Throne of Truth

by Pepper Winters

  I ripped my face away, not only because I had a phobia of morning breath but because he had no right, none, to kiss me.

  “Let me go, Greg.” The first words I’d spoken in hours.

  He grinned. “You mean untie this?” He tugged the twine, making my arm bounce.

  “You know what I mean. Everything. Cut me loose, drive me home. This has gone on long enough.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not leaving until you understand your place is by my side.”

  “My place is running Belle Elle. With you in a prison cell.”

  He chuckled, mirth bright in his green eyes rather than retribution. “You’ll change your mind the more you get to know me.”

  I highly doubt it.

  Carting me from the bedroom, he guided me into the bathroom and undid the rope around my wrist. “Get in the shower.”

  I rubbed at my sore skin, backing up against the sink. “I’m not washing with you in here.”

  “Oh yes, you fucking are.” He grabbed the edges of his boxer-briefs, pulling them down his legs. His cock sprung free, heavy and hard with red veins bulging on the sides. He wasn’t as big as Penn, but it looked angry.

  Before I could move, he grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. With quick fingers, he unhooked my bra.

  My arms slammed over my chest, covering myself.

  It didn’t do any good.

  He snatched my arms away, making me teeter, bruising me as he ripped the straps down and tossed the bra into the hallway. He spun me back to face him. “Now the rest.”

  “Go to hell.” I kept my arms over my chest, defending my modesty.

  His gaze fell to my panties, a heated smirk on his lips. “Are you going to remove those or shall I?”

  I backed up. “Greg...don’t.”

  “Greg, don’t,” he mocked with a sneer. “Do you know how many years I’ve had to listen to you giving orders? Smiling at me over the dinner table with your holier-than-thou bitch face. Giving me commands at work when all I really wanted to do was fuck you.” He loomed over me. “You thought you hid your true feelings, but every time you looked at me, I knew. I saw your disdain. I knew you believed you were better than me—”

  I slapped him.

  I didn’t think it through. I just did it.

  We both froze, equally shocked.

  I hissed, “If that’s the bullshit you’re feeding yourself, then you’re completely screwed up. I never looked down on you, Greg. For most of our childhood, I enjoyed playing with you. But then you went and let jealousy corrupt—”

  He grabbed my jaw, squeezing my sentence to a stop. “Jealousy? You think this is about jealousy?” He laughed with utmost frustration. “I’m not jealous of you, Elle. I don’t envy what you have.”

  He brushed my lips with his thumb. “I don’t care that you’re one of the richest women in the world. That doesn’t intimidate me. What does intimidate me is some fucking loser thinking he can lie about being engaged to you just to get access to what you have.”

  I fought in his hold, lashing my fingers around his wrists to get free. “That wasn’t why he lied.”

  He did it to sleep with me after a three-year promise in an alley.

  “Don’t care. He’s gone now. I merely want to be with you, to share in what you have. Is that so wrong?” His voice lowered. “I don’t want to take it away from you, Elle. I only want to enjoy it side by side. I’m willing to be a good husband, hard worker, and loyal father to any kids we have. This isn’t about me stealing from you. It’s about me giving you what you deserve.”

  I snorted. “What I deserve? Do I deserve to be kidnapped and held against my will?”

  Please, he was moronic.

  “Until you listen to me, yes.” Shoving me away, Greg ripped at my silver and white panties and jerked them down my legs.

  One arm stayed glued to my chest, and the other darted between my thighs to hide the trimmed curls and smoothness I’d taken to maintaining ever since I met Nameless and became a slave to my libido in an open park. I’d never wanted to be unprepared for a moment where sex could be a possibility—even when my life had been chained to work with no time for pleasure.

  Until Penn.

  My heart threw up then did an odd pirouette. Part of me was repulsed I’d slept with him knowing what I knew now, while the shallower, less cohesive part of me couldn’t care less. He’d been a crook three years ago—could he have changed? Could he be a good person after being so bad?

  You’re talking gibberish.

  I blamed it on Greg.

  I only accepted Penn’s lies and who he was hiding because even in that dark alley with his awful fingers shredding my clothes and stealing my money, he still wasn’t as bad as Greg was. Sure, he would’ve scared me and stolen what he could. But Greg thought he could keep me in a lifetime of servitude, believing we were equals all while he suffocated me in a marriage I resented, revoked, and wanted to rip to shreds.

  Grabbing me around the waist, he lifted me over the edge of the tub and held me until my feet gained traction on the slippery bath.

  Climbing in behind me, I shivered with repulsion as he reached around my nakedness and turned the tap on.

  I gasped as icy water spewed from the single showerhead directly onto my chest.

  Greg wrapped his arms around me, keeping me under the glacial torrent, breathing hot breath into my ear. “See how cold you are on your own, Elle? How hard it is to get warm?”

  Moving closer, his front pressed against my back, wedging unwanted but much-needed body heat against my back.

  His cock thickened, pulsing against my lower spine as he cradled me. I hated that he offered shelter from the cold spray, twisting my mind as the protector when he’d been the one to turn on the water in the first place.

  “Let me go.” I reached behind to dig my fingernails into his hip. Shivering hijacked me until my teeth rattled. “Dammit, Greg. Stop!”

  He flinched but only held tighter. Reaching with his left arm, he swiveled the tap to hot, and I waited with goosebumps and trembles as the liquid ice slowly switched to tepid waterfall to steamy stream to scalding tempest.

  I winced as my skin turned lobster red. “Ouch!”

  “Whoops. Can’t have you burning up now, can we?” He twisted the tap again, finally finding the right hot to cold ratio.

  My flesh no longer tried to turn into an ice-berg or melt with magma, but I didn’t relax. Not one little bit.

  Turning me around, he barely noticed my resistance. My feet slipped with no effort on the bath, my body stiff as a sword. When I stood facing him with my arms acting as my underwear, he grinned. “Back you go.” He pushed until my head vanished under the shower, drenching my long hair.

  The water offered a reprieve, filling my ears and eyes and senses with cleansing rushes rather than reveal the tiny bathroom in the tiny cabin with the madman I was currently with.

  After I was sufficiently drowned, he pulled me forward and opened a bottle of shampoo on the ledge of the bath. “I’m going to show you how supportive and kind I can be, Elle.”

  He licked his lips, tipping synthetic berry bubbles into his palm. “I’m going to make sure you’re squeaky clean, and then we’re going to have a chat about our new life together.”

  I bit my tongue.

  Words didn’t work on him, and I refused to stoop to a level where I begged or pleaded for some rationality. There was no rationality left. I was in a shower naked with Greg while he promised to care for me after I’d promised I’d kill him if my disappearance hurt my father.

  He either believed in his delusions or was so twisted, he honestly thought I wanted him and was merely playing hard to get.

  His hands landed on my head, rubbing the unwanted bubbles into my strands, coating me with a foreign smell.

  I missed my bathroom and honeysuckle body-wash.

  I missed Sage and her morning meow and head-butt.

  I missed my father and his gentle smile.

 
Hell, I even missed Penn even while hating him.

  “The silent treatment won’t work on me forever, you know.” Greg gathered my wet tresses, plopping them onto my head where he massaged more suds.

  I refused to enjoy his fussing. My skin crawled rather than relaxed with the soft pressure.

  I put my chin in the air, glowering.

  We’ll see.

  “If you’re going to be like that, turn around.” He pushed my shoulder, swiveling me in place. I wobbled on the slippery surface, refusing to unlock my arms from protecting my decency to act as balancing rods.

  His fingers trailed from my hair down my back, spreading more bubbles. My teeth chattered in horror as he hooked his hands under my arms, washing me intimately, cleansing me of my past life for whatever he meant to do to me in this twisted present.

  “I can’t wait until you’re clean, Elle,” he murmured as his fingers drifted to my ass. “Once he’s washed away, I can replace every memory with me.”

  I swallowed a moan as his touch pressed into my crack.

  I spun around, not caring anymore if he saw me naked as one arm swung up to punch him and the other gripped the white tiled wall for balance. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

  He caught my arm mid-swing, holding me steady. His gaze locked onto my breasts then to my core.

  A blackness I instantly feared cloaked him. His cock grew harder as he captured my nipple, tugging hard. “Fuck, you’re stunning.”

  “Let me go.” I tried to fight, but he kept my wrist imprisoned and deliberately pushed me sideways against the wall to keep my other arm pinned.

  “In another few days, you’ll wonder why you fought this, Elle.” His voice grew husky with desire. “I’ll show you how good we can be together. You’ll see.” His hand dropped from my breast, trailed down my stomach, and cupped my core.

  I fought harder, slipping and forcing him to take my weight to keep me standing. He balanced me but never let go where he held between my legs. His fingers remained on the outside, merely a dominating reminder that he believed I was his now and everything about me was his, too.

  “This is the part of you that needs washing the most.” He gathered more bubbles, pressing them into my short curls. “Fucking asshole needs to be deleted.”

  I tore my eyes from his, glaring at the ceiling while furious tears sprang. He washed me slowly, possessively, with so many threats and promises.

  I couldn’t stop the tears overflowing, mixing with the shower, rolling down my chest.

  He caught one with his finger, bringing it to his lips. “Don’t cry, Elle. You’re clean now. What happened is in the past, we have a brand new future to look forward to.” Pushing me under the spray, his hands trailed over every inch as he rinsed away the soap.

  Cuddling me into him, his embrace reeked of contempt for Penn and lust for me.

  A recipe that would end up ruining me.

  “Are you hungry?” He kissed my wet scalp. “Come on, let’s eat. And then...we’ll get to know each other exactly the way we should’ve years ago.”

  Chapter Six

  Penn

  I PARKED AT the top of the long, sweeping driveway that disappeared into dense trees.

  A stupid carved lumberjack with an axe and overalls decorated with peeling paint offered me a mailbox to place friendly correspondence, not deliver war on the inhabitants.

  I wanted to hack it to pieces.

  No lights glimmered apart from the fresh pink of dawn. No signs of habitation apart from recent tire tracks down the gravel.

  But I knew.

  They’re here.

  Leaving my Merc, I grabbed my phone and jogged down the driveway. I wanted to sneak up and surprise Greg, rather than drive and give him notice.

  He’d already taken what was mine. I wouldn’t give him the opportunity to hurt her, too.

  My shoeless feet glided lightly as I ran, trying to make as little noise as possible. Pebbles bruised my soles, but I didn’t stop.

  Goddammit, how long is this driveway?

  The gravel kept going, deeper into woodland. If this wasn’t a rescue mission, it would’ve been a nice place to bring Elle. To get away from the city and relax together. And by relax, I meant fuck until we both couldn’t walk.

  There was something about her I couldn’t fight. When I was around her—shit, all I could think about was touching, kissing, and being inside her.

  Three years’ worth of blue balls. Three years of waiting since the first time we met.

  My gut clenched at the thought of her with Greg. I hadn’t been nice or even kind to her ever since I plotted the moment in the gin bar with her father. Everything about our ‘convenient fate-designed’ meetings had been meticulously planned.

  I hadn’t let my guard down once.

  I’d taken what I wanted from her as I believed she owed me that after what had happened.

  But now, I felt fucking sick that I could be such a bastard—especially since she’d been taken by someone she trusted, all while being lied to by me.

  I was an asshole.

  I admit it.

  The sky slowly grew lighter as a cabin appeared in the forest. A small clearing with a homely retreat nestled in the foliage.

  Greg’s car sat out in front with the twinkling of dew on the gray paint.

  My heart raced, preparing for a fight.

  Keeping to the trees, I skirted the front porch, making my way to the side.

  Ducking low, I charged toward the house and pressed against the timber siding. Twigs jammed into my bare feet but I ignored the pain. A bay window sat above me, taunting me to look.

  My ears strained for noise. For footsteps or voices.

  When nothing came—no creak of floorboards, no flush of water—I stood upright and peered into the dim cabin. Birds slowly woke up, their morning song the only sound apart from my shallow breathing.

  The window looked into the kitchen, the kitchen opened out into a living room, the living room funneled traffic to the hallway.

  Empty.

  Every room.

  No signs of life at all.

  Shit, where are you, Elle?

  Moving around the property, I peered into more windows, searching.

  The bedroom with plaid blankets: nothing.

  The office with overflowing bookshelves: no one.

  The side living room with an ancient video cassette player and TV: empty.

  Moving toward the front porch again, I forced myself to remain calm even while I fought panic.

  Joe gave me this address.

  Greg’s car was here.

  Yet him and Elle were gone.

  Fuck!

  Leaping off the stoop to continue my hunt, my eyes caught the displacement of gravel.

  Footsteps.

  One big with boot tracks.

  One small with no tracks.

  Was Elle barefoot?

  Like me?

  My feet had not appreciated the jog down gravel or looked forward to the pokes and pinches from more twigs in the forest. Knowing she’d felt the same discomfort didn’t make me happy—it made me fucking furious.

  Clutching my phone, I followed the prints into the trees, willing the sun to wake up completely and chase away the remaining shadows. I hadn’t had quality sleep, I’d been beaten awake as my alarm clock, and twitched on an overload of adrenaline and rage, but my hands were steady (if not bloody), and my eyes were narrowed (if not blood-shot).

  I was ready to attack.

  No mercy.

  Breaking into a jog, I followed the small path, hoping against fucking hope that Greg hadn’t marched her into the undergrowth to shoot and bury her. Images of finding her corpse haunted me in ways I couldn’t admit.

  I thought I’d protected myself from her this past month. I thought I’d steeled myself against feeling anything.

  I’d done a shitty job with the way my heart pounded with terror. I’d wasted so long, fantasizing about her being mine. And she’d been mine—for
a brief moment. If I couldn’t have her again...what the fuck would I do?

  Leave?

  Say goodbye?

  How could I?

  I forced my mind back to facts rather than idiotic matters of the heart. If Greg had wanted to kill her, why not just do it at Belle Elle—somewhere her father would see and destroy the company from the inside out?

  He’s an asshole, but he’s not mentally disturbed.

  Why would he kill her where he could be questioned? Much better to do it where no one would see, and he had a better chance of denying his involvement.

  Even if this is his father’s cabin.

  Breaking through the tree line, my heart sank as a shed with open doors and an empty interior beckoned me closer.

  Tire marks led from the gloomy cobwebbed shack, footprints in the dust showing Greg had been here with Elle.

  And now, they were gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Elle

  “YOU KNOW HOW to cook, right?” Greg asked, twirling the steak knife tip on the countertop.

  For the thirtieth time, I tugged on the gold negligée he’d made me slip into. Where he’d gotten it from, I had no idea—it wasn’t a Belle Elle brand, and the satin slipped over my nakedness in the most awful way—but he’d been extremely incessant I wear it.

  I hate you, Greg.

  The spaghetti straps barely held the material over my nipples while the hem skimmed my ass cheeks, leaving so much of me nude and available for his ogling attention.

  I stood in the middle of the kitchen glaring at the knife, wanting so much to pluck it from his hand and plunge it into his leg.

  I didn’t want to kill him—just incapacitate him until I could get free, call David to come and break me out of here, and then press charges like a sane person would.

  Greg is not sane.

  You have full reason to join him in that insanity and kill him.

  I didn’t doubt I would if it came down to his life or mine. But call me old fashioned, I couldn’t kill someone I’d known all my life. I couldn’t switch off like that.

  He slammed the knife down. “Better answer me, Elle. I’ve been kind and gentle, but if you don’t start talking to me, I’ll have to show a different side of me, got it?”