by Dori Lavelle
Questions race through my mind, driving me mad.
Who did he even send to kidnap her? Was it his pilot? Where was Christa when it happened? At home? At work? Was she snatched from the street?
“Let me repeat myself, one last time.” He leans against the kitchen table. “From this day on, you’re no longer related to that woman, and her mouth will remain sealed shut so she never speaks to you.”
He kneels down next to me and grips my chin so I look into his eyes. “I’m doing this for you. I’m trying to be an amazing husband.”
An amazing husband? What kind of world is he living in?
I turn my head so that my chin is no longer in the palm of his hand.
He lets out a bitter chuckle and gets up. “You don’t get it, do you? This is a gift from me to you on this special day.”
I glare at him, waiting for him to enlighten me.
“It’s your birthday, silly. The maid is your birthday present.”
I continue to stare at him, unblinking. Given what’s going on around me, who cares about my birthday? I’ll probably never celebrate it again after all this is over. If I make it through this ordeal alive, every time my birthday comes around, I’ll always remember this place, this moment. I wish he never told me what day it is.
Christa cries softly, her shoulders shaking. I can’t bear it. I can’t stay away when she’s hurting so bad. I ignore the consequences as I crawl to her side, press my body close to hers. Her tears drip onto my skin. I wish it were possible for me to share some of her pain.
With handcuffed hands, it’s hard to hold her, but I do my best before our contact is broken. “I love you,” I say even if Dax is watching.
I’m not surprised when he pulls me away. “Stop fucking with me.” He knocks me to the floor again where I curl up into a ball, weeping.
Next, he goes to Christa, and wraps a hand around her neck. “Misbehave again and I’ll kill her.”
The sound of Christa’s whimpers break my heart. But how can I help her when saving her means hurting her? I can’t let her die.
This would never have happened if I died out at sea. She would have been safe. Or would she? Dax is unpredictable. He could have gone to Mistport to harm her anyway, just because he can.
I blink away the tears and struggle to pull myself to my feet and onto a chair. “Okay,” I say to Dax, my voice in pieces. “I’ll follow your rules if you promise not to hurt her.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He drops into a chair and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. I’m surprised when he lights it up and starts to smoke. I had no idea he’s smoking again.
Watching him reminds me of when I saw him on the Mistport movie set. I remember the smoke curling up into the sky. Even though I knew smoking is a nasty habit, it had looked sexy on him. I was completely turned on. I should have known what he was then. Something or someone out there should have warned me.
“I have a little secret.” He blows a cloud of smoke in my direction. “You’d be glad to hear that your maid doesn’t have cancer, not anymore. She was misdiagnosed this time.” He shrugs. “I might as well tell you since she can’t do it herself.”
At hearing those words, I’m overwhelmed with so much joy and fear at the same time that I cannot stop myself from touching my sister again, showing her how grateful I am that she will live. In the darkness that surrounds me, that piece of good news is the light at the end of the tunnel. As Christa tries to hold onto my hand, Dax shoots from his chair so fast I don’t see him coming.
I cry out when he grabs me. The next sensation is a sharp pain at the back of my neck. The smell of burning flesh and hair fills the air.
My hand goes to the back of my head, but I can’t touch the spot because my skin is still screaming with pain.
“I warned you.” He tosses the cigarette to the floor and crushes it with his foot. “Don’t test me again.”
Christa is screaming as well behind the tape, her body writhing in the chair, her head lolling from side to side. She hears my pain and I know she wants to help me. But she’s completely helpless.
I can’t stop Dax as he charges toward her and slaps her hard across the face. That shuts her up immediately. Her pain reaches me and sinks into my heart. I know how his palm feels against the skin. My sobs grow louder as I watch Christa’s cheek redden in response to the assault.
How did we end up here? We had dreams and hopes for the future. They didn’t involve us being trapped on a farm by a psychopath.
Dax keeps us in the kitchen for hours without food or drink. Like Christa, I’m also handcuffed to the chair now. He has positioned us in such a way that we’re sitting opposite each other, looking into each other’s eyes, unable to communicate in words or to touch.
When the sun finally sets, Dax prepares himself a salad and enjoys it in front of us.
He wants to teach us a lesson, to remind us—especially me—who’s in charge. He wants us to know we have no chance against him.
But he should know by now that I’m a fighter. Yesterday, I may have been weak, but today things are different. He does not know that bringing my sister here is actually a blessing in disguise. Christa has given me a reason to fight. As I watch the pain reflected on her face, I find my will to live.
If she hadn’t shown up, maybe I would have given up eventually. But she needs to live. Without the cancer holding her back, she deserves a chance to start over, to live a good life. Dax has made a huge mistake and he doesn’t even know it yet.
When night falls, he takes Christa out of the chair. “I’ll lock her in her room,” he says and walks out with her swaying by his side. “It’s right next to our own bedroom.”
A few minutes later, he comes back for me.
The first thing he does once he handcuffs me to the bed is go to the wall. He presses his ear against it. “She must be so upset,” he says to me with a grin. “I can hear her crying. Don’t worry, she’ll get used to it.”
Back on the bed, he kisses me. His tongue parts my lips and thrusts into my mouth. I tense up when his hands sweep across my body and stop at the elastic of my panties.
Afraid he might hurt Christa if I reject him, I lie still. He stops kissing me and places himself between my legs. He pulls down my panties and groans. Then he climbs off me and goes to his side of the bed. He must have seen a bit of blood there. I’m sure it’s not much, but it’s enough to turn him off.
It’s such a relief to me. It would have killed me to have him inside me.
He’s lying on his back now, his hands behind his head. His jaw is tight, too pissed off to even speak.
I pull my panties back up with my free hand and turn away from him. I think of Christa in the other room, broken and in pain.
My mind keeps going back to the expression on her face when I saw her in the kitchen today. I remember the tears, her sealed lips, the questions in her eyes. She has been through enough pain.
I have to rescue her from Dax. If he kills me for saving her, it would all be worth it. My death would be a small price to pay for saving the one person who means the world to me.
If I’m lucky, one day she will find a way to forgive me for all the mistakes I made, mistakes that brought this on to her. I will certainly never be able to forgive myself. No matter what I do for her, it will never be enough to erase the pain I have caused.
Chapter Seven
Unlike Dax who’s snoring next to me, I cannot find the peace to fall asleep, not after what happened today. With each breath I take, my need to escape grows stronger. I want to grab Christa and run. But where do I even start?
I turn to look at my captor. It’s too dark for me to see his features, but the shape of his face is enough to make my blood boil. How does he do it? How is he able to sleep knowing he has destroyed or taken so many lives?
While I watch him, something catches my eye, a flashing light on his nightstand.
The soft green glow spreads through the darkness like a light at the end of the tu
nnel. It has to be coming from his phone.
Before bed, I saw him remove it from his pocket to place it on the nightstand. My fingers itch to snatch it and call for help. But the distance is too great between me and the only thing that might be able to help.
The phone is so near, yet so far out of reach. He put it there knowing full well it will torture me to see it and not be able to get to it.
A noise cuts through my thoughts. It’s coming from the other side of the wall. Christa is awake and her strangled sobs are clearly audible. Her cries break through the wall and hit my core.
I suppress a whimper that makes its way up my hitching chest. If only I had the strength to break the chains Dax had put around us. If only I could do something. But what?
I move my hand to one of my ears. I can’t bear the sound of her pain. I wish I could shut it off. I know she’s weeping for both of us.
When we were kids she was my protector. If anyone had dared to hurt me, they got a piece of her. Now she’s as helpless as I am, and I caused her this pain. The broken look in her eyes had killed me. The once strong and confident woman was nowhere to be seen in the depth of her eyes.
It will be all right, Christa. I’ll figure something out. I promise.
The light from Dax’s phone dies, only to awaken again seconds later. Someone must be desperate to reach him.
As hard as it is to see his phone and not be able to get to it, it’s comforting to know he brought one with him. It’s only a matter of time before I get close enough to take it and call for help. One day he will make a mistake and I’ll be ready.
I stare at it for a long time, wondering if he’s using the same number he had in LA. I doubt it. He had done too much damage to allow easy access to himself. He wouldn’t want the cops to track him down. By now, the news about my kidnapping must have spread like wildfire throughout the country, if not worldwide. He would be stupid to keep the same number.
I will get my hands on that phone. It might take a while, but I’ll find a way to get us out of this hell.
I close my eyes and pray. I pray for me. I pray for Christa. I pray for an escape. I pray for strength to survive each day of torture. I pray for peace. I pray for Dax’s downfall.
As soon as I open my eyes again, a wave of peace and calm sweeps through my entire body. It makes me feel lighter, less afraid of the dark. The pain of the burn behind my neck throbs a little less.
Christa has stopped crying now and fragile silence has fallen over the room.
The phone has stopped flashing. Now pure darkness surrounds me. I close my eyes again, force myself to fall asleep. I do eventually, but then the nightmares return. I dream of my baby.
I’m on a hospital bed, in labor with Dax by my side, our fingers intertwined. He resembles the man I used to know, the man I used to love. My feelings for him are intense as I push our baby out into the world.
Tears of joy and relief fill my eyes when the baby finally arrives with a piercing cry, and the doctor hands him or her to Dax. He’s in awe as he gazes down at the tiny face. When he looks back at me, his expression has changed. The smile is gone, and his eyes are deep pools of darkness.
My heart clenches when he pulls the baby closer and turns around to walk out of the room. The doctor and nurses don’t stop him, and my physical pain keeps me chained to the bed.
The door closes softly behind him, shutting me out of my baby’s life.
Soon after, I emerge from the dream with tears in my eyes, the pain of loss still buried deep inside my chest. I’m crying so loud that I wake Dax.
He lets out a groan, switches on his lamp, and turns to face me. “Bad dream?” he asks.
I lick my lips and nod. When I sleep, I’m in hell. When I’m awake, I’m still in hell. There’s no way out.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He wraps an arm around my middle and presses his face into my neck. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here.”
I try to pull away, but he holds on tighter. “Don’t do that.” His voice is firm. “You’re not going anywhere. You belong in my arms.” He pushes a hand to the back of my neck and I wince, feeling the burn of the cigarette hours ago.
I shove him harder away from me.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” A frown appears between his eyes.
“It hurts,” I say between clenched teeth. I don’t need to explain to him what hurts because he already knows.
He gets out of bed and stands before me in his boxer shorts. “I’ll be right back.”
He leaves the room and returns moments later with a cooling pad. Even though I struggle to get away from him, he pulls me to him and presses it behind my neck. The relief it offers is only skin deep. My pain goes way past the flesh. It enters my bones and cuts into my heart. It flows like hot lava through my veins. It poisons every part of me.
“Better?” he asks.
I chew the corner of my lip. If I say yes, I’d be lying because the pain is still there, etched into my skin. If I say no, he would accuse me of being an ungrateful bitch. Also, if I say I’m fine, I’d be giving him permission to hold me longer, and make him feel like the hero he’s not.
I choose silence, my skin still hurting. As soon as he removes the cooling pad, the burning sensation returns worse than ever.
“If you were obedient, you would not be hurting right now.”
“I know,” I say softly. “You didn’t mean to hurt me.” His words, not mine. I’m only telling him what he wants to hear.
“That’s right. I never mean to hurt you. You make me do it. Hurting you hurts me as well.”
I purse my lips and nod. “I’m sorry, Dax.”
“You should be. I’m your husband. I want to make you happy, but you’re making it difficult for me. I thought you would be happy with my surprise today.”
“I wasn’t expecting it to be—” I press my lips together to hold back the tears. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
“I know.” He pulls me close again and this time I don’t reject him. I know his limits.
As a reward he presses his lips on my damp cheek. “I love you.”
“If you love me, don’t hurt Christa. She did nothing wrong.” My words are drenched in tears. “Don’t kill her.”
He withdraws his arms from my body and tenses next to me. “If she dies, you’re at fault. It won’t be on me. Whether I pull the trigger on not, the blood will be on your hands. The only way you can protect her is by being obedient. Step out of line and she could end up dead. I need you to promise that you will obey me from now on.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.” I clench and unclench my fists. “You’ve taken away everything that means anything to me. You have destroyed my life, left me with nothing. My sister, she’s all I have. I thought I lost her before when you told me she was dead.” My skin prickles with disgust at what he put me through.
“Aren’t you happy she’s not? She’s here. I brought her to you. Even though you’re no longer allowed to call her your sister, you get to see her every day. Is it so hard to say thanks?”
“How long will she be staying with us?” I hold my breath.
“No idea.” He switches off the light. “My love, when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know. When we no longer need her, it will be up to you to decide her fate.”
Chapter Eight
When I wake up, he’s already awake and getting dressed.
“Hey, baby.” He stretches his arms above his head, yawning. “Did you sleep well?”
I don’t give him the answer to his question. When he fell asleep last night, I was still awake for a while, thinking. I’ll try harder from now on to do what he wants. Having Christa’s life in my hands is terrifying as hell.
The worst thing that could happen right now is for him to throw me into the dungeon. I don’t even want to imagine what he would do to Christa when I’m not around. He might take out his frustrations on her.
I have no choice but to play the game of pretend.
H
e bends down to kiss me on the lips, but I suddenly turn away and sneeze so he meets my cheek instead. It was not my intention, but how would he know?
I hold my breath as he watches me for a moment. My posture slumps with relief when his lips spread into a smile. “I’m in a good mood today. Seeing your face every morning does that to me.” He straightens back up. “Let’s have a good day today. Let’s not fight again, okay?” He comes to my side of the bed and sits down. I can’t wait for him to remove the handcuffs. My wrist needs a break. But he doesn’t. He only checks to see if they’re still closed.
He leans in to kiss me again. This time he gets my lips. Satisfied with himself, he rises to his feet and goes to the bathroom. I listen to him brushing his teeth, wishing I could do the same to remove the sour taste from my mouth.
After a while, he exits the bathroom. In his hand is a toothbrush with toothpaste smeared on top of it. He sits back down next to me and raises it to my lips. I try to take it from him, to brush my own teeth.
He shakes his head. “Allow me.” His breath smells minty.
Aware that this could be another one of his tests, I show him my teeth and allow him to do the job. His brushing is rough and sometimes he pushes the toothbrush so deep into my mouth that I gag. He doesn’t even seem to notice my discomfort.
To intensify the brushing, he slides his hand to the back of my neck, the place he burned, and draws me nearer.
I want to grit my teeth to better deal with the pain, but then I would be biting on the toothbrush.
“Done,” he says finally and uses a facecloth to wipe the foam from around my lips.
He returns the toothbrush and facecloth to the bathroom. I listen to him moving things around in there while I wait with bated breath for him to return, to take me to Christa.
He emerges from the bathroom and orders me to go and urinate, which is a relief until he insists on wiping me himself. I hate what he’s doing to me. He’s so skilled at making me feel even more vulnerable to him.
Once he’s done, he handcuffs me the way he had done yesterday, my hands in front of me. Then he pulls me to my feet. I can barely stand given that I hardly slept last night. But I have to push through the pain and discomfort to get to Christa.
