Jasmine

by Bene, Jennifer

  “I understand. But now that we do know…” I give him my best FBI due diligence stare. “There’s always a possibility he saw something. Maybe even found something.”

  “You looking for a big break here, Agent Jones?” Braddock’s voice is polite, but it conveys all the skepticism it needs to.

  “Nope,” I shoot back, giving him my normal sardonic grin. “All I’m looking for is a couple of paragraphs for my report, and a chance to bust some detective’s balls.”

  Braddock looks over to Carmen, and then back to me, grinning. “All right. I think we can help with that.”

  He pushes himself away from the desk.

  “Clint,” he calls out, and Nolan turns his face away from the picture of Sloane for the first time in several minutes. “These here FBI agents have a desire to do a little sightseeing. Why don’t you take them out for a ride.”

  Seventeen

  Her

  It’s Wednesday. Three days since the last pill, and I need to take another one, but he hasn’t left me alone for a single second. He fucked me as soon as he woke, his big hand shoving between my thighs yanked me out of sleep — and then his fingers on my clit woke me up the rest of the way.

  My fault. I should have never made that mistake. He uses every single one against me, but at least this morning he was too impatient to make me come. To make me participate… enjoy it. But he did make me bathe him in the shower. Just another way for him to make this seem normal, to pretend I want to be here, that he didn’t just rip me out of a field and kidnap me and force me to be his perfect little fuckdoll wife.

  My anger is hard to keep down this morning, and I have to get it in check. Because my horrible decision-making yesterday had one positive side-effect… he’s in a great mood. All smiles and weird little compliments that I hope mean he’s leaning toward trusting me again.

  I just need one more chance. One more.

  I’m sweeping the floor in the living room, listening to him walking around the house, and I can’t help but grit my teeth because he’s been inside all damn morning. He even watched me dust in the sitting room, talking to me about how much he loves he. How perfect our family is going to be. What a ‘good wife’ I am.

  Every word has felt like a splinter shoved under my skin, but I’ve kept smiling. Waiting. Playing the part because I just need him to leave the goddamn house.

  “Jasmine.” His voice makes me jump, and I spin around to find him in the doorway near the stairs. “I’m going to let Moses and Rebekah out and…”

  Just the memory of yesterday makes my skin feel slimy, and I have to fight the churning of my stomach as I struggle to plant a smile on my face. “Okay, Daniel.”

  “Well…” He tucks his thumbs into his jeans, and then nods. “You’re doing a good job.”

  “Thank you,” I answer, staying completely still as he turns and walks toward the front door. Every muscle in me is tense as I listen to it open, the creaking of the old hinges, and then it shuts firmly.

  I make myself count to ten before I walk to the edge of the entryway and lean my broom against the wall. Through the thin curtains on either side of the front door, I can see him walking toward the barn, and that’s all I’ve been pleading for all morning. Finally, a break. I bolt up the stairs and into the bathroom. Ripping open the cabinet, I grab my bag and kneel down on the floor to take out my birth control. The first case I grab is empty, and it makes me cringe as I shove it to the bottom and dig out the new pill case.

  Fuck.

  Only twenty-one chances before I’m ruined. That’s all I have. Pushing the first one into my hand, my heart falls a little more. Twenty now.

  Popping it into my mouth, I stand up and turn on the faucet, cupping water to swallow it.

  “Jasmine? Do you want to come help me with Moses and Rebekah?” His voice echoes from inside the house and makes me stand up straight, swallowing hard. Panic turns my heartbeat into a race as I spin to find him entering the bedroom, approaching me with a smile. “What are you doing?”

  “My medicine. I’m taking my medicine.” Crouching down, I shove the pink case back into my bag as fast as I can, but then I feel his hand on my shoulder.

  “What is it? Do I need to get you more?” he asks, showing his version of kindness as I push the bag inside the cabinet and shake my head.

  “No, no. It’s okay, Daniel. Thank you though.” I twist to stand up, and he lets me, but when I reach to close the cabinet, he catches it.

  “If you need to take medicine, Jasmine, that’s important. You can’t get sick, especially if you want to go riding with me.” There’s some twisted kind of concern in his voice, and I hate it. I hate him, but I force a smile and make myself touch his arm gently.

  “I won’t get sick, I promise. Let’s go downstairs—”

  “It’s my job to take care of you, Jasmine. You don’t need to feel ashamed.” He reaches into the cabinet and lifts out my bag, setting it on the counter, and I fight the urge to lunge for it. To rip it out of his hands.

  “Daniel, it’s fine. I promise.” Using his name just makes him smile at me again before he takes the little pink disk out. He’s holding my life in his hands, and he doesn’t even know it. “Can we go downstairs? Please? I need to finish my chores so I can see the horses.”

  He ignores me, opening the case, turning it over, and then he looks into the bag and pulls out the little paper insert, and my blood runs cold. I’m trapped because I can’t get past him into the bedroom. I’m stuck by the door, watching as he reads and his face changes. For a moment there’s confusion, his brows pulled together, and then there’s only anger.

  “Birth control,” he says quietly, his voice razor sharp in the silence, and I see the paper shaking in his grip for a moment before his fingers tighten into a fist, crushing it as he turns to face me. “This is your medicine?”

  I can’t speak as I press my back to the wall, but there’s not enough room. He towers over me, holding up the fist filled with paper like the accusation that it is.

  “You… you took these?” His other hand shoots out fast, grabbing my arm in an iron grip that immediately has me whimpering.

  “It’s not—”

  “DO NOT LIE TO ME!” he roars, shaking me hard, his fingers bruising rings into my upper arm as fear takes over, and I start crying.

  “Please, please…” Another hard shake that ends with him shoving me back into the wall.

  “I’m not stupid, Jasmine. I can read. I know that only whores take birth control. Whores that want to open their legs to anyone and not get pregnant.” His voice goes dangerously soft on the last words, and I can’t look away from the wild glaze in his eyes. “This was you. It was all you. God has been trying to bless us with a child, and you’ve been killing it with these?”

  “No, no!” I shake my head, trying to find the right words to explain that’s not how it works, but he grabs me by the throat. The paper insert that damned me is crushed against my skin where he squeezes, making blood pound behind my eyes as I wrap my fingers around his wrist.

  “Do. Not. Lie. To. Me.” Every word is hard-edged as he tightens his grip until I can’t draw any air. Desperate, I claw at his hand, shaking my head the little I can, but he won’t let go. Black starts at the edges of my vision, slowly inching in as pins and needles pop up across my body.

  He’s going to kill me. Jesus Christ, he’s going to kill me.

  In a panic, I bring my leg up hard, right between his legs, and he shouts as he stumbles back, catching himself on the counter as I wheeze air in and throw myself out the bathroom door. My vision is coming back while I run for the bedroom door, coughing as my bruised throat tries to let air past — and then I lose all the air again.

  It feels like a truck hits me, every bone in my body jarring violently as he tackles me to the floor, and I hit hard but I’m fueled by pure adrenaline now, and I barely register the pain. Flipping over, I twist to kick him off me. Somehow, I manage to catch his shoulder and shove myself away
at the same time. Scrambling to my hands and knees, I make it another few feet closer to the door before he grabs my ankle, and I scream with my first full breath.

  His fingers dig into clothes and skin as he drags me back under him, forcing me onto my back, but I’m not ready to die. I’m not going to die. That one thought slices through my mind, and I go for his eyes as he shifts over me, but my thumbs barely dig in before he jerks back.

  I get one look at his grimace of rage before he backhands me, and white-hot pain explodes across my cheekbone, my teeth rattling as I taste copper on my tongue. A second later, my face is in his hand, fingers digging into my cheeks as he leans in close.

  “YOU DID THIS! You killed our child! You defied God, His plans for us!” He’s shouting, more emotion than I’ve ever heard in his voice, and of all the times I’d begged to see some kind of emotion in him… I’d never expected rage like this. He’s terrifying as he seethes above me, and then a roar rips out of him, and his fist slams into the floor beside my head.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I babble through the grip he has on my face, but he just shouts again. A raw roar of rage and pain against which I clench my eyes tight, but I feel the spray of spit and hot air against my skin.

  “ARE YOU A WHORE, JASMINE?” he screams into my face, and I try to shake my head before I realize I can’t move it at all.

  “No!” I force the word out as I sob, terror freezing my limbs. Leaving me useless, limp.

  “TELL ME WHY! Why did you do this!”

  All I can do is cry, because I can’t think. I can’t think of an answer that will keep him from choking the life out of me.

  “WHY, JASMINE!” Another roar, and then he lets go of my face, twisting away from me to push himself up. The second he’s off me, my brain screams ‘RUN!’ and my body releases like a spring. I flip to my stomach and I’m off the floor before he’s even halfway up. I reach the door frame and use it to launch me into the hall, running for the stairs, but it’s the 180° turn that ruins me. That, and his long fucking legs.

  He catches the back of my shirt, pulling me into him, and then he spins us, slamming me into the wall so hard my vision flickers.

  “LET ME GO!” I scream, but what I’d meant to sound strong comes out desperate and full of panic. I try to hit him, I try to throw myself to the side, and then I try to knee him again. This time he avoids it easily and throws me to the floor instead. I manage to catch myself, sobbing as I try to crawl away from him, back down the hall, but he rips me upright by my hair.

  “You said you loved me,” he seethes, fist tightening until pinpricks of pain spread across my scalp. “You said you loved me while you were killing our child.”

  “You made me say that!” I shout back, my fingernails uselessly digging into his hand.

  “You’re a liar, Jasmine. A LIAR!”

  “MY NAME ISN’T JASMINE!” I scream, my voice breaking on her name. Not mine. It’s not mine, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as he fumes, his face red with rage, and then he turns away, dragging me toward the stairs.

  I panic and kick, trying to grab hold of the bannister, but he just yanks me away from it, down the stairs where my legs and arms collect bruises on the wooden steps. By the time we’re at the bottom I’m sobbing, because I know where we’re going.

  “Please, please don’t—”

  “QUIET!” he roars, dragging me toward the front door by my hair. I try to get to my feet, but I keep stumbling, back to my knees that scrape across the wood floor, and then the door jamb as he pulls me onto the front porch.

  It’s useless, like everything I’ve ever tried, and I feel every rock as I fall again and again on the walk to the barn because I can’t keep up. He doesn’t release me as we get to the door, doing it all one-handed until we’re inside and he slams it shut behind us.

  “Please, please just listen to me. For once just listen—”

  Daniel rounds on me in an instant, face bent down to mine as he hisses, “In the end she is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword… You are a liar, Jasmine. Sinful. Tainted.”

  “Then let me go. Please, just let me go.” I’m crying as I plead, begging on my knees, because I know I’ve finally pushed him too far.

  “No. There is evil in you, Jasmine. The Devil is burrowed deep inside you, rotting you from the inside.” He shakes me, his face a terrifying mix of determination and fury. “But I’m gonna fix you, purify you. Then… then God will forgive you for this.”

  “NO! No, Daniel—” My words stop as he drags me forward, my knees scraped raw on the concrete as I scramble after him. At the post, he finally lifts me to my feet and pushes me chest-first against the wood.

  “Do. Not. Move.” His voice is dangerous, and all I can do is watch as he walks away from me, toward the wall where so many things are stored.

  I want to leave, to try and save myself. I want to have the answer, to be the kind of woman who survives something like this… only there’s nothing to do. I just stand where he left me, shaking with fear and adrenaline as everything in me tells me to run, but as I look at either end of the barn, I know I wouldn’t get anywhere. I wouldn’t even get to the door before he was on me again. I hiccup on my next quiet sob as he walks back with rope, and I can’t resist the urge to back away. “Please don’t.”

  Running wouldn’t have stopped this. I don’t think anything would have, and this time when he grabs me, I don’t resist at all. I’m going to need my energy, and I know it — if he doesn’t kill me.

  He thinks I killed our child. Oh God.

  I’m shaking as he weaves the coarse rope around my wrists, cinching them tight with a knot before he ties a loop at the other end. Silently, he shoves me back to the post and forces me up onto tiptoe to slip the rope over a hook well above my head. I’m stuck like that, on the balls of my feet, because I can’t get my heels down and every time I try, the rope digs painfully into my wrists. But I forget all about that when I feel him pull my shirt back and I hear the fabric tear. I try to twist and look, and he slams me back against the post with a firm hand between my shoulder blades.

  “Don’t move. I’m using my knife.” The words keep me frozen, glued to the pillar as he rips through the shirt from top to bottom, slicing the short sleeves so he can toss it away. The blue of it seems unreal against the dull concrete, and as he cuts through my bra straps, I realize that it was one of my shirts. Not hers. And now it’s gone… like her.

  My bra lands a foot or so away from my shirt, and then his hands are on my shorts, undoing them before he rips them down along with my underwear. I step out of them because I don’t know what else to do. I can’t think straight. Aches and pains from a hundred places on my body are surfacing as the adrenaline fades, my throat hurts every time I swallow — and he hasn’t even started yet.

  That thought consumes me the most as I watch him stride back to the wall where he drags a box out from under the workbench. He digs through it for a minute, shoving things aside, before he finally removes something and sets it beside him. I can’t tell what it is until he nudges the box back into place and picks it up… then I see it. It’s a whip. A short one, not like the ones I’ve seen in movies, but I recognize it all the same as it hangs at his side.

  “No, no, no, please! Please don’t do this, please!” I beg, but he keeps walking toward me, that same look of intense determination and fury on his face, and I whine as I jerk against the rope. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry!”

  “Ask God for forgiveness.” That’s his only answer as he disappears behind me, and I clench my teeth a second before my back explodes with fire.

  It steals all my breath. I can’t even scream as I press into the wood of the post. Another blow lands just as I try to choke in air, and I let what little I gained out on a sob. It’s excruciating, the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and instead of fading it just seems to concentrate into vicious stripes.

  He whips me again, and I cry out as the agony swells, a brutal sw
ath of fire running diagonal across the top of my back. Another, and I finally manage a scream, but it dissolves into a sob as I twist and pull at the rope until my fingers pulse and tingle.

  “PLEASE!” I shout just before another lash lands, a keening whine escaping through clenched teeth as the pain builds. “Please stop…”

  “Only God can wash you of your sins, Jasmine. Call out to Him. Pray and offer Him your penance.” He doesn’t strike me again, not yet, and I hiccup on my next sob as I nod fast.

  “Please God help me. Forgive me. Please, please, help me—” I scream as the leather slices across my back, leaving torment in its wake. My anger spikes amid the pain, and I scream at him. “I’m fucking praying! I’m doing what you said to do!”

  He grabs my face from behind, twisting my head to look at him. “Don’t curse or I’ll fill your mouth with soap. Now, admit your sins, Jasmine, or your blood can’t wash them clean in God’s eyes.”

  “Please just stop,” I whisper, pleading with my eyes, but he simply lets go of me. I try to prepare myself, except nothing can help when the whip cracks across my back again. It hurts more, if that’s possible, and I start to babble, saying anything that might stop him. “I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry that I took the birth control, I’m sorry that I ruined Your plan. I’m sinful, I’m horrible, I want your forgiveness. Please!”

  Daniel brings the whip down again and my knees buckle because it hurts too much. It’s like a knife of fire splitting my back open, and if his God wants blood, I think he has it now. Another strike and all I can do is cry.