by Gemma James
He slumped to the floor, and I followed up the first strike with several more. Tears streaked down my cheeks as blood pooled around his head. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, pounded at my temples. A whole minute passed before I let the skillet slip from my trembling grip. Another thirty seconds creeped by before I found the courage to check for a pulse.
And when I found one, I didn’t know whether to be relieved, or disappointed. The fucker was still alive, and that spurred me into a frantic mode as all the movies I’d watched over the years flooded my consciousness—the type of movies where the heroine got the upper hand but took too fucking long, giving the bad guy a second chance at miraculous bad timing.
I snatched the key from around his neck before digging into his pocket for my ring. As I slid the jade stone back onto my finger where it belonged, Zach groaned, making me jump several feet in the opposite direction.
I needed time.
I needed to feel safe again.
Grabbing him by the arms, I grunted under his weight and dug my heels in. Finally, his body slid across the floor by a couple of inches, spreading blood in his wake. I sucked in another breath and hefted him a few more inches.
Then a few more.
Dragging him to the cellar door was an arduous, endless trip, and every twitch and groan from him drove me closer to the edge of sanity. It took four tries of jabbing the key into the doorknob before the lock clicked over, and I was able to shove the door open.
Sweat bathed my skin on the journey down, each step a lesson in exertion, and I cringed every time his head thudded on a step. My muscles screamed in protest as I dragged his limp body across the concrete and into the prison.
I could barely breathe or see straight through the tears and sweat. Gritting my teeth, I confiscated the remote to the collar, along with Rafe’s cell phone. The instant I worked the key into the locking mechanism at the back of my hairline, and the choker opened, I finally breathed again.
Finally hoped again.
Studying Zach’s prone figure on the ground, I considered my options. The quicker I locked him inside the cage, the better. But goddamn it, I wanted the collar around his neck. I wanted him to feel the same terror I’d experienced, the same hopelessness of someone else literally having him by the throat.
Lifting his head, I slipped the choker around his neck and worked at closing the device, and that’s when he groaned once more.
“Lex…”
The lock clicked into place, and I got the hell out of there, glorifying in the finality of that prison door slamming shut between us.
And I vowed that he would never get his hands on me again.
12. The Cavalry
Alex
The hardwood under my feet burned through my skin, as if Zach’s presence in the cellar had the power to set the cabin on fire. Restless energy zinged along my nerve endings. I hadn’t thought of calling the cops. Instead, I’d called Jax from Rafe’s phone an hour ago.
Several more would slip by before he arrived, because he and Angel were in California.
I’d taken a shower in the bathroom on the main floor, desperate to wash Zach off from last night, but I hadn’t found the courage yet to venture upstairs to the loft bedroom to search for clothing.
Too many memories.
Some amazingly good, others horrifyingly bad.
Closing my eyes, I drew in a breath and held it, envisioning climbing those stairs. The idea of entering my own bedroom shouldn’t cause so much anxiety, but that room held so much pain within its unassuming walls.
Rafe and I had consummated our marriage within that space.
And Zach had destroyed the memory by raping me.
With a shake of my head, I exhaled in a rush. This was ridiculous. Zach was locked up downstairs, incapable of hurting me. Hell, he could be dead by now for all I knew. It wasn’t like I’d checked on him in the last hour. I was sure Jax would have words for Zach when he got here, but until then, I didn’t care if I ever set eyes on Zach again.
But I did care about covering my nakedness. After spending the past several days in the nude, the idea of clothing was a luxurious concept. Pulling another breath deep into my lungs, I climbed the first step, unsure of how I’d handle the first sight of the loft bedroom now that I’d broken free of Zach.
My heartbeat tripled at the threshold, hands clutching the doorframe for support. Thankfully, a blanket of numbness shielded me from emotion, allowing me the few precious seconds I needed to find a change of clothing in the unlocked drawers and return downstairs. I dressed in haste as the sun beamed on my head through the windows in the living room.
How the sky could be so bright and blue on a day like this, I didn’t know. The absence of Rafe was a tangible entity haunting me, causing a crushing pain in my chest. I slid to the floor next to the windows and watched the sun slowly sink toward the horizon.
That’s where Jax and Angel found me hours later, hollowed on the inside.
“What happened?” Jax crouched in front of me, his hand covering mine.
I lifted my head and met the inquiry in his blue gaze. “He destroyed everything.”
Jax blinked before gazing around the cabin, confusion drawing his brows together. His eyes settled on me again in silent question.
“Inside me,” I rasped through the lump in my throat. I laced our fingers and brought our entwined hands to my chest, where my heart throbbed underneath. “He destroyed me here.” My lashes fluttered, dispensing despair down my cheeks. “We were so fucking happy, Jax. So happy…”
Sucking in a quick breath, Jax pulled me into his arms. “Zach’s in the cellar?”
Through my sobs, I nodded. “I don’t kn-know where Rafe is.”
Jax inched back, and I noticed Angel standing behind him with a steaming mug gripped between her hands. “I made you some tea.”
“Th-thank you,” I said, accepting the mug as Jax settled beside me.
“I’ll bring Rafe home. I promise you that.” Jax brushed the shaggy hair from his forehead. “I need you to tell me everything you know.”
I told him how I’d awoken the morning after the wedding and found Zach in the kitchen. Told him everything Zach had bragged about—Shelton, Rafe’s son, Zach’s plan to take me off the island.
Every fucking detail except for the rapes.
But Jax didn’t press me for those, and for that, I was grateful because recounting what Zach had done would likely send me into a worse breakdown.
Digging his cell out of the pocket of his jeans, Jax rose to his feet. “I’m going to make some calls.” He nodded in Angel’s direction. “Will you stay with her while I go downstairs?”
“Sure.” Angel’s soft voice whispered through my head as she took the spot Jax had just vacated. “Do you need anything?”
“I just need my husband back.”
“Jax will find him. I know he will.”
“How…how long has it been since the wedding?”
She raised a perfectly arched brow. “You don’t know?”
“I lost count.”
“It’s been six days.”
Six days.
It felt longer.
It felt like a fucking lifetime. Unable to speak, I took a sip of the tea, hoping it would sooth the ache in my throat.
She drew her knees to her chest. “How long have you been sitting here?”
I glanced through the windows at the dark sky. The sun had set long before Jax and Angel arrived. “All day, I guess.”
We sat in silence for a while, and that’s one of the things I liked about her. We didn’t need words to fill the endless space between us. She’d been through her own brand of hell, so she knew more than most people about the horrors of trauma.
She knew that sometimes the best thing you could do for someone was offer silent support.
“Are you hungry?”
I didn’t feel hungry, but there’d been a dull cramp in my belly for days from lack of food and the stress of Zach’s mind ga
mes. “I guess I am.”
She rose to her feet and held out a hand. “C’mon. I’ll make you something.” Her blue gaze lowered to my abdomen. “You should eat. If not for you then for the baby.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she nibbled on her lip, brows furrowing in concern. “I didn’t even ask if…if everything’s okay?”
“The baby’s fine,” I said, using her offered hand to hoist myself to my feet. “But I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
She’d told me as much the day I’d taken the pregnancy test, and she’d been with me. There were few people in this world I trusted, but Angel was definitely one of them.
We entered the kitchen, and she skidded to a stop, attention zeroing in on the floor where I’d spilled Zach’s blood. “What happened here?” she asked, lifting her gaze to mine, eyes wide.
“It’s Zach’s. I hit him over the head with a skillet.” I paused long enough to let out a shuddery breath. “That’s how I got him into the cellar.”
That was how I’d saved my own ass, and probably Rafe’s as well, because if he were capable of coming home, he would have done so by now. It was that disquiet realization, sneaking up on me with the power of a semi, that weakened my knees. Stepping over the blood, I crumpled onto the bench seat before I lost the strength to stand.
“Do you have a mop? I can clean it up.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know where everything is. Just leave it.” Besides, that crimson-smeared floor was evidence of my survival.
Evidence that this wasn’t a dream.
Angel didn’t say anything as she began perusing the cupboards and the fridge, but I didn’t miss the stricken expression taking hold of her features, gaze landing on the blood every few seconds.
But I’d made it. I was sitting here, about to eat dinner, fully clothed and free of Zach. On the outside, I didn’t look any different.
The inside was a whole other matter.
Zach had left his imprint, seared new scars into my soul, pulled off scabs from old wounds I thought had healed.
“I’m not very good in the kitchen,” she said, filling a pot with water.
“That’s okay. Neither am I.”
She made boxed mac and cheese, and nothing had ever tasted so good—that’s when I realized how starved I was. I’d finished off a second bowl when Jax appeared from the cellar.
I dropped my fork, and Angel froze.
He stood in the archway, face spattered in blood, bruised knuckles forming fists at his sides.
“D-did you kill him?” I asked, shifting on the bench seat.
His jaw hardened. “No, he’ll live…for now.” With a kind of nonchalance I didn’t feel, Jax sauntered to the sink and washed his face, as if he’d come in from working in the yard. “But I know where to find Rafe.”
My heart did a jig in my chest. “Zach told you where he is?”
“Asshole wants to live, so he spilled.” He switched off the faucet and turned, leaning against the counter. “Help will be here in the morning. By this time tomorrow, we should be close to getting our guy back.”
13. The Monster in the Mirror
Rafe
“Boss wants you cleaned up before the fight,” Military Dude announced as he gestured for me to follow him out of my new cell. The space was identical to the one I’d escaped from.
Claustrophobic.
Inducing of insanity.
Windowless.
Another day, another prison cell. Seemed to be the story of my life.
After showering, Shelton’s guy gave me a clean set of clothing then yanked the hood over my head again. The time I’d been dreading was here, and my stomach twisted itself into knots during the drive to wherever this anathema of a fight would take place.
Military Dude pulled me from the vehicle, and raindrops pelted the hood covering my face. By the time we entered a building, the rain had soaked through the borrowed jeans and tank I wore, and my combat boots were caked in mud.
He pulled the hood off, and a din of chaos echoed through my ears. Smoke drifted in the air. The sharp scent of alcohol lingered. Underneath it all, death infiltrated the space. The building was a concrete square, free of windows or furnishings, and a massive cage sat front and center. There were only two ways in and out, manned by men who’d give me a fair fight if we tangled.
This was no barn, and there would be no escape into the night, flames casting the dark sky in an orange glow. Tonight, someone would leave in a body bag, and I couldn’t let it be me.
As Shelton’s guy pushed me toward the entrance, parting the way through a sea of people crowding from all sides, I spotted a drain in the floor. Concrete, just like the rest of the place, only this spot sported evidence of its brutal use. Blood, so much blood, washed away for the next match, though never forgotten in its dark, rusty glory.
That spilt blood told a story of mayhem and sacrifice. Maybe there were some who willingly fought to the death. Last winter, I’d been willing to take out Zach in Shelton’s cage, and I would have if Alex hadn’t let him go.
But my gut told me most were coerced into fighting, and that made facing my opponent more than I could stomach.
Shelton stood in the middle of the cage, decked to the nines in his usual expensive suit, microphone hovering two inches from his wide mouth as he egged the crowd into a deafening roar.
Some of them chanted “Kill, kill, kill!”
They wanted blood, same as the man standing three feet in front of me, smiling like he was hosting a fucking game show where the prize was a vacation to the Bahamas instead of a violent blood bath. The operation took underground fighting to another level, because we were here to become modern day gladiators, introduced in the cage of death with our wrists shackled.
But could I really kill again?
I’d taken lives in the past. Lives of men so evil the justice system’s death penalty would have been a gross injustice. Men who’d done unconscionable things to Alex. Men who would have done unconscionable things to any number of women if I’d allowed them to live.
“Welcome!” Shelton’s voice boomed through the warehouse, kicking off the official start of this horror show, and the chatter fell silent. It was fucking eerie, like the call of birds going quiet at the first hint of disaster. “Tonight is a special night, ladies and gentlemen. You’re about to witness a fight so raw and real, you won’t believe what you’re seeing.” His fingers clamped onto my shoulder. “First in the cage and ready for the fight of his life is Rafe ‘The Choker’ Mason!”
The applause was deafening, sickening, because they knew what was coming. They’d paid to see someone die tonight, their minds so demented and vile they’d made wagers on the outcome. Too much energy flowed through my veins, and I jumped from foot to foot, warming up, getting myself pumped.
I couldn’t afford to lose this.
And yet I hadn’t reconciled the facts in my mind. I couldn’t lose…but winning meant someone’s death. Someone’s unjustifiable death. Someone who probably faced the same fucked-up situation as me.
Forced into this fight, a loved one used as a pawn.
Winning might mean I’d have the blood of two people on my hands. I could end up killing an entire family if I took into account whatever retribution my opponent would face.
Except he wouldn’t face it because he’d be dead, and I’d have to find a way to live with that for the rest of my life. After Shelton got through with me, I’d have a lot of fucking deaths on my conscience.
This was only the beginning.
My opponent stepped into the cage, his wrists in cuffs like mine. He wore a pair of ripped jeans and combat boots, and his brown hair fell over a wide forehead, nearly obscuring eyes as striking blue as the sky. He had a few inches on me, though a much leaner frame.
But that didn’t necessarily put him at a disadvantage. It was all in how you used what you had. I’d remained in shape over the summer with a rigid routine of swimming, pushu
ps, and using whatever I could get my hands on for free weights. I’d even lifted Alex as a means to an end. We’d often fought off boredom and never-ending solitude by working out. But working out wasn’t competing, and this couldn’t be considered competing.
This was pure fucking survival.
The guy I was meant to kill tilted his head, and our eyes met from across the cage. His expression brimmed with determination as the men surrounding him removed his shackles. He bunched his hands, and the angles of his face hardened. A certain hunger lit his eyes, turning that sky blue into a smoldering fire pit. It was the same type of hunger that made me salivate for the fight, for the freedom that came from pounding into flesh…from stealing someone’s desperate breath.
For the man standing several feet away from me, I didn’t want it to be his last, but Shelton had me cornered.
Military Dude released my hands, and the rules were drawn in the sand—the fact that only one rule existed.
The cage wouldn’t open until one of us stopped breathing.
After the final introduction, the men exited the cage with Shelton, leaving my opponent and me alone. The door slammed shut, padlock engaged. Three dings signaled the start of madness as we circled each other, eyes locked and attention narrowed to the space between us. Tension coiled off our bodies in waves so tangible, I could practically taste them on my tongue.
I catalogued the flex of his muscles, the flare of his nostrils, the weight of his muddied boots on the concrete. The crowd ceased to exist. Shelton fucking ceased to exist.
For a few moments, I could almost pretend this was a normal fight, that we’d both walk out of here alive, that Jax or Alex waited for me just outside those bars, ready to offer congratulations before I collected a large purse that made the violence worth it.
My opponent lunged for me, fist blasting into my jawbone, and my back hit the concrete. He followed up the first strike with several more jabs to the face. The guy was agile. Fucking quick and light on his feet.
