Overprotected

by Jennifer Laurens

  I blinked and stretched my eyes as wide as I could. Wood paneled walls. A musty smell. Mushroom-colored lamp light.

  Stuart.

  My heart jerked. He sat on a chair, next to the bed I was tied to—arms over my head, legs spread, bound to the iron footboard.

  His eyes were fierce. His gaunt face twisted with concern and terror.

  I opened my mouth but the only sound was a gravelly rasp. He reached out slowly to touch me. I tried to yank away but couldn’t.

  Binding my hands was yards of fat pink, satin ribbon looped and knotted around each wrist. Ankles: same. My hands were cold, fingertips tingling from loss of circulation. I lay on a stiff mattress covered with a soft quilt, and it smelled thickly of body odor. Panic rushed through my veins. I was sure my heart would explode from my chest.

  “You kidnapped me?” I finally managed to ask.

  “I rescued you.” Stuart jumped to his feet, and paced. His restless hands scrubbed his face over and over. “I’m not a kidnapper.”

  Why did he do this? What is he planning on doing to me? The thought of what he wanted sucked breath from my lungs. Calm down, calm down. You have your clothes on. Maybe he won’t hurt you. I closed my eyes. Tears streamed down the sides of my face. Dad had told me if I ever found myself in a situation like this to keep calm. So had Colin. Fear killed common sense and capability. Think. Act.

  I hated that I was helpless. I screamed. Pushing every last ounce of air from my lungs, I bellowed as loud as I could.

  Stuart lunged, clamping both hands over my mouth. Our gazes gripped each other. “Stop screaming,” he growled.

  If there was any way in this world anyone anywhere would hear me, I had to give it a shot. Screaming shredded my voice into wispy sobs. My stomach muscles bunched and cramped.

  “You going to be quiet?” he demanded. I nodded. He removed his palms from my mouth.

  “Let me go.”

  He jerked to his feet, antsy.

  “Let me go, Stuart.”

  His feral gaze didn’t blink. “Quiet.” He paced again, muttering words I couldn’t understand under his breath.

  Convince him you’re on his side. You can do this. You can.

  He stopped, stared like he still couldn’t believe I was there. “I saw Charles take you to the hotel and—I couldn’t let him keep you in that filthy place.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Everybody knows, except you.” His breath started to skip. His face flushed scarlet. “What kind of man locks away his daughter? You would have fallen in love with me if he hadn’t hired me to work for you.”

  Never.

  He stepped to the edge of the bed.

  Heart racing, fists clenched, I endured him stroking my head.

  I closed my eyes, worked to stop the sob creeping into my chest.

  Tears continued to rush down the sides of my face, but my breath slowly turned from a race to a pant.

  Stuart’s hand left my head and my eyes flashed open. He headed for the open door. He wore khaki slacks, and a navy sweater—

  clothes I recognized from when he’d lived with us.

  I stole the moment to look around. I was in a bedroom. One window, half covered with white, eyelet curtains, pulled closed.

  Paneling—the cheap kind people threw up to cover old walls.

  Photos hung too-high on the wood, a decorating faux-pas Mother detested. I almost laughed that I’d notice such a thing when I was tied to a bed, my future uncertain.

  My hands were beginning to turn purple and cold. Same with my feet. Someone help me. My eyes closed against a fresh round of tears.

  There’s no one to help you. You have to get yourself out of this.

  Stuart returned with a moist washcloth. He held it out, gesturing that he was going to use it on my face. He waited for my approval. I finally nodded.

  He sat and gently patted the warm cloth over my cheeks, forehead, chin. “Don’t cry. I won’t hurt you. I love you.”

  My chin started to tremble. More tears threatened to burst from my eyes, but I blinked hard, fast, and steadied my emotions. Love?

  “If we’d met like normal people, you’d have fallen in love with me.”

  He withdrew the cool cloth and sat back, studying me. I wouldn’t have ever found him attractive. I hated hairy, big men. Dad knew that.

  Dad. Knew.

  A lump grew in my throat.

  “I don’t blame you for hating your bodyguards, you couldn’t see past it.”

  Dad. Knew.

  Urgency leapt from his voice and eyes. He leaned close. “Being together, away from that hell-hole, you’ll see your real feelings for me.” Stuart’s eyes watched me with a dreamy haze. His gaze intensified on my mouth, fingertips like feathers fluttering over the outer ridges of my upper lip, then along my bottom lip. Sweat seeped from my pores. “You’re so beautiful. I want to kiss you.” His throaty desire sent a shiver of revulsion across my skin.

  Oh no. No. But if denied him, he’d do what he wanted anyway. I couldn’t stop him. “I don’t like being tied up, Stuart.”

  His fingers stilled on my lips. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He continued to move his fingers over my lips, then over my head, through my hair, skimming the base of my neck. Panic trembled through me. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. His face neared, breath smelling of onions and the nearness caused my body to shake.

  His teeth took my earlobe and gently nibbled. I turned my head, swallowing the vomit surging up my throat.

  Paralyzing fear gripped my every muscle. I focused on steadying my breath, on relaxing so as to not give ravaging fear any chance to reveal itself.

  “Beautiful, beautiful Ash.” His palms now made a slow ascent up my arms to my bound wrists.

  “Untie me,” my voice cracked. My body shook so violently, I was sure he’d read the reaction for the disgust that it was. Too distracted by his own desire, he was deaf to my plea. I pinched my eyes closed.

  The slick, stickiness of his mouth covered mine, slobbery, starved, like a hound devouring a meal.

  I writhed and bucked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  And threw up.

  Stuart jumped to his feet, stunned. He stared down at his clothes, at me, at the bed—now covered with my vomit.

  “What the hell?” he spit barf out. His gag reflex kicked in and he darted from the room. My skin blanched in sweat. What would he do now?

  He returned, muttering curses and wiping himself off with a towel. “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” My throat stung from bile. I wanted to clean up.

  “You barfed in my mouth.” His skin reddened. He unbuttoned his shirt, ripped it off, squeezed it between his fists, biceps bulging. The sight of his rock-hard body sent panic racing through me. He was so big, stronger than me. He eyed me a moment, then turned and left the room. I lay there, fighting the aftershock effect to continue vomiting, the stench so wretched.

  A few minutes later he returned in fresh clothes. He stopped in the door, seemed to ponder his next move, then crossed to the bed and stared down at me. “I should leave you in your puke.”

  “I need to clean up,” I said. “Untie me.”

  His eyes swept me from chest to toes, then scanned the bedspread and floor. Finally, he came to the bed and leaned over me. His untucked shirt hung in my face, and from where I lay, I saw his belly button and the path of blonde curly hair that led below the waist of his jeans. Another round of bile rolled up my throat, but I swallowed.

  Hands free, he carefully brought my arms down to rest on my chest. His eyes never leaving mine, he moved to the foot of the bed, his hands working to loosen the thick pink ribbons.

  When my feet were free, he snatched my ankles into his fists and held my legs. My heart screamed in my chest.

  “Don’t run.”

  Frozen with fear, I couldn’t respond. He held my legs long enough to prove his point, then lowered them to the bed. Coming to the side,
he barely blinked, so intent on following my every move.

  “Get up. The bathroom’s this way.”

  It took effort to stand. I wobbled. His hands supported my shoulders. “Why did you bring me here if you’re going to be mean?”

  I sneered.

  His tight grip on my shoulders softened a little. “You hucked all over me.”

  We exited the bedroom and entered a living room—a small area painted light blue with seascape paintings and old family portraits scattered on the walls. Curtains were drawn, so I couldn’t see outside. Lamplight kept the space in a grey haze. The front door had a deadbolt and a chain.

  My gaze skipped over every surface, into every corner, in search of anything that could aid me in escaping. Choosing the right moment proved harder than I thought. What if I tried and failed?

  He’d hurt me for sure. He guided me through a short hall where his school photos hung—from kindergarten to high school. So normal.

  What had driven him to take me?

  His life would never be normal again now.

  But mine could.

  My mind flashed the handful of self-defense techniques Colin had taught me. All I needed was the right moment.

  Stuart gestured to an open door. We stopped in the jamb and he flicked on the light. He room was a small bath tiled in yellow and white with lemon-colored curtains.

  I stepped in, and a powder scent filled my head.

  Stuart planted himself in the door, crossing his arms over his chest. My eyes widened.

  “Take a shower.”

  “With you standing there?”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Then I’m not showering.”

  He unfolded his arms and moved his bulk into the small space with me. My heart banged. “Take off your clothes.”

  Fear squashed my voice. I shook my head.

  His eyes flashed with malice. “Then I’ll strip you myself.”

  I jumped into the tub and turned on the shower water. Icy pellets hit my skin and I shuddered, adjusting the knob to hot.

  “Going to shower with your clothes on?” he snickered.

  “You’re not touching me.”

  Anger boiled in his muscles, tensing and bunching beneath his clothes. He lunged, and ripped at my sopping clothes.

  I shoved at his chest. He was like grappling with a grizzly. I twisted. My backside was against him. He continued to rip my clothes. Hot water spray burned through the fabric of my clothes. I thrust my head back in a head-butt and felt the impact of his nose vibrate through my skull. He swore. His grip bruised my ribs.

  I caught sight of a bar of soap in the caddy. I head butted him again. He jerked his head aside. His palm wrapped around my jaw, locking my face in a tight hold. I shoved my elbow into his gut. He winced but didn’t move. He had my head captured between his neck and jaw. I bit down his ear. He groaned. His arms released enough for me to break free. I grabbed the soap, coated my fingers with suds, whirled and gouged his eyes with my fingers.

  He screamed. His hands slapped over his eyes.

  I pushed past him, and ran, sloshing and sliding out of the bathroom. I flew through the living room to the front door. Behind me, Stuart’s shrieks increased. Hands shaking, I unlatched the chain, yanked open door and leapt out into the darkness.

  My eyes took forever to adjust—or seemed to. I darted across a small front yard, the frigid air freezing my drenched clothes. A street—lined with houses and cars. I fled down the middle, saw two guys up ahead—one on a bike, another hurrying alongside him, both coming my direction.

  I shouted, waving my arms. The street seemed to stretch before me. Safety was so far away. Finally, I was there. I couldn’t speak. No breath. Behind me—no sound.

  “Are you okay?” The older man’s gaze swept me from soaking feet to head.

  The teenager’s eyes widened. “Hey, it’s that girl on the news.”

  Sirens sliced the air like samurai swords in full swing. It seemed I blinked and was surrounded by police cars, swirling red and white light, and black uniformed officers. I mumbled my name, adrenaline drowning my senses. A blanket was wrapped around me. The additional weight only added to the strange suffocation my soaked, cold clothing was imposing on me. I was tucked in the back seat of one of the cars and whisked away.

  I stared out the window. We sped past houses. Slummy neighborhoods.

  Two officers sat in the front seat, a woman sat in the back with me. She introduced herself, but her name slipped off my numb brain.

  “You warm enough? I’ve got more blankets where that came from,” the female officer asked. Her badge read Ahearn.

  I shook my head. I wished the shakes erupting through me would settle.

  “Want some water?” she asked.

  “No thanks.”

  “Coffee?”

  Eyes out the window, I shook my head. My stomach was restless.

  “You take it easy,” she said. “We’ll get you into some dry clothes at the hospital.”

  Weariness cloaked me and I leaned my head back. The adrenaline surging through me was slowly draining, and my muscles, eyelids, became heavy.

  The squad car drove into a yellow lit tunnel. The inside of the vehicle vibrated with the sound of speeding wheels and churning engines all racing through the cylinder. I closed my eyes. My brain blanked out—I don’t know for how long, but when I opened my eyes it was black night. We were on the island. The grating pitch of the police radio scratched the air.

  “A male, six foot two inches, two hundred forty pounds, blond hair and green eyes has been apprehended and is in police custody.”

  I swallowed.

  “Looks like they got Reed.” Detective Ahearn drew my attention, her voice soft and calm as she eyed me across the darkness.

  “How did you know about him?” I asked.

  “When we questioned your father, Stuart was at the top of the list of suspects.”

  Dad. Mother. I closed my eyes, suppressing tears. Colin.

  “How did you find me so fast?” I asked, looking at her again.

  “The tracking device told us you were in the area.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The tracking device inside of you.”

  My empty stomach rolled. Her expression faltered. She must have realized from my stunned silence that I had no idea that I had a tracking device inside of me. Tracking device. When? I’d never been in the hospital, never been put under except for minor dental work.

  I touched the small white line in my arm—was that it? The supposed

  “mole scar”? I was both shocked and relieved at the depths Dad had gone to ensure my safety.

  I was safe, after all. Or was I?

  None of this would have happened if Dad hadn’t hired Stuart.

  We pulled into St. Mary’s Hospital, and wound underground through a parking maze of cement. The patrol car stopped at an open elevator.

  The elevator smelled stale, like yesterday’s cigarettes. Stuffy, Close. At the eleventh floor, the doors slid open to a long, antiseptic hall.

  Detective Ahearn escorted me into a small examination room where a female doctor in a long, white medical coat smiled and extended her hand to me. She introduced herself, but it seemed that every word floated through my consciousness.

  Detective Ahearn left and the doctor’s silky voice calmed me into lying down on the examination table while she checked my blood pressure, felt for broken bones and asked me what had happened.

  Exhausted, answers dropped from my mouth in one-word replies.

  She crossed the room to a closet and brought out a pair of dark blue scrubs. “Change into these. They need your clothes and undergarments to do some tests. I’ll wait outside the door.”

  I sat a moment, holding the light-weight, neatly folded garments in my hands, my gaze on them, but my eyes out of focus.

  I was taken into a large private room—white walls, white lights, white bed. Colin stood in the center. My heart lod
ged in my throat.

  He whirled when the door opened, and our eyes met. His black slacks and sweater were stark against the whiteness.

  I bolted from the wheelchair and flew into his arms. Those in the room fell silent. His embrace crushed me. I wept against him. He stroked my head, whispered my name. Squeezed me so ferociously, I thought my ribs would break. We stood fastened until my sobs dissipated.