by K A Sands
The fear that had been blessedly absent slammed into me, my bottom lip quivering when he took a step back, winding the winch a few inches down. I still couldn’t touch the floor with my feet, but I was no longer eye level with the monster.
He walked the room, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it in front of the half-closed door before striding to the opposite corner of the room. Reaching up to fiddle with something, he shifted his hand, and I saw the ominous red light that meant only one thing - a camera. Dread poured over me when I realised his intent, he was going to film whatever was coming next and I knew exactly where he was sending it. My gut churned, the threatening bile almost choking me.
I didn’t have much time to think on it because before long he was methodically undoing the buttons on his stark white shirt, then placing the stiff cotton on top of his jacket. All I could do was watch and shudder as I scanned his revealed torso. The man was covered in visions of blackened terror I couldn’t make out, his chest more muscle than any man I’d ever seen. I found nothing attractive in his physique but couldn’t stop staring; he had a body meant to deliver pain and I was to be the recipient.
When he stood in front of me again, he regarded me with what looked like hatred, yet the gentle touch of his thumb brushing the tears falling on my cheeks were at odds.
“I have a beautiful wife. Remarkable really,” he sighed. “But she does not entertain me in the way I need. My whore upstairs is beginning to bore me, maybe I need something new to play with?”
Light burst into the room again, it’s source different from the door that had opened before. A shutter I’d failed to notice earlier screeched on its rails as it pullied upwards revealing a window and another room beyond.
“An audience perhaps?”
My breaths were quick and panicked, his words striking me as if he’d laid a hand on me and slapped hard. Gripping my chin, he angled my head toward the room, the one I didn’t want to look at, knowing what - or who - I’d see. All my nightmares came true. Warren was in the room. His hands against the glass that had been covered a moment ago, began to beat furiously, while his mouth screamed no, no, no over and over again.
“Make it believable,” my captor whispered into my blood-soaked ear, “or he doesn’t get to walk away.”
A vacuum evolved around me and the room became deathly silent, only ripped apart by the sound of a zipper unfastening. I didn’t take my eyes from Warren. When scorching hands lifted me, when the man’s length dug roughly into my belly, when he whispered into my ear how he would leave my love dead inside, I never stopped looking at Warren. I watched as he shouted and banged and cried and screamed, watched horror etch his face with the first hit that thumped against my flesh from a fisted hand that no longer held onto me. Only when he slumped to the wall in defeat did I come back to myself and tear my eyes away from him.
He didn’t violate me. The man was hurting me, but he never took what I presumed was his due. He had a solid grip around the back of my neck now, his erection hard against me, and he was taking his pleasure all right, but he wasn’t doing the unthinkable - just making it look like he was.
I sensed when he lost control. His teeth sunk into my neck, ripping my skin and his fingers dug into my throat while he throttled me almost unconscious. Every cry he tore from my mouth only served to goad his violence against me.
“Slut,” he growled. “Whore,” he moaned. “Bitch,” he said as he slapped at my face harder than anything I’d ever felt in my life, heat exploding across my cheek.
Curling in on myself, I prayed he’d be done with me soon, begged he’d hurry so I could crumple and die a little more on the concrete floor. But there was no such luck as he kept at me, biting and slapping with furious anger I didn’t understand. My body pulsed painfully and began to shut down under his constant onslaught.
My arms ached, and the restraints became too much to endure, slippy with blood that continued and ran freely down my arms, then over my chest. He moaned and licked at the sticky mess then his body tightened, and he gripped my hair fiercely, holding me tight to him.
I dared a look at the room where Warren was still slumped, his head in his hands. Tears cascaded freely now, and I simply wanted to die in that moment right there - I wanted my life to be over. I’d caused enough pain through the years. Enough was enough.
“Do it,” I whispered. “Do it.”
The assault began again, with more vigour, harder hits and the second time he stilled I knew the end was right there. His hot seed splashed against my stomach between us, his body tensed as his fist ripped strands of hair from my head. Just as quick, he pulled away and with bloodied hands, he tucked himself back into his pants. I felt disgusted and nauseated all over again. I knew I was bleeding and bruised but refused to look at the evidence of his horror against my skin.
He glanced at the camera in the corner and nodded his head while I choked and sputtered, bile spilling from my swollen lips.
“Lover boy’s turn.”
Oh God, no. Not that, please. Not like this. It would kill him. This wasn’t his world; he wasn’t that man. I shook my head frantically, my eyes pleading with the words I couldn’t say. I’d rather he killed me than made Warren use me like that. He’d never recover.
Fisting my hair angrily, he uttered a single word in my ear. My body deflated, gave in and I cried some more, the cruelness of hearing the little boy’s name slicing worse than anything else he’d so far delivered.
“This is the bit my wife doesn’t like, but I know you do, Princess. A cock in your hole and one in your arse. Paul was very specific relaying the details to me. Maybe you’d like another in your mouth too, hhmm?”
Warren stumbled into the room before I could curse this man a blue streak, his shirt ripped and a bruise forming on his cheek. I turned away unable to look him in the eye until he rushed me, covering my body with his own, his hands carefully wiping at my bloodied body and my tear stained face.
“It’s going to be all right, shhh...” he soothed. “I’ve got you.”
“Kieran,” I sputtered out, blood filling my mouth, an incessant buzz filling my ears.
“It’s okay. We do what he wants and it’s okay.” What little faith I had disappeared, the words he whispered were strong and defiant, but I didn’t believe him. “I’ve got you. Trust me, baby.” I nodded half-heartedly and squeezed my eyes shut as he kissed over the mess that was now my face. “Fucking bastard,” he growled.
“Warren,” the big man barked. He snapped around, glaring at him. “Get to it, boy.”
I snorted. Where it came from, I didn’t know but Warren was no boy. No, he was all man. My man. Not a coward, not a thief, nor a liar. Not a drunk or a deadbeat, nor a heavy hand. He was my man.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just hold onto me, stay with me. Only me.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” I chanted. “Please,” I begged, broken beyond belief.
“It’s just me and you.”
But it wasn’t, and I was cruelly reminded when my captor moved in behind me. No. I wasn’t doing this, wasn’t strong enough to survive what this meant. This wasn’t who I was anymore, I couldn’t just shut my eyes and get on with it.
“Hey.” Sad eyes penetrated my soul and I sagged, giving in, shutting it all out, even the man I’d fallen in love with. Life with Warren would never be the same again. Never. What happened next would always hang over us, always come between us, always hurt us.
I waited for countless seconds, but nothing came except a breath at my ear and the whispered words from a man I loathed with my whole being. “Let him fix you, Princess. Let him love you. Your father took too much, let someone give you what he never.”
The winch clanked noisily, and before I knew what was happening, I was on the floor with Warren’s arms wrapped around me, his lips in my hair, being sheltered from the awful surroundings I couldn’t bear any longer.
“Your debt is clear, P
rincess.” I sobbed harshly. Charlie’s debt had never been mine to begin with. “However, your father’s is not. I want his books.”
Warren clasped me tightly. I didn’t care that I was bloodied and bruised, that my whole body hurt like it never had before, just that he kept holding on. He couldn’t let go; I didn’t have it in me to move without him. I’d crumble to ashes if he left me.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered desperately as I clung to his neck.
The harsh tap to my shoulder made me wince and snap my head upwards. My phone was held out to me. “Forward the video to your brother. I want my two million and those books. He has two days.” He casually buttoned up his shirt, smears of red he took no notice of tainting the material.
He could have done it himself; this was the last insult. Through my diminished sensibilities I managed to comprehend the meaning behind the act. He was in control until he decided otherwise, I had no power in this room. I was at his mercy, still I refused, couldn’t bring myself to physically reach for the phone.
“Now.” He barely raised his voice, but his tone was icy, hostile. “Or I carry out my threat.”
Unravelling from Warren I grabbed the phone with shaky hands and swiped at the screen, a thin red streak smearing the glass, left behind by my finger. Looking down through blurred eyes I saw all I needed to do was press send, he’d already set up the rest, including his name.
The monster had a name - Yannick.
When I hit the send button, I closed my eyes and tipped my head backwards wondering how I’d ever be able to stand in the same room as Ryder again. This was not fair, not his fight. He didn’t need to see what had happened in this room any more than Warren had. I never wanted to be a burden on him, yet I was doing it again, for the second time in as many weeks.
“Chrissie,” Warren asked for my attention. I flopped my head to the side and stared at him, barely seeing. “Ryder will be fine.”
I had to admire him for the attempt at reassurance but didn’t particularly care for it. The beastly man had indeed broken me far more than any other had. No, that wasn’t really true was it? Charlie had done this, no one else. This final straw was my undoing.
Warren
Never having felt terror like I did when I screamed from behind the dirty glass window, I watched with disgust as another man took what I’d claimed as mine. I wanted to rip the motherfucker’s limbs off one by one and hang those appendages from the end of Brighton Pier.
He’d violated my love in the most brutal of ways. The panic facing me at not being able to put Chrissie’s broken pieces back together, gouged deep. How could I save her? When I held her in my arms and whispered into her ear, I was at a loss. I sat there like a chump and kept my mouth shut, hoping against hope the man kept his word and when Ryder came through - I had no doubt he would - we’d be able to walk out of here, alive at least.
I should have known better. The deadline had been looming, her time up before we’d even recognised it. When I was nudged awake with the barrel of a gun in an empty bed, the nightmare that was to come would not be easy to stomach. It took all my energy not to break down right there.
Ryder would come through, I believed it with every ounce of faith I had left in me, but the damage was already done. Her brother may have been too late to save Chrissie, but he had the power to get us out of here.
She stared at me with glassy eyes. This woman had looked at me in so many different ways, this was the first time she appeared hopeless though, and it turned me inside out. Even in her flat hallway, after Charlie, she’d shown more than the nothing I saw now. I never wanted to see it again. Her look frightened me, I was ill equipped for the situation we were in, not having a fucking clue how to stop her from sinking. Nothing was adequate enough and certainly wouldn’t erase the last few hours.
Tears slipped from my eyes, born of frustration more than anything else. “What can I do?” Clasping my hands gently across her cheeks, I willed her to hear me, see me.
“He didn’t.”
Feeling the slight shake of her head, I let out a breath and bent forward to kiss her forehead, afraid to kiss anywhere else. Afraid of rejection she had every right to turn in my direction. We’d been left alone, the brute retrieving Chrissie’s phone before leaving the room. The light had dulled significantly when the heavy metal door had slammed shut behind him. I’d hauled Chrissie in front of me and we now sat face to face on the dank concrete floor.
“He didn’t,” she said again, louder.
“I’m sorry.” There were a hundred different apologies for this misunderstood woman, mainly because I hadn’t protected her. As a man, that stuck in my throat the worst, I’d let her get hurt in the worst of ways.
Chrissie surprised me and gave me the slightest of smiles that hurt to look at. She was trying - for me. Letting go of her, I hauled off my t shirt, something I should have done the second she hit the floor. Every wince she gave as I helped her get the garment over her head cut deep.
There was no sink, nothing to clean her up with so I ripped along the bottom of the t shirt she now wore, thin straps of material to wind around her wrists. In the faint light, the cuts didn’t look too bad, but they’d need seeing to.
When I was finished, she climbed into my lap and clung to me, my arms winding around her. I held on as tight as I thought I could possibly get away with without hurting her any more. She didn’t cry, not a peep, and we sat there for an indeterminate amount of time just drawing strength from one another.
Eventually she raised her head from my chest. “I’m glad he’s dead.”
There was no rebuking her comment. It probably served its purpose well that she’d been the one to do it. If she hadn’t, I was pretty sure I’d have done it myself after what he’d done here. His days would have been numbered and a queue would have formed right behind me, I was sure of it.
“I didn’t like him,” she paused. “Ryder.”
“Why not?”
“Jealousy maybe. I don’t know. He’d come into the club, sit and drink, never look at the girls, like he was too good for a strip club. It pissed me off.”
“He isn’t like that, Chrissie. I’ve seen him there, he was there for you.”
“I know,” she groaned. “I get it now. I’ve treated him like shit.” Her head dropped to her chest.
“He won’t hold a grudge.”
She laughed, the humour missing. “You know him better than I do.”
“You can change that.”
“I will,” she said firmly. “I will.”
“First, we get through this, okay.”
Chrissie looked around as if searching for something, but the room was devoid of anything besides myself and Chrissie. “Jesus,” she whispered, her lip trembling.
“I’ve got you.” Stroking a finger over her blood-stained cheek, trying to smile, I failed miserably. Glancing down at the tint of blood seeping through the front of the t shirt she wore, my anger boiled hot again. Fuck, I needed to get her cleaned up more than anything.
Gently lifting her from my lap, I herded her over to the farthest side of the room, away from the door “Don’t move.”
Returning to the door, I banged furiously against the metal and shouted out. After five minutes of pounding, I heard the bolt slide over and I jumped back. A first aid kit and a plastic bag was thrown through the couple of inches the door had opened before it slammed shut again. The light was atrocious, but it was enough to get Chrissie sorted out.
With delicate swipes and painful gasps between us, we managed to clean up as much blood as we could. My hand stilled as I wiped across her belly, seeing more than blood there. I whipped my head up and caught her staring at me, her head shaking from side to side.
“He didn’t?” I scarcely dared to believe it, couldn’t understand, but the nod of her head was confirmation enough. What she’d said earlier now made sense. I sucked in a breath and thanked God he hadn’t, for her sake not mine. Maybe she had a fighting chance of putting this b
ehind her after all. I quickly changed the subject. “I think you might need a few steri strips.” I pointed to her chest and then to her ear. “There’s a pack in here I can use.”
Chrissie finally succumbed, the situation we were in finally becoming too much, and she cried in earnest. By the time I pulled the clean t shirt from the plastic bag and dressed her, her hitched cries were loud and distressing. It took a while for her to settle back down but she eventually did, cuddled close to my side.
“Better?”
“Yeah, thank you.” She wiped her face on the discarded t shirt. No way was I putting the thing back on.
Chrissie was a fierce woman; I knew that about her and right now I didn’t care if bitch Chrissie came out as long as she kept it together. For now, she needed to be strong. Slipping my arm around her shoulder, I pulled her closer still.
“Think you can sleep a little?”
“Maybe. I’m exhausted.”
She nestled in, and I was so fucking grateful she did because it meant even after what she’d endured, she still found me safe. Trusted me. And that meant the world. She’d had very few people, if any, in her life to trust thus far. There was no way I was letting this woman down again; she’d been tossed aside enough. Whatever she wanted from our future - and I hoped she wanted it all - I’d forever be in her life, in one way or another. I loved her, and I wasn’t willing to take the easy route and walk away.
I was here, and Chrissie was mine.
We were together.
I had to trust everything else would fall into place, and that Ryder would come through for his sister. If she ever needed her big brother, it was now.
Ryder
I’d left my phone on the dresser and when the text chime roused me from sleep, I frowned over at the alarm clock. Five thirty in the morning. Not good, not good at all. Sleeping light had its disadvantages. In truth I hadn’t been sleeping all that much, what with running scenarios through my head the past four days. It was a useless endeavour because I had no bloody clue what was coming, just that time was up.
