Amour Toxique: Books 1-3 Boxed Set (Books 1-3 Series Boxed Set)

by Dori Lavelle

  In a fluid movement, he grabs the lamp below the shade. He yanks it toward him, along with me, and his free hand grips the back of my neck, squeezing tight. I whimper. The lamp crashes to the floor. He draws me closer, so close I smell a hint of whiskey on his breath.

  “Wrong move,” he hisses into my ear. “You shouldn’t have done that.” His forehead is pressed to mine, his eyes closed. When he opens them, I notice faint specks of gold glinting in his irises. I never noticed them before.

  He yanks my head back by my hair, and I grit my teeth against the pain.

  “You’re the one making a mistake. You can’t keep me here,” I manage to speak through my constricted throat. A tear trickles down my cheek. “You can’t.”

  “Want to bet?” He gives me a sour grin that makes my stomach turn. “I thought being locked up would teach you a lesson. I came back ready to treat you well. I wanted to be a loving husband to you, but you had to do something stupid, didn’t you? Looks like you need another lesson.”

  “What are you planning to do to me?” My voice cracks along with my serenity.

  “What’s the fun in telling you all my plans?” He tips his head to the side and draws in a breath through his teeth, like a snake hissing. “Allow me to show you.”

  As he drags me through the dim corridors of the house, I try to free myself, thrashing and kicking and trying to bite him. Eventually I’m too out of breath and exhausted to continue. We arrive at a door to what looks to be the basement, and without another word, he shoves me inside.

  As I scramble to my feet, the door slams shut. He’s gone, leaving me inside the dark room. The darkness is so thick I can almost touch it.

  Back on my feet, I’m panting and shaking uncontrollably, unable to hold myself upright. I feel around for something stable to lean on and find a cool, smooth surface—too smooth to be a wall. It feels more like glass. Whatever it is, I slump against it and wait for the wave of dizziness to recede.

  Then the room is abruptly flooded with light. At first I’m blinded, but when my vision clears, I see the mirrors all around me. Even the door is mirrored. The blood drains from my face. I push myself away from the mirrored wall I’m leaning on and move to the center of the room. My head is spinning as I turn around, taking in my bright surroundings. The room is bare, not a piece of furniture in sight.

  Dread punches me in the gut as the reality of what I’ve done hits me. I fold my body forward, hands on my trembling knees. I got what I wanted: I escaped the room he kept me in for days, only to end up in a proper prison cell.

  I’m unable to stop the bile as it churns in the pit of my stomach and shoots up my throat.

  30

  The acidic smell of my vomit permeates the air in the small, cold room. Filling my lungs with it brings on more nausea. A few times I give in, until nothing more is left inside my stomach. Still retching, I lunge for the place the door should be. My palms hit the cold glass, and my screams bounce off the mirrored surfaces.

  “Let me out, you sick bastard,” I shout.

  Time passes. The only things I get are a sore throat and red, aching palms.

  After a while my voice gives out, and my screams fade to whimpers.

  This room has cameras too. I don’t see them, but I know he’s watching me from a distance as I take on a fight I can’t win.

  Beaten for the moment, I sink to the floor and draw my knees to my chest. The best thing would be to conserve whatever energy I have left instead of burning it up in vain. Who knows when I’ll get something to eat or drink?

  I have no choice but to wait and find out what awaits me. The way I see it, there are only two ways out of this horror show. He’ll either leave me here to die, or let me out to kill me himself.

  “You might find this hard to believe,” he says, his voice coming out of nowhere, “but seeing you suffer kills me.”

  My gaze races across the mirrors. His presence is powerful, filling every corner of the room.

  “I can switch off your pain in an instant. All you have to do is accept our marriage. We could have something beautiful.”

  My chin drops to my knees, and I fix my gaze into space. I imagine I’m seeing the tiny rotten particles that make up the heavy, stinky air filling the room. The air that swirls around my body, a suffocating blanket that wraps itself around my frame, sucking the clean air from my lungs, smothering me. I curl a hand around my neck and part my lips to breathe.

  “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to talk. Let’s do that. I can hear you fine from up here. After the stunt you pulled earlier, you can’t expect me to open the door.”

  A tense moment passes where he says nothing. I don’t fill the silence either, though my thoughts are flying all over the place. I have no experience reasoning with monsters.

  “Very well.” His voice is thick with disapproval. “If you’re not in the mood to talk, let me show you a little something. A little entertainment, if you will. You must be bored out of your mind down there.”

  I tighten my arms around my knees and bite my tongue. Hurling insults at him would do more harm than good. Who knows what else he has lined up for me?

  Within my despair, something baffles and disturbs me. How could a man so experienced with prison himself put another person in that position?

  The silence is replaced by momentary darkness, but then one of the walls lights up and a screen comes down over the mirror. In an instant, I remember the night Chelsea forced me to go watch a movie with her and Neil at the dorms. That was the night I heard about Judson’s crimes, the news that should have sent me running in the opposite direction. It feels like years ago.

  I blink to help my eyes adjust. What could he possibly want to show me? What kind of weapon does he have to torture me with?

  The screen flickers, and then images appear. My mind is so muddled it takes a few seconds to recognize the familiar face. The woman on the screen is me. Damien, or Judson, or whatever he calls himself is showing me a slideshow, my life in pictures.

  I shudder as each photo melts into the next. So my privacy was invaded without my knowledge. I’d suspected he’d been watching me from his prison cell, but I never thought he’d been looking so closely.

  A slice of my life plays out in front of my eyes. Me, walking on and off campus, sitting in lectures, having a meal at the snack bar, sorting books at Millie’s Book Corner, even sleeping.

  This man was a part of every second of my life in Oaklow, even when I thought he was locked away.

  My eyes blur when Chelsea appears on the screen. There are the two of us at yoga, then sharing a milkshake at Milky Lake. I long to be with her, to talk to her, hug her.

  There are also several images of me and my mother from the day she showed up to see me in Oaklow. In spite of her imperfections, the mistakes she made in raising me, she’s still my mom. In this moment of loneliness and frustration, I long for her arms around me. I’d do anything for a little comfort from home.

  The last few photos are of me and Chelsea at her engagement party. I’m sipping champagne, swimming in the ocean, talking to Milton. I had agreed to go on a date with him—a date that never happened.

  I feel as though I’m seeing snapshots from someone else’s life, someone I once knew. Someone stupid and naïve.

  “Stop. Switch it off.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “You had no right. You had no right to stalk me.” It hurts to digest the fact that he had stolen my life long before kidnapping me.

  “You sure that’s what you want?” The smile in his voice is evident. He’s enjoying my misery, despite what he says. “I have so much more to show you.”

  My fury brings me to my feet, and my hands hit the screen. “I said switch it off.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” He chuckles. “I’m the one calling the shots around here. I’ll stop when I’m done.”

  I sink to the ground again, shutting my eyes and putting my hands over my ears. My hands prove useless when the room fills with loud moaning so
unds, which slip right through my fingers. Shadows are moving beyond my eyelids. I know what’s on the screen before I open my eyes.

  My hands move from my ears to my mouth. Hypnotized, I watch the video clip. I’m lying beneath the person I believed to be Judson Devereux, eyes closed, as he slams into me. Like a fool, I take everything he’s giving me, suck the poison from his lips.

  There I was, thinking I had been waiting for the right guy to have sex with, and I ended up losing my virginity to a psychopath. It disgusts me even more that I enjoyed any part of it.

  Like a child, I press my hands over my ears again, but my eyes refuse to close. In the moment I’m about to climax, the screen goes blank and slides back up. The mirror reappears.

  He’s talking to me again. I don’t want to listen, but what choice do I have? I can rage all I want, but the truth remains that the only way out of this situation is by giving the monster what he wants. I drop my hands and lean my head back.

  “I hope you enjoyed that.” His voice oozes satisfaction and confidence. “Am I right in thinking your first time was unforgettable? Not many women can say that, you know.” He clears his throat. “One day soon we’ll finish what we started. I still owe you an orgasm. But first you have to accept me as your husband.”

  “Fuck you.” My anguish shatters any shred of my control.

  “Oh, you will...eventually. But when I do fuck you again, I want you to want it as much as you did the first time.” He pauses. “I don’t want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you, my wife.”

  31

  I hear a sound—a door closing, maybe? I open my eyes but see or hear nothing more.

  The darkness both comforts and terrifies me. In its cloak, he can’t see the tears trickling down my cheeks. And I won’t see my face in the mirrors. When I gaze into my own eyes, I see the person who failed me. The person who ignored the warnings and walked into the arms of danger; the person who opened the door to the monster who stole my freedom.

  But the darkness also hides the terrible unknown.

  My body protests when I drag myself to a sitting position, muscles cramping, head thumping. The room still reeks of my vomit, but my nose has grown accustomed to it.

  On hands and knees, I drag myself across the floor. The stubborn cold makes my bones ache. Will I ever be warm again? My arms and legs feel as though they’re about to break. How I managed to fall asleep is beyond me.

  Before falling asleep, I’d positioned myself so my feet pointed toward the place the door should be. Now, I crawl in that direction.

  Instead of sitting or lying in one place, embracing my helplessness, I have to check. I have to see if he unlocked it.

  I reach the mirrored wall and fumble around, pushing against it. What am I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t have left it open for me. But when you’re desperate, you clutch onto the thinnest strand of hope, even if it’s imaginary. Groaning, I pick myself up off the ground to a standing position, but my knees give way. Unable to find strength, my body melts back to the cold floor.

  My tongue slicks my parched lips with saliva. The dryness in my mouth worsens.

  Feeling like a branch snapped in half, I bury my head in my hands. Hot tears warm my face and palms. I don’t want to cry, but my body will do whatever it can to find relief from my predicament.

  Is this it? Will I never get my life back? Will I end up a statistic, like so many other women before me? You never think something so horrible could happen to you, until it does.

  What are his plans for me? Does he believe I’ll forget myself and be his wife, or is this some sick mind game? I so wish I could see inside his head. But this darkness is all I have.

  By the time I’m done crying, the area around my eyes is puffy to the touch. I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand and bury my hands in my tangled hair, rocking back and forth, alone with my heartbeat.

  When my body starts to ache from sitting in one position for too long, I shift my weight and stretch my arms behind me. In the process I knock something over. It hits the floor hard and starts to roll away, but with my limited vision, I catch the movement and reach for the object. It’s a small bottle. My heart leaps at the thought that it could be water.

  So I was right. The commotion that woke me up was him. He entered while I was sleeping and left without a word, before I could summon the strength to fight him. The thought of his eyes on me while I was asleep makes my skin crawl.

  I unscrew the bottle and lift it to my lips. Then I stop. How can I be sure it’s safe?

  “It’s okay.” His voice slices through the silence and I jolt. “It’s water, trust me.” His words are slurred, as though he’s just woken up. He must have night vision cameras installed that enable him to see me.

  “Laced with poison?” I scoff. I screw the cap back on.

  “It’s not in my best interest to poison you. I still need you in my life.”

  Still.

  “Trusting you is not in my best interest.” My voice is low, but he hears every word.

  “Unless you want to die from dehydration, I don’t see you as having much of a choice here.”

  My thirst is making me lightheaded and nauseous. He’s right that I have no choice—that I have no choices. He stole them all.

  I lift the bottle to my lips and take a small sip, the water crisp and delicious.

  “That’s my girl.”

  Ignoring him, I take a huge gulp, then another. Before long, the bottle is empty. The relief lasts no longer than a few minutes. My thirst is quenched, but I still feel light-headed. The back of my head falls against the door. I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Why am I sleepy? It hasn’t been long since I woke up.

  An uncomfortable thought sneaks into the back of my mind, and I clench my teeth to stop from screaming out.

  32

  I wake up in a room with vaulted ceilings. A woman with a salt-and-pepper bun on the top of her head and a black pearl necklace around her neck is watching me. Concern is etched into the lines on her face, particularly around her thin mouth. She’s wearing a black linen dress that reaches all the way to her ankles. I estimate her to be somewhere in her fifties.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Steel.” The woman fusses around me, straightening sheets and plumping pillows on the king-size bed. “Mr. Steel said you had a lovely honeymoon in Alaska.”

  For a moment I’d hoped a miracle had happened, and I’d been saved from the clutches of my captor. Wrong.

  I press the heel of my hand to my head as a bolt of lightning explodes in the middle of my forehead.

  “That’s not my name.” I pull in a breath. “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “I’m Hanna.” She has the hint of an Eastern European accent. “You’re in your home, Mrs. Steel. You slept for a long time. You must be hungry.”

  I shake my head. Pain bounces off the walls of my skull. “This is not my home.” My anger bubbles to the surface. “Where is he?”

  She stops fussing and goes to arrange a bouquet of yellow tulips by the window. Then she turns back to me, freckled hands clasped in front of her. “He will meet you for dinner in an hour.” She returns to the bed. “I’m here to help you get ready, Mrs. Steel.”

  “Stop calling me that,” I retort. “I’m not Mrs. Steel. I’m not his damn wife. My name is Ivy Hollifield.” I peel off the bedspread. I’m still wearing the same pajamas I had on before.

  In a moment of desperation, I grab her hands. They’re the softest hands I’ve ever touched. “Please, help me.” Tears cling to my eyelids like drops of dew. “I don’t know what he told you, but he’s a dangerous man. He killed someone. He kidnapped me. Please, please call the police.”

  She withdraws her hands and takes a step back. Her expression hasn’t changed. “Mr. Steel is the kindest man I know.” She tips her head to the side. “He explained that you’re still recovering from your illness and need a lot of time to rest.”

  “Illness?” My brow creases. “What illness? What has he
told you?”

  His voice pours into the room. “You don’t need to answer that, Hanna.” He must have heard the whole conversation. Of course he was watching. He’s always watching.

  I jump up from the bed and punch the air. “What the fuck did you tell her? That I have some kind of mental illness or something? That I’m mentally unstable?” I laugh through my tears. “You’re sicker than I thought.”

  “It’s all right, rosebud.” His voice is low and purposefully gentle. “I love you anyway. In sickness and in health. As Hanna told you, you’re home now. You slept the whole way here. Now let her help you get dressed for dinner. I’ll come up for you in an hour.”

  Hanna touches my shoulder and I glare at her. “Don’t you dare touch me.” I hurry to the door and turn the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge.

  “Don’t waste your energy, sweetheart. I’ve put security measures in place for your own safety. It’s my responsibility as your husband to make sure you don’t harm yourself while your memory returns. Hanna and the rest of our staff know about your head injury, which caused your memory loss and worsened your mental health. I blame myself. I shouldn’t have allowed you to go skiing.” He pauses. “By the way, Adrian, our guard, will be at your door day and night.”

  “You bastard.” I pick up the vase of flowers and hurl it at the door. It falls to the floor in pieces, water spilling onto the carpet. “Let me out of here. The only person who is sick here is you.”

  Hanna hurries to clear up the mess.

  “My sweet wife. It hurts me to see you like this. But I’m a patient man. I’ll still be here when you remember that we’re married and in love.”

  “That will never happen, because it’s a lie. An ugly lie. You’re keeping me prisoner.”

  “This is not a prison. You can’t be a prisoner in your own home. It’s all in your head.” He sighs. “Now get ready for our first dinner in our home.”