Olive whimpered as we entered the cramped space. She huddled against a window, wedged between a long table with bench seats on either side. She pulled her legs up, scrunching them against her chest. She hugged herself tight, while her chin rested on her knees.
Colouring books scattered the narrow table, revealing vibrant doodles and designs outside of the printed mandalas. She was Gil’s daughter all right: she had his talent with colour.
I gave her a smile. A smile that I hoped said I was there for her and I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. A smile that most likely said the same things her face did: that we were screwed and all on our own.
She gave me a watery smile back, tears still falling silently down her cheeks.
Jeffrey pushed me until I slammed into a bench seat opposite Olive. My bound wrists throbbed as they smashed against the table. Pencils jumped at the impact.
Jeffrey rolled his eyes as if I couldn’t do anything right. Closing the caravan door, he locked it, then marched to the kitchen and fridge in the middle of the tiny home. Ripping open the door, he pulled out a beer. Twisting off the cap, he drank the entire thing in one go.
I supposed shooting his nephew and kidnapping was thirsty work.
Gil.
He’s dead.
My heart skipped a beat.
You don’t know that.
He tied me up and left me to die.
Stop it.
My hands balled as I focused on Olive.
Her eyes skated away from mine, wet and full of sadness. I studied her cute button nose and petite forehead—two features that came from Tallup. I traced the thick unruly dark hair and cutting cheekbones—two inheritances that came from Gil.
She was a beautiful child.
Dainty and delicate, long-legged and sweet.
She looked as if she’d been born to these woods. As if she’d had a fawn for a father and a fairy for a mother.
Her eyes met mine again.
Grey.
Not green. Not blue. Not brown.
Grey.
Gil doesn’t have grey eyes.
Didn’t have grey eyes.
Stop that.
He’s alive.
My stomach clenched as I fought off black thoughts, recognising the identical stare of the woman who’d been our teacher.
Years existed between that time and this yet, watching Olive, I saw similarities. The quick movements as Olive swiped at her damp cheeks. The intelligent gaze as she glanced at Jeffrey.
She had a lot of Gil running in her blood, but she also had a lot of her mother.
My heart fissured with hurt.
The pang of jealousy didn’t make sense.
The rush of confusion and pain was a luxury I couldn’t afford.
The GPS tracker in my underwear pinched against my side, giving false promise that someone would find us before unspeakable things happened, but all I could do was stare at the sweetest girl born from assault on a teenage boy.
A boy who’d given up all his dreams to love and protect her.
Another tiptoe of tiredness hit me.
I didn’t want to think or worry or hurt anymore.
I wanted to sleep.
And then wake from this nightmare.
Olive sucked in a shaky breath, her tears still flowing. Looking at her uncle, she whispered brokenly, “Ca-Can we go back?”
Jeffrey tossed the empty beer bottle into the sink. “Go back where?”
“To see Daddy. He was hurt.” Her fists curled. “You hurt him.”
With a threatening swoop, Jeffrey squeezed onto the bench beside Olive and crowded her against the wall. Her shoulder bumped the lacy tieback on the cream curtains. She didn’t whimper when he gathered her into his side and wrapped a reptilian arm around her fragile shoulders. She had courage. She’d lived with this monster a while.
“I didn’t hurt him,” Jeffrey muttered. “He hurt himself by not being a good boy and following the rules.” He tapped her on the nose. “Unlike you, sweetheart. You’re very obedient, aren’t you?”
I squirmed on my side of the table, my body writhing in denial of this grotesque human being tormenting a young girl. “Don’t touch her.”
Jeffrey chuckled, cuddling Olive closer to spite me. “You, meanwhile, have a lot to learn.”
Olive’s cheek squished against his chest, her eyes closed while evermore tears fell. I didn’t know how such a young girl could be so brave and quiet.
It hurt me to see her so manhandled and alone.
Ignoring Jeffrey, I spoke to the little girl who desperately needed a friend. “Olive...I’m Olin. Our names are so similar. So...that means I like you straight away.”
Olive stiffened, her eyes flashing to mine.
Grey as a winter’s day. Endless as infinity.
Her grief over Gil’s shooting twisted into shock. “You’re...you’re Olin, too?”
It was my turn to stiffen. I didn’t like the way she looked at me. As if she knew me. As if we hadn’t just met and she knew my deepest, darkest secrets.
Jeffrey narrowed his eyes, waiting for me to reply. I hated that he shared in this conversation but at least it bought me time to figure out how to escape. “I am. Do you know another?”
Olive sniffed, wriggling in Jeffrey’s hold to rub her nose with the back of her hand. “Daddy has an owl called Olin.” Her eyes filled with more liquid. “I bought it for him with my pocket money.”
My heart slowed and raced at the same time. “A nice name for an owl.”
She cried quietly, her sorrow consuming her. “He told me he had an owl as a friend when he was younger. It was called Olin. It was my favourite story. He always seemed sad, so I bought him a stuffed one to try to make him happy.”
Something hot stabbed me in the chest. “That was very nice of you.”
My mind raced back to the second night Gil was drunk. When we kissed in his bed and he clutched a fluffy owl beneath his pillow. An owl that represented me, given to him by his daughter.
Tears welled and overflowed. I couldn’t stop them.
The secrets.
The pain.
It hurt too much, firing through my insides, leaving a vast, aching emptiness behind.
“He’s a good liar, my nephew,” Jeffrey said. “Promised there was no connection between you two. Yet I find out that you were the one telling the truth. There was an ‘us’.” He smiled cruelly. “Although...not anymore.”
I swallowed back my hate and tears. “You’re a bastard.”
He chuckled. “No swearing in front of the kid.”
“Age doesn’t stop her from knowing exactly what you are.”
Jeffrey soared upright. The caravan wobbled from his momentum, shuddering like an earthquake. His fist connected with Olive’s colouring books, scattering pencils.
Olive quickly snatched them before they rolled to the floor. Scooping them into a pile, she nursed them as if they were alive and in need of soothing.
Leaning toward me, he growled. “You’re lucky you’re worth more to me alive. Otherwise, you’d be tied to a fucking tree, dying.” Without looking at Olive, his tone switched to syrup. “Sweetheart, can you tell our guest what happens if you speak out of turn?”
Olive gulped. Grabbing a sky blue pencil, she coloured furiously, keeping her gaze on the paper. “You don’t get any food for a full day and have to sleep tied to a tree outside in only your nightie.” She licked her lips, obviously reliving a similar sentence. “It’s scary and cold, and you don’t sleep much. And then, in the morning, you have to wash your mouth out with the dishwashing brush while Uncle Jeffrey helps clean your dirty tongue with vinegar.”
“Thank you, Olive. You remembered your lesson very well.”
She shivered and switched her blue pencil for a red one, digging the pigment into the paper all while tears dripped onto her design.
I held back my own shiver and kept my spine locked. “You think you’re special for torturing a child? You’re nothing more than a mons—”
My roped wrists swooped up, trying to scratch him for breath. But he merely caught the rope and kept my hands away.
I held his stare, doing my best not to panic or struggle.
He smirked, leaning into me to whisper in my ear. At least he had the decency to keep diabolical plans for adult ears only. “Listen up, Olin Moss. And yes, I know who you are. I know about you and Gil at high-school. I know about your failed dancing. I know everything there is to know about your pathetic little life.”
His fingers relaxed a little, granting a much-needed gush of air. His nose tickled my throat as he dragged his lips along my painted skin. “You want to know what’s going to happen? I’ll tell you. We’re about to hit the road. I’ve had a long day. I wanted to sleep before we began our long journey, but you’re just so eager to get started that I’ll be a good host and do what you want.”
His sour breath sent goosebumps all over me. He angled my head toward Olive, his thumb pressing hard on my pulse. “And that little girl is going to come for the ride. We’re heading to Italy. There’s a market there in a few weeks. A market for men who want exclusive, pretty things. That gives me plenty of time to train you up for whoever is stupid enough to buy you. And it gives you time to stare at that cute kid and know what her fate will be. Every time she plays, you’ll know that in a few short days she’ll belong to some man who will pay a fortune to fuck a child. You’ll know that her time of innocence and freedom is ticking away, hour by hour, and there is nothing, nothing you can do about it.”
Bringing his lips to mine, he forced words into my mouth even as I struggled to get away. “You’ll do your best not to get attached to her. You’ll try to save her. To be her friend. To promise her you’ll both get free. But you can’t stop what’s going to happen. You’ll hope that each day will bring rescue, and each day it won’t happen. That’s what will kill you. Not the fact that this rope will never leave your wrists. Not the fact that you’ll be chained to this caravan until your new master takes control. Not the fact that I will fuck you daily until some other bastard pays for the privilege.”
He kissed me harshly, pulling away with a feral gleam in his eyes. “The thing that will kill you, Olin Moss, is hope. Idiotic hope that this is all a crazy mistake and will be over soon.”
Letting me go, he stepped out from the bench seat and towered over me. “Do you know what I loved about letting dehydration and exposure kill those painted girls?” He sighed with contentment. “I never got my hands dirty—apart from the last one—but the thrill was just the same as if I’d been the one to snuff out their lives.”
I couldn’t unlock my jaw to be human and speak words. If I opened my mouth now, I’d snarl and spit and howl like a trapped animal that held nothing but loathing for its captor.
“It was the anticipation. The journey of watching them fight; their eyes bright with hope and expectation of being found in time. Then slowly, minute by minute, that hope vanished all while their bodies gave out.”
Olive bit her bottom lip, acting as if she couldn’t hear her uncle talk about murder.
He clapped his hands. “Olive. What time is it?”
Olive leaped to her feet, scurried around him, and bolted to the bunk beds at the other end of the caravan. In a flash, she dove beneath covers with pink ponies on them and stared back at us with big, grey eyes. The obedience and quickness in which she moved broke something inside me. She didn’t smile or seek reward for her good behaviour. She didn’t obey him out of respect.
Just fear.
“Bedtime, Uncle Jeffrey.”
He beamed like a proud gorilla. “Good girl. You stay there until I come get you.”
Snatching me, Jeffrey unlocked the caravan door and hauled me from the couch. His fingers wrapped around the rope on my wrists.
Light-headedness made me sway while I blinked back residual drugs.
“We’re going for some private time.”
Stark fear clogged my veins. “No.”
He didn’t reply, just dragged me down the caravan steps and into the chilly awning. His yellow teeth glistened in the hanging lantern by the boxes of belongings. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pressed himself against me, rolling his hips into mine, revealing the horrid hardness in his dirty jeans. “Time to learn what my nephew saw in you.”
“Take your fucking hands off me.” I squirmed and tried to knee him in the balls, but his hold was too tight. My wrists burned as I fought to get free. My heart raced faster than it ever had before.
Jeffrey let me wriggle, unfazed and gloating, knowing he’d won. “Let’s see why he never got over you, shall we?” Throwing me onto the threadbare couch, he cupped my jaw and held me down. His knee landed on my belly, pinning me onto my back. “I’m telling you now, I’m more experienced than my nephew. I also have different needs.” His rancid lips landed on mine. “You’ll find that out soon enough.”
I bit his bottom lip, spitting onto the floor as metallic copper hinted I’d broken his skin.
I braced for a fist or retaliation. However, he just chuckled as if my rage was mere melodramatics. His hand landed on my naked, painted breast and squeezed so hard white light exploded behind my eyes.
I gasped and bucked, trying to run from the painful whip of hot agony.
He stopped.
He shoved my arms up and looped my roped wrists around a hook holding the metal framework of the awning.
My shoulders screamed for release.
My soul bellowed for salvation.
Jeffrey climbed off me and pulled the gun he’d shot Gil with from his waistband. He stroked it as if it were alive and a very good friend of his. “I didn’t like guns before tonight, did you know that?” He placed the heavy weapon onto the chipped coffee table reverently. “I’m more of a fist and blade kinda guy.” He smiled. “That’s changed. I’d rather enjoy another excuse to use it, so by all means, fight. I’m sure whoever bids on you won’t mind an extra hole somewhere on your body.”
“You’re deranged.”
“Maybe.” He unbuckled his trousers, his belt buckle dangling as he winked. “Deranged or not...you’re mine now. And I’m ready to play.”
Chapter Seven
______________________________
Gil
I’D WITNESSED MANY things children shouldn’t see.
Things any person—young or old—shouldn’t see.
I’d watched men beat whores. I’d heard whores scream behind walls. I’d lived in hell where the devil constantly drank and slurred and punched his only son.
I’d dealt with all of it.
I’d blocked out what I couldn’t process and focused on a future that he could never touch.
Before Tallup put her claws in me, before I lost O, before Olive was stolen, I still believed in hope.
But now, I didn’t have much left.
My boots crunched and tripped as I followed the flashing dot on my cell phone. My vision faded around the edges, my breath shallow, my blood decorating the forest floor like a cookie crumb trail back to freedom.
The pain had become unbearable.
The urge to drop to the ground and die a sinister whisper in my veins.
Keep fighting.
I texted Justin, willing my fingers to move over the tiny screen.
Call police. I fucked up.
I could barely see to send it, falling to my knees as another lick of agony lashed down my back.
With a groan, I climbed to my feet.
And kept going.
* * * * *
I was too late.
O would never forgive me.
Not for any of my sins.
Especially this one.
I couldn’t see my daughter, but I knew she was here.
The camouflaged painted caravan and its long-stay awning was where that bastard had kep
t her from me.
I would’ve killed him for that alone.
But watching him tear off his shirt and unbuckle his jeans added a whole new homicidal rage to my already flaming hate.
O lay trapped on her back on the couch, glowering at him, her lips pulled back in a snarl. She didn’t beg or reason; she just waited for his attack as if ready to fight until death rather than let him touch her.
My vision flickered again as my hand slipped into my jeans pocket where my weapon of choice still waited. The violence that I’d always pushed aside roared through me. It heated my blood and deleted my agony.
I stepped silently into the awning.
The darkness kept me hidden. The lantern too weak to throw illumination my way. O fought my uncle as he grabbed her thighs and tried to spread them.
Both of them preoccupied.
Both of them unaware as I sneaked on shaky legs.
My fingers ached to steal his gun, discarded and lonely on the coffee table. To point it at his head and pull the trigger like he’d done to me. He deserved to feel the fire it left behind. The punch. The shove. The heat.
But he also deserved to feel how his victims had felt.
The helplessness.
The awful, terrible sensation of dying from passing time.
Pulling the syringe from my pocket, I carefully uncapped the needle while O screamed a curse and Jeffrey threw himself on top of her.
The deadly sharpness of the needle made my heart pound.
I couldn’t fuck this up.
If I did...
O’s gaze wrenched to mine as I took the final step toward my uncle.
Her mouth fell open, her fight vanished, disbelief pinning her to the couch.
Jeffrey froze, twisting on top of her to look behind him.
I couldn’t let him grab his gun.
I couldn’t second-guess.
Without a word, I lunged forward and jabbed the needle into his naked ass.
The entire length vanished into him, earning a howl and violent fist swinging in my direction.
But it was too late.
My thumb pressed on the plunger, and I shot the entire contents into him. I didn’t know if it would work, not going directly into a vein, but I had to hope.
The Finished Masterpiece (Master of Trickery Book 3) Page 49
