by Kitty Thomas
“You look like shit, Claire.”
She laughed. She couldn't help it. Even with her makeup touch-up, Roman whom she hadn't seen in so many years could still see through her. It was dangerous to let him see her. If she stayed here, she'd end up telling him everything, and as much as she wanted to believe he'd be on her side and help her, deep down she knew Roman wasn't a killer.
And Claire knew all too well just how much these dark deeds could break anyone who wasn't a true sociopath.
“Thanks, love you too,” she replied sarcastically. “I think I'm going to get out of here. I'm tired.”
He clearly wanted to push, but he only nodded. “Maybe we can catch up at New Year's. You're coming to the party, right?”
“I always do,” she replied, and then made her escape from the suffocating throng of party guests.
But she didn't show up for New Year's Eve. Instead, she called and made her excuses, feigning the flu. Her mother had made the appropriate sympathy noises and told her to get better. She'd watched the big ball drop on a screen next to the monitor with her captive pacing, oblivious. He had no idea the old year was slipping into the new and that he would never see it in the daylight.
She'd drunk down an entire bottle of champagne by herself and had collapsed on the bed, gaining one blissful night free of the nightmares.
Now it was a week into January, and Claire knew she couldn't continue like this. She kept trying to prove she could handle it...she'd find the hard edge within herself again, and she'd ride that fucking edge until she finished him off. And then she would have peace. She would be free.
Where was the girl she'd been when she'd first taken him? She'd been nearly giddy at the prospect of breaking down the man who'd tortured her. She'd loved the idea of slicing his throat open with a knife so similar to the one he'd planned to use on her.
It had felt like some fucked-up movie reel inside her head. The fantasy. Taking her power back. But the reality was nothing like the fantasy. Reality was never ever like fantasy. It was always so much worse.
The nightmares kept coming night after night without pause, punishing her for becoming the monster.
She'd gone days at a time feeding him but leaving him alone in the cell, watching him on the monitor as he tried to get her to talk to him. She was convinced if he'd behaved according to the script in her head this would have gone the way she'd wanted. But he hadn't. He'd maintained his innocence like an inmate on death row.
Claire had almost asked him to explain the scar, then! If he wasn't the guy, explain that fucking scar! It was the one beacon that always drew her back to the truth that this man deserved everything she'd given him.
She'd whipped him over and over and over until he bled for her each time. She always wanted him to scream or beg for her to stop just like she'd once begged him, but he never did. He never gave her that empty satisfaction.
He never fucking broke, no matter what she did to him. She always gave him a few days to heal. Then she repeated it. But she'd lost her taste for this sad vengeance. Every time she hurt him, she fell apart crying in a pathetic sobbing heap in the cell. She'd managed to start timing her meals so she at least didn't lose her food anymore. Though she wasn't eating nearly as much as she used to.
Each time he tried to soothe her and told her that it was okay. It wasn't too late. She could still let him go. He wouldn't go to the cops. He wasn't the guy. He wouldn't hurt her. All lies. She wanted to believe every single one of those lies so badly.
But Claire knew if she let him inside her head—if she caved—he'd kill her the second he got free. And then he would win. He'd already won. She felt more broken now than when she'd first escaped him.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her former captor on the screen. His back was to the camera, the latest evidence of all her pain splashed in angry lashes across his skin. Even though he was turned away from her, she could see his jaws working as he chewed the drugged beef stew. It was the last can, and she wouldn't be buying more. Her hands shook in her lap as she watched him, dreading what was about to come even as she knew she had to do it.
She had to kill him. Today was the day. She had to do this. In spite of all he'd done to her when he'd kept her in that basement, she was beginning to feel pity for him. Her resolve had started to weaken. She'd burned through most of her rage too fast, bright, and hot, and now there was a mere dying ember left. The ember wasn't enough to keep going. She wouldn't be able to stomach doing this much longer.
It didn't matter that he was a monster. Claire was a monster too, now. She hadn't realized how empty she would feel when she reached the end of this. How much more lonely and isolated and disconnected she'd be. How much more broken. How completely alien from other people in the world—the people of her parents' shiny, happy, shallow world of stock speculation and spa retreats. She'd never be able to live in that world again.
But she couldn't let him go. Not just because of all he'd done to her and the people he'd killed or because of the personal threat he posed to her safety, but because even if he didn't kill her, she'd go to prison. And she wasn't going to prison for this piece of shit.
The large kitchen knife sat beside her on the bed. She ran through it all in her head. The plan. She just had to do the things on the list in her head. She had to get through it. Then she would scrub everything down and go back to her own apartment. She'd resume her life. She'd be free.
But she was anything but free. The weight of this dark sickness was too heavy, too suffocating. She couldn't breathe.
She stared at the knife, trying to stop her hands from shaking. And she took another long, slow breath. It had to be the knife. She'd already decided. She'd thought about just giving him too much of the drugs and letting him die from an overdose, but she needed to look him in the eyes. She needed him to know, to see it coming and to make peace with the death she was about to deliver.
She needed to watch the life leave him so she could be sure this was truly done. The worst part was this hadn't fixed anything. It hadn't healed her. It hadn't freed her. And she didn't know how she would ever live a normal life after this—if she could even live at all.
The list Claire... just go through the list. She would go in there and chain him up. Then she'd come back out here and wait for the drugs to wear off. When he was awake, Claire would take the knife and she would go kill him. But first, she'd cover herself from head-to-toe in a makeshift Hazmat suit she'd put together. And she'd put the tape on his mouth first because she couldn't deal with him talking when she needed to focus.
When it was finished, she'd use the chainsaw to make everything small enough and put him into trash bags. She still hadn't worked out where she'd dump the body.
Her mind was stuck on the dismembering part. Bile rose in her throat at the idea of doing that to any human being. He's not human. He's not a person.
But there were so many times he'd looked at her and had seemed like a person. With their positions reversed for weeks it was so easy to forget which one of them had started this.
She looked at the screen and saw him lie down on the ground. It was time to end it.
Ari lay in the cell perfectly still, his breath evening out into the rhythm of sleep. If he'd judged the pattern wrong, he was fucked. He might not get the chance to outsmart her again. Minutes passed. The door creaked open, and a small smile curved his lips. He'd chosen the right meal.
His body was turned away from her so he knew she couldn't see it, but he schooled his features as she approached.
Her light footsteps moved quickly over the concrete. She took one of his wrists to secure it. His eyes snapped open as he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, wrenching her off him.
The shock in her eyes was quickly followed by panic as she struggled and fought. She must know she didn't have the ability to take him down without all these safeguards she'd put in place—safeguards that had finally failed her.
Her gaze darted to the spot behind where Ari had
been lying to see all the food he'd pretended to eat with his back to the camera.
Frantically, she used her free hand to dig into her pocket for something. Ari felt a surge of adrenaline when he saw the syringe. She'd somehow gotten the cap off the needle as they struggled. She fought him like a wildcat. He couldn't let her stick him with that thing. She might not be physically strong but she was fast and kept jerking and twisting and flailing so much that it was hard to hold her in place.
He was determined this small woman was not going to best him. She wouldn't break him. She wouldn't kill him. They were not going to continue this way. He shoved her back. She seemed surprised by this sudden turn in events as if she couldn't process why he'd pushed her away instead of continuing to try to overpower her. As her back hit the wall, the syringe flew from her hand and skidded across the floor.
Her eyes widened, then they both lunged for it. He was faster. She tried to run from him, but he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her down, flipping her, and straddling her small body beneath him. He breathed hard as he looked down at her. Goddammit, she was so beautiful.
It was so fucked-up that he still wanted her in spite of everything.
Her eyes filled with a look of absolute terror, tears streaming down her face as she looked at the syringe he held poised over the muscle in her arm.
“Please, please,” she whimpered. “That's too much. It'll kill me.”
“Good,” Ari bit out. But he knew it was too much, and he didn't want her dead. Death was too good for her now. He was careful to only give her half the contents in the syringe. Enough to knock her out. Not enough to kill her.
She noticed he'd adjusted the dose, but suddenly the realization that he wasn't killing her and what that meant, kicked in. Her eyes widened. “Oh god, please no, not again.” And then her eyes drifted closed, and she slumped helpless in his arms.
The thrill of pure adrenaline pumped through him as he took in his prize. The prize for surviving and thwarting her plan.
Ari carried her to the door and pressed her thumb against the biometric panel. The heavy steel slid easily open. He let out a long, shuddering breath as he stepped out into freedom. He found his clothes and shoes in a trash bag shoved into a corner of the main living area and put them back on. His jeans were loose. She'd sometimes forgotten to feed him. And even when he'd gotten three squares a day, it hadn't been enough to sustain his body weight.
He stepped into her bathroom and took a look at the marks she'd left. He was healing up better than he expected though he still needed to put something on the newest marks. It was a miracle none of the injuries she'd given him had gotten infected, and he didn't want to tempt fate on that score now that he was finally out of the cell. The scars would eventually fade, but they'd never be gone completely.
Ari found her car keys and put them in his pocket. He was about to carry her out when it occurred to him that if someone found this place, there was evidence he'd been here. Fingerprints, traces of blood. He didn't want there to be anything linking the two of them together. He didn't want anything to draw the attention of a forensics team.
He found some bleach and sponges and rags and filled the bucket with water again. Then he carried her over to the cell door and used her thumbprint to go back inside. He felt a bit crazed voluntarily stepping back inside the cell he just escaped, but he needed to be smart about this.
Someone might want to know what was behind that door with the bizarre high security measures. And with the right tools, they could get inside. He propped her against a wall while he scrubbed the small blood stains down with bleach. Miraculously it all came out. Then he wiped down every surface in the cell he'd ever touched, being sure to wipe up the space his tormentor's unconscious form now occupied. He mopped the entire floor, and then he used her thumbprint to leave the cell again and wiped the biometric pad down on the way out the door.
He found the syringes she'd prepared to use on him and put a few of them in his pocket, just in case. He grabbed her purse with all her credit cards and cash and identifying information. Then he wiped down every surface in the main living area he'd touched, which wasn't much. Ari grabbed the trash bags that no doubt contained water bottles and plates with his fingerprints on them. Then he lifted her into his arms and used her hand grasped around the knob to open the main door. He locked up with her key after several fumbling attempts.
She'd had him on the top floor of some huge industrial-looking building. Her door was the only one of this floor. He carried her down the hall to a stairwell. She felt like she weighed nothing—as if her bones were hollow like a bird's. When he reached the parking garage, Ari pushed the button on the key ring. A silver Lexus beeped briefly, lights flashing twice.
The car he'd been driving on the day of his capture was in a parking garage in the city, assuming someone hadn't stolen it by now. He'd worry about that later.
He loaded her into the passenger side, put the trash bags in the trunk, got in on the driver's side, and started the car. He wasn't sure how long she'd be out, but surely long enough to get her to his house outside the city. And if not, he had backup drugs—though he didn't like the idea of using them on her. He didn't want to risk killing her, and even now he worried what he'd given her was too much.
As he drove toward his own home, he couldn't tamp down the buzz of excitement at his newly found freedom. It was only now, moving out onto the road and into the flow of late evening traffic amidst a steady fall of snow, that he realized just how close he'd been to breaking down completely. He glanced over at her, so sweet and innocent-looking in sleep, and he couldn't believe it. She was his.
It was nearly seven p.m. when Ari finally punched in the security code and drove through the iron gate of his estate. The gate shut with harsh finality behind him. He didn't park in the circular drive, instead choosing to put the Lexus in his large garage with the many other cars he owned.
He backed in so that her license plate was against the wall and not facing out street-side—just to be extra safe until he could get the fucking thing off the back of the car and destroyed. Even though he lived well outside the city within his own strong security setup, he was still grateful for the cover of darkness as he carried her over the cobblestone path up to the front door. The snow began to fall more heavily as he carried her inside.
Ari set the security code then let out another long sigh. He'd need to get that changed. He needed a security system that wouldn't allow the doors to open from either side without clearance. And he might want to look into thumbprints this time. It was pretty fail-safe. And unlike Ari, this girl would not be able to drag or carry his unconscious body to the keypad to escape.
He carried her to his room and secured her, then he took the cell phone that was still in the pocket of his jeans and plugged it up to charge. Once the battery was strong enough to use, he turned the phone on. The date glared back at him: January 6th. She'd had him three weeks.
He'd lost track of time in the cell after the first few days and had given up on making marks to count them. After a while it hadn't even mattered to him what day it was, though it did feel strange having missed most of the holiday season. Not that he was a fan of the holidays.
Ari was unsurprised to find no less than fifty messages from Kane. He didn't bother reading them, he just dialed the number.
Kane answered without preamble on the second ring. “Where the fuck have you been, Ari? You have a deadline. Two more weeks until they want to see the final plans.”
Ari scrubbed a hand through his hair, only now realizing how utterly exhausted he was and how desperately he needed to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before the girl's drugs wore off.
“I had to get away and clear my head, move past this shit with Holly. I was camping in the middle of nowhere and didn't have cell reception. I told you I'd make the deadline.” One thing was certain, the past three weeks had gotten him past Holly. Now his sole overriding obsession was the girl chained up in his bedroom.
“Camping in the winter?” Kane asked. He didn't bother to mention the holidays and family. He knew Ari rarely went home for Christmas. The camping lie was actually a good one. Ari often went away during the holidays. His absence hadn't even broken his normal pattern. Kane was the only one who'd noticed him missing, and that was only because of a looming deadline with contacts Kane had set up. It was his reputation on the line if Ari didn't come through.
“It's not cold everywhere,” Ari said. “I was in Arizona.” The lie fell from his lips easily.
“Well you scared the shit out of me. You could have texted before you disappeared.”
“I'm back now. And I'll have the final plans on the date agreed. Tell them to chill their asses out.”
Ari disconnected the call and let out a long sigh. He'd been under deadline to complete architectural plans for a private kink club about ten miles outside the city when Claire had taken him. The club was meant to seem like a normal estate in a wealthy neighborhood with enough land around it to act as a buffer against those who had no business and no invitation to be there.
He was grateful he'd gotten an early jump on the project. Realistically he could finish in the two weeks remaining—assuming he could drag his attention away from his new captive long enough.
7
Claire snuggled into the warm blankets and pillows. She was so comfortable. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable. She wanted to go back to sleep, but slowly unfamiliar realities began to intrude on her senses. One was the sound of rushing water, the second was that she was naked. She never slept naked. And the third was a heavy metal chain around one ankle. That was the sensory input that finally jolted her out of comfort.
She sat up abruptly as the memories flooded her. The struggle in the cell, her captive's look of triumph as he'd injected her with her own drugs, and the terrifying blackness that had closed in as she'd felt his arms come around her in a possessive embrace. Still, something wasn't right about this.
