. The police came by earlier, but I told them to come back with a warrant. They have nothing to go off besides her family’s word. Have you thought about how you want this to play out?”

  Meyer leaned back and studied me, cowering behind a bushy potted plant. My heart was racing, but it was hard to breathe in this cramped position with a bruised diaphragm. It felt like my left eye was closing up even more. I touched the cut on my cheek where Conrad’s ring had connected, the same ring that had left a bruise on my mother’s skin so many years before.

  Meyer turned back to his father. “I’m leaning toward plan B. What do you think?”

  Conrad spread his hands, affecting indifference. “Your present, your call. When do you think we can start?”

  Both of them stared at me now, appraising. Meyer licked his lips. “Her face won’t be better for at least a week, but we can probably cover it up with makeup at that point. Next Saturday should do.”

  Conrad nodded and smiled. “I’ll deal with the press coverage. Keep me updated until then.”

  He turned to me slightly, and after giving me a small, mocking bow, he then spun and left as quickly as he appeared.

  Once I heard the door close, my breathing settled a bit. I swallowed the lump in my throat threatening more tears, closed my eyes, and counted to ten. When I opened them, Meyer was crouched in front of me. Without a word, he reached out and gently grasped my biceps, pulling me to a standing position with as little pain as possible. He righted the chair, pointed at it, and went back to his phone.

  “What is plan B?” I dared to ask. I didn’t think they were going to kill me—that had probably been plan A—but I wondered if I might have preferred death to what they had planned.

  Meyer didn’t look at me. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Pushing away his empty plate, he pointed at mine. He did a lot of pointing. “Finish that, and Joshua will take you back to the room. I’ll come for you later.”

  I bristled. There were too many unknowns. Was I supposed to stay in that blood-red room alone all day? How much time did he expect to pass before he saw me again?

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  He stretched his arms over his head, his flannel pants dropping lower on his hips. I jolted my gaze back to his face but not before he noticed.

  With his eyes fixed on mine, he rose to his feet. He walked over to me, then wrenched the chair to the side so we were facing each other. He put one finger under my chin and lifted my face closer to his. “Are you afraid you’ll get lonely without me, Mads?”

  I resisted the urge to slap his hand away and tried to calm the blood I felt rush to my face.

  “Don’t call me that,” I said through gritted teeth. He scowled.

  “I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, Mads.” He dropped his hand and wiped it on his pants as though I was something sticky. “I don’t care what you do. Be good, and you won’t be punished. I might even give you a gift.”

  Before I could ask what kind of gift from Meyer Schaf I could possibly want, he was gone.

  Madeline

  I ate as slowly as I could after he left me, determined to extend my time unbound and without anyone watching over me. But moments after Meyer stepped from the room, the large man who had driven us to the house the previous night took his place at the table next to me. He didn’t look at me as I ate, but he didn’t look at anything else either. His eyes seemed to settle on nothing, taking in the room around us and the trees through the windows beyond. He wore an earpiece connected to a curly cable that disappeared down the back of his heavy black suit jacket.

  As the last bite of pancakes disappeared down my throat, I reached to refill my coffee mug for the third time. The acid was upsetting my already roiled stomach, but I didn’t want to go back to the bedroom. “Who are you?” I didn’t look the man directly in his eyes as I spoke. What if he was just as bad or worse than Meyer? I was stupid to even talk to him.

  But when he spoke, it was with a gentle tone I wouldn’t expect from someone so large. “I’m Joshua, Meyer’s personal security.”

  My curiosity got the better of me. “Meyer? Not Mr. Schaf?”

  The big man finally turned his gaze on me, and I cowered a little under the intensity of it. Still, there was no malice in him. “Mr. Schaf is his father.”

  “Hmm.” I raised the mug to my lips but barely took a sip. “So he’s the one who really pays you, then?”

  One side of his mouth raised slightly. “Are you done with your coffee?”

  With dismay, I looked down to see my mug was indeed empty. With my eyes down, I set it on the table.

  He sighed. “Come on, now.”

  “Please don’t,” I begged, but he grabbed my arm to haul me out of my chair and pulled me back toward the bedroom. All I’d done since arriving here was beg not to be hurt. “I can walk on my own,” I insisted, and he let me go with a suspicious glance. I rubbed my arm where his fingers had irritated my bruises and walked ahead of him back to Meyer’s bedroom. He followed me in, revealing a length of rope.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He was going to tie me up even when no one was around? But the man did his job silently, leaving me a little more room to wiggle my fingers than I’d had last night and more length connecting me to the bed. “When will he be back?” I called after Joshua as he turned to leave the room. He looked at me and shrugged.

  “Yell if you need the bathroom.”

  He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me alone.

  I sat on the bed, grateful to have a little more range and not be tethered to the floor. What sick game was Meyer playing by literally chaining me to his bed? Did he want me to be his slave? The thought made my blood turn to ice. My body went boneless, and I slid down the bed to rest on the floor with my head between my knees. My face throbbed, and it hurt to breathe bent over like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to face the room. The blood-red decorations enveloped all my senses, and I could smell my own blood from the cuts all over my body. What kind of person did this to another? Why didn’t I listen to my mother?

  “Go out the back gate, Mads, and wait behind the fence.” I’d never seen my mother’s face so white in my life. I could barely hear her ove
r the yelling that grew louder by the second. All my friends had stopped talking to turn toward the source of the noise, and someone killed the music. A moment later, two men burst into our small backyard, my father following close behind and matching their screams with threats to call the police. But the large man’s voice died as he saw my mother. Her legs seemed to fail her as he approached at an even faster pace. My father jumped in front of him, attempting to slow his progression, but the man slammed his fist into my father’s stomach and sent him to the ground. My mother and I both jumped toward him as my friends backed away from the scene or ran into the house.

  “Hello there, my dear. Fancy finding you out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “What are you doing here, Conrad?” My mother’s voice faltered as she dropped to her knees beside my father, helping him to his feet. He stood between Conrad and us, though his breathing was labored.

  “Dad, let’s just go.” My eyes flicked behind the young man standing behind Conrad, noticing him for the first time. “You’ve made your point.”

  “I haven’t even come close to making my point, Meyer.” Conrad never took his eyes off my mother. “I’ve been looking for this bitch for a long time.”

  “Don’t talk to my mother like that!” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think better of them. Meyer’s eyes met mine for the briefest second before I refocused on Conrad as my father shushed me.

  Conrad’s eyes blazed. “Would you look at this. How old is she?”

  “It’s none of your goddamn business,” my father growled. “Get off my property before I call the police.”

  “You’re not going to call the police. If you were, you already would have.” Conrad never looked away from me. “She looks like—”

  “Me. She looks like me.” Mom stepped forward to stand next to my dad, blocking me from Conrad as much as they could. His attention returned to her.