by Rachel Woods
“My name doesn’t matter,” the woman said, walking around to the other couch and sitting across from Spencer. “What you need to know is that you are in a safe place where you won’t be terrorized, tortured, teased, or taunted—if you follow the rules. If you break the rules, this safe place will become very sadistic. Now, I understand that this will be the second time that you’ve been kidnapped, correct?”
“Kidnapped?” Spencer felt faint. The very word kidnapped nearly brought her to her knees, and she took another step back, grateful for the couch behind her, sinking down onto the leather cushion.
She had been kidnapped.
Spencer remembered now. Not just the woman with the exotic features but the two men who’d been with the woman. She remembered the men had grabbed her. One had taped her mouth so she couldn’t scream. The other had shoved her toward the dressing table and forced her to sit. Then the woman had slapped a sheet of paper and a pen in front of her and forced her to write words that she didn’t mean…
Dear Sione…
“Having experienced this hellish loss of freedom before,” the woman said. “I’m sure you have a high level of fear and uncertainty of the moment, but I will attempt to put your mind at ease.”
Spencer stared at the woman, unsure of what to think or say or do, tempted to jump up and run away but terrified that the woman would immediately be on her heels, chasing her down, overtaking her, and then punishing her for trying to get away.
“I’m sure that you’ve noticed something around your neck?”
Apprehensive, Spencer touched her neck and gasped when she felt something hard.
“It’s a shock collar with an embedded GPS chip,” the woman said. “It functions thusly: if you get out of line, or try to escape, or try to call for help, etcetera, I will pull out a remote control, push one of the three buttons, and you will be shocked. Depending on which button I push, the voltage will be from moderate to severe. Now, should you happen to escape, the collar has GPS, as I said, so I will know exactly where you are. The collar can only be removed by a specific key, which is in my possession, and if you try to remove the collar by any other way except the key, it will automatically shock you.”
“A shock collar?” Spencer was horrified and livid. “That’s what you use to train a dog.”
“That’s right.” The woman smiled and then said, “Bitch.”
Propelled by anger, Spencer jumped up and lunged at the woman. She hadn’t taken three steps before a sizzling jolt of electricity passed through her, leaving her stunned and shaking as she dropped to her knees.
“I know it stings a little…” the woman said. “But the pain will fade, I promise.”
Panting and gasping, Spencer clutched her abdomen, trying to breathe and trying to get to her feet.
“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, don’t want this to be a difficult situation for you,” the woman told her. “This doesn’t have to be combative or confrontational, okay? Your stay here can be pleasant or difficult, it’s up to you. Stay in line and things will go easy for you until you are returned to Sione.”
Spencer took deep breaths, still trembling, still unable to move.
“Now, you try to make yourself comfortable,” the woman said. “Victor will take you back to your room, and I’ll see about getting you some lunch.”
Spencer glanced up at the woman and saw one of the guards angling toward them.
“You probably thought I was going to starve you, black Barbie,” the woman said. “But don’t count on it. I need to keep you alive.”
The guard grabbed Spencer and pulled her to her feet. Still dizzy and disoriented, Spencer was forced to lean against him and allow him to drag her as she tried to put one foot in front of the other.
“Oh, and another thing,” the woman said as the guard walked Spencer toward the wide arched opening leading out of the den. “You will be allowed to shower once a day and relieve yourself as needed.”
Back in the bedroom suite, the guard took Spencer to the bed and pushed her on top of it. Muscles twitching, Spencer managed to roll over onto her side and draw her knees close to her chest. When the doors closed behind her, she heard locks tumbling. Her hopes faded, crashing to the ground. She prayed for the strength to get up and run to the doors, grab the knobs, and twist them. But, she knew the double doors wouldn’t open. The guard—Victor? Wasn’t that what the woman had called him?—had locked the doors, had locked her in. Again, she was a hostage. The accommodations were much better, opulent, in fact, but still, she was a prisoner. She’d been kidnapped and was trapped in a gilded cage.
35
Location Unknown
The double doors opened.
Unprepared, Spencer jumped and almost screamed when a man dressed in black fatigues walked in, carrying a tray.
She wasn’t surprised to see the guard, but she wasn’t really ready, wasn’t prepared for him, not the way she hoped to be. She’d spent all night trying to come up with a plan of escape, one that would involve convincing one of the men to help her, but her thoughts were scattered, all over the place. It was hard to focus, hard to keep the frustration from derailing her efforts. It was hard to stop thinking about John, wondering and worrying about him and what he was thinking. In the end, she gave up, cradled her stomach, and sang lullabies to the little one until she fell asleep.
Now, faced with her first chance to escape, she resolved to ignore the desperate panic racing through her veins. She had to be rational and methodical, using her wits and manipulation to escape.
When she’d opened her eyes, she’d seen a sliver of bright sunshine slanting across the small terrace outside the French doors and had known it was morning. Her first night as a hostage had come and gone. The thought of being kept captive a second night, despite the grand surroundings, ignited a hysteria within her. Pacing around the room, desperate to come up with an escape plan, she realized she was in no position to overpower one of the tall, bulky guards. Her only hope was to talk her way out of the room.
The guards seemed like ex-military types. Men who’d spent their lives in various types of special forces. Once their assignments had ended, for whatever reason, they had been unable to reintegrate successfully into society and had become mercenaries of some sort. Of course, she was engaging in generalizations. How the hell could she really know what their backstories were? Still, she had to at least imagine what kind of men they could be. Disloyal. Selfish. Willing to follow the orders of the highest bidder. She had to hope she could convince one of them to help her. One of the guards had to be willing to go against the woman, hopefully.
The guard put the tray on the low coffee table in the sitting area. Food on a paper towel. A Styrofoam cup and a sandwich. No utensils. Nothing she could use as a weapon.
Vaguely, she recalled the woman promising to feed her, and though she wasn’t hungry, she had to eat for the baby’s sake. Her own appetite didn’t matter. The idea of her baby suffering any type of malnutrition terrified her. She was thankful for the food even if she would probably have to force herself to chew and swallow.
Eating was the last thing on her mind. Escaping this house, wherever it was, continued to dominate her thoughts. Yesterday, after being deposited on the bed and left to recover from the punishing jolt of electricity, Spencer had eventually drifted into a fitful sleep. Even her dreams had been about escape. Though vague and fuzzy now, she recalled running down corridors and walking through a wide, never-ending passageway, twisting the knobs on all the doors she encountered, desperate to find a door that was unlocked.
Hesitant, she walked toward the sitting area, keeping a wide birth, watching the guard. Spencer didn’t recognize the man, didn’t remember him as one of the men who’d helped the woman kidnap her, but like the other men, his face was passive and yet grim, menacing.
“Breakfast,” the guard grunted. “You have one hour to eat, and then someone will return to get the tray. Any food you do not finish will be trashed, so I advise you to cl
ean your plate.”
Glaring at him, irritated by his so-called advice, Spencer asked, “What’s your name?”
The guard frowned. “What?”
“Your name? What is it?” she asked, hoping to establish a rapport with the man and arouse his sympathy. “You have one, don’t you?”
“Why do you want to know my name?”
“Because…” Spencer faltered and felt panic rising. “If you’re going to be bringing me breakfast every day, then I would like to thank you, and—”
The guard turned and walked toward the doors.
“Wait a minute,” Spencer called out, frantic. “Who is the woman who took me? Why did she kidnap me? Who told her to kidnap me? Where am I? Can you at least tell me where I am? Am I still in Houston? In Texas? In the United States? Look, whatever she’s paying you, I’ll double it. My fiancé…”
The word fiancé caught in her throat. She had to catch herself so she wouldn’t break down, but she wasn’t quick enough. Fiancé. John was supposed to be her husband. She was supposed to have walked down the aisle to him. Twenty-one steps to happily ever after. But that hadn’t happened because—
The door slammed, breaking her solemn reverie. Startled, Spencer ran to the closed doors. Yanking the knob with her right hand and beating against the door with her left fist, she screamed and yelled.
“Let me out of here!” she demanded. “Open the door! Let me out! You can’t keep me here!”
Moments later, her hand throbbing and her stomach growling painfully, she backed away from the door. Sobbing and heaving, she turned toward the sitting area, staring at the food. She only had an hour to eat. Any food you do not finish will be trashed. She had to clean her plate.
Exhaling, she wiped the tears away and lurched to the sitting area. Collapsing on one of the couches, she fought the urge to give in to despair and hopelessness. Her first attempt to escape hadn’t gone exactly as she’d wished. Didn’t matter. She would just have to try again. Right now, she had to eat. Spencer took a bite of the sandwich. Ham, a fried egg, and cheese on toast. Not bad, actually. The food would provide nourishment for her and the baby and hopefully help her think a bit more clearly, help her to come up with a definite plan.
The woman had promised her two meals and a shower. She was having the first meal now, so she would see the guard again for her second meal and then the shower. Although, the same guard might not deliver the second meal. Didn’t matter. If another guard showed up, she would offer him the same deal she’d offered the first guard. If the same guard returned, she’d double down on the offer.
“My fiancé will triple whatever you’re being paid,” Spencer said. “He’s very wealthy. We can call him. He’ll help you get away. I won’t tell the police you were involved.”
The guard—a different man from the one who’d brought her breakfast, and the one who’d returned for the breakfast tray, and the one who’d brought her towels and soap so she could shower—ignored her. The other guards had ignored her, too, but she wasn’t going to give up.
“What day is it? How many days have I been here?” she asked.
“Dinner,” the guard said, pointing to the tray. “Someone will return for the tray in an hour.”
“The woman told you to tell me that?” Spencer asked, deciding on a different tactic. “She tells you everything to do? And you just blindly follow her orders? What, are you her bitch or something?”
Glaring at her, the guard growled, “Watch your mouth.”
Wondering if she might have hit a nerve, one that might help her to convince the man to turn traitor, Spencer rose from the bed and walked toward the couch. “You sure you can trust her? Are you sure that she’s not going to put a bullet in your head when all this is over?”
“Worry about your own life,” the guard said and headed toward the double doors.
This attempt at escape hadn’t gone as bad as her earlier attempts, but still, she hadn’t cracked any of the woman’s guards. Maybe the guards were her bitches. A group of pussies, she thought, taking a bite of the roast beef sandwich. Or maybe they were afraid of whoever had paid them to kidnap her.
Spencer hadn’t thought much about the person who’d paid the woman to hold her hostage. But did it matter who had ordered the kidnapping? Would it be a waste of precious time, trying to figure out who’d wanted her smuggled from the church moments before she was set to walk down the aisle? Twenty-one steps, she couldn’t help but think, though it was pointless to ruminate over her doomed nuptials. Just as stupid to tax her brain, trying to determine who was behind her kidnapping. She had to focus on escape. Every thought, every speculation, and each contemplation had to be about how the hell she could get out of the house without ending up with a bullet in her back.
After she finished the sandwich, Spencer went to the bed and lay down. Staring at the ceiling, she thought about her escape plan. Her offer to triple the amount of money being paid to the guards hadn’t enticed any of the men she’d encountered thus far. But why? What did she need to do to convince one of the guards to flip? What did she need to change? What did she need to say? Being friendly hadn’t worked. Neither had being a bitch. A wave of hopelessness threatened to overtake her, but she managed to stop it from pulling her under. Praying for strength and guidance, she placed both hands over her abdomen. Humming a lullaby under her breath, she closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to imagine the little one in her arms walking and then talking, growing healthy and strong, and loved unconditionally.
“Wake up.”
Startled, her lids fluttering, Spencer opened her eyes. At the foot of the bed stood a grim-faced man with a scruffy, unkempt beard and cold, hard eyes as black as obsidian. Gasping, Spencer sat up and scooted back against the headboard. Another guard, she realized, desperate to clear the fuzziness from her head. A different man. Groggy and, again, unprepared, she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Time for you to bathe,” he said, dropping a large towel and a small bar of soap on the bed.
Worried, she stared at him. “I’ll take a shower later.”
“You’ll take the shower now,” he said, his tone inviting no protest or argument. “You have fifteen minutes.”
“Can I close the bathroom door?” she asked, afraid he would demand to watch her, terrified he might try to rape her.
Arms crossed, he shook his head. “Leave it open.”
Her heart kicked. “But—”
“Relax,” he said, dismissive. “I don’t intend to watch.”
He was lying, she was sure, but she was wary of what he would do if she refused to shower with the door open. Most likely, he would drag her into the bathroom, strip her, and force her beneath the stream of water. Shuddering at the possibility of that indignity, Spencer grabbed the soap and towel.
In the bathroom, she scanned the area. It was small, like an apartment bathroom, with a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a combination shower and tub. After removing her slip and underwear, she turned the water on. It was a healthy stream, and she didn’t hesitate to step into the shallow tub, having decided to get the shower over within five minutes or less. Surprisingly, the water was warmer than she’d thought it would be. The soap seemed to be a sample size, something found in a motel room, but it lathered sufficiently. After soaping herself thoroughly and quickly, she rinsed her body, turned the water off, and grabbed the towel. It was thin but large, and once dried, she wrapped it around her body.
Staring at the slip and underwear, she wondered if they would be laundered and returned to her. Should she ask? Forlorn, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that John should have removed the slip and underwear. Spencer pushed the maudlin thoughts away. Instead of remorse, she thought of offering herself for her freedom. Why not? Her original offers had been rebuffed. Maybe the guard would give in for the opportunity to make love to her. The baby bump had grown but still wasn’t overly obvious. She hadn’t really gained much weight and still possessed the curvaceous figure most men found sexy
and irresistible.
Maybe she should walk out of the bathroom, stark naked, and proposition the guard. Maybe he would become aroused by the sight of her. If she could lure him to the bed, she might be able to knee him in the groin. While he clutched his injured balls, she could grab his gun, whack him in the head, and then…what? Shoot her way out of the house?
Frustrated, Spencer walked into the bedroom, the towel still wrapped firmly around her.
The guard was gone, but there were several items on the bed that hadn’t been there when she’d left to take the shower—a pair of gabardine pants with an elastic waist, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of white cotton Granny panties.
The guard must have left the room while she was showering to get the clothes, left them behind, and then left again. Something to remember, to possibly take advantage of, maybe. When the guard left to get clothes for her, she might be able to listen for the moment when he left the room so she could be waiting for his return. As soon as he walked back through the door, she could kick him. A good kick to the shin might stun him enough so she could—
Stun. Enraged and disgusted, Spencer remembered the shock collar. Her hand flew to her throat. Disappointed, she sank onto the bed. The collar, which seemed to be made from some outdoor, all-weather fabric, still graced her neck, hindering her chance to escape. Even if she did manage to get the best of one of her guards, she wouldn’t get far before several jolts of electricity brought her down.
36
Location Unknown
The next morning, her mind still flooded with bittersweet remnants of dreams about John and the baby and their life together, Spencer got out of bed, determined to find a weapon.
Though still groggy and disoriented, she was desperate to escape. She couldn’t wait around to be released. What if they didn’t let her go? What if the woman had lied to her? Spencer had to assume she hadn’t been told the truth. She’d read news articles about kidnapping victims who’d been killed even when ransom demands were paid.
