by J. L. Beck
She’s been warned. When she runs, I will give chase, and when I catch her, it will be anything but poetic.
Against her better judgment, she does as she’s told and walks ahead of me. With her shoulders slumped down and her head bowed, you can tell that she is thoroughly defeated.
Her feet move slowly up the stairs, but I try to be patient with her and not say anything. When she reaches the top, she stops altogether as if she is waiting for direction.
“Go to the bathroom,” I tell her, and she continues moving toward the bedroom.
Her eyes stay trained on the floor, and I just want her to fucking look at me. “I want you to take a shower while I make some dinner. Do you understand?”
She nods again, but this time I’m not satisfied with a simple nod.
“Look at me,” I demand.
She turns around hesitantly before lifting her eyes to mine. The moment our eyes connect, I wish I hadn’t made her look at me. There is a heavy sadness in the depth of her blue eyes. A sadness that is only overshadowed by one thing… fear.
I can’t imagine what she thinks of me now. How monstrous have I grown in her mind? It was the plan all along, and it must stay that way. I will keep her as mine until she is no longer of use to me anymore, until her worth has expired, and then I’ll…
Cowardly, I can’t bear to finish that thought.
The thought of killing her feels like someone is plunging a serrated knife into my chest. I’ve killed women before, but it’s been on rare occasions and only in situations where it was absolutely required.
“Do you understand?” I repeat, needing her words.
“Yes, I understand.” Her voice comes out soft and shaky but at least she is talking.
“Good, go take a shower and clean yourself up. It will make you feel better.” She, of course, doesn’t respond, not that I expected her to.
I watch her walk up the stairs to the bedroom, and when she disappears from view, I turn around and head back into the kitchen. There isn’t anything fresh here, only canned and dried goods, but it will do for now. We won’t go hungry.
After searching through the cabinets, I end up preparing a simple pasta dish with tomato sauce, parmesan, and canned chicken. I just finish draining the spaghetti when I hear Fallon descending the stairs. Peering over my shoulder, I catch sight of her wearing the overly large men’s gray T-shirt I left out for her.
My mouth fills with saliva and it’s got nothing to do with the food. The thought of fucking her against the counter, dirtying up her clean body all over again, makes my cock turn to steel.
No! A voice counters in my brain. I’m reminded of how emotionally unstable she is right now and how even if I am a shit person, she still needs to eat and sleep. Coming closer, her movements become slower, and her eyes flicker to the kitchen chair, where hours ago, the guy was tied up. There’s no evidence of that now, but she knows he was there. She knows I killed someone in this room.
You can’t unsee what’s already been done.
“Why don’t you go sit on the couch. I’ll bring you a plate.”
I don’t have to tell her twice. She sighs in relief and heads to the couch. I load up two plates and bring one, along with a bottle of water. She takes the plate from me and starts eating right away. At least I don’t have to force-feed her, which was something I was prepared to do if need be. I get my own plate and a beer from the fridge before I join her on the couch.
She doesn’t acknowledge me, pretending to be too busy eating.
“No gourmet food, but you don’t seem to mind,” I point out.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I’m a college student. I live off ramen noodles most days.” Even though she is speaking in a monotone voice and doesn’t look at me, I don’t miss how she just gave me a sliver of information willingly. That shouldn’t excite me. I shouldn’t care about her life or what she did before the day of the auction, but I do. I want to know more about her, find out all her secrets. I want to crack her open and peer inside, peel back the layers of who she is.
“I might make a run to the grocery store for some fresh food tomorrow or the day after. Is there anything you are allergic to?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
I almost ask her if there is anything she wants me to bring her, but then I remember her opinion doesn’t matter to me, or at least it shouldn’t. Asking her if she wants anything would make her seem like more than just a warm body for me to use, and I’m not about to cross that bridge. She finishes all her food and places her empty plate on her lap.
“Just put it on the coffee table. Let’s go to bed. I’m sure you’re tired.”
As she puts the plate onto the table, I can see her hands shake. The porcelain wobbles slightly before it touches the smooth wood.
Getting to my feet, I hold out my hand to her, but she just looks at it like I’m trying to drag her to hell. Maybe I am, or maybe I already have.
It takes a few minutes before she places her hand in mine. I pull her up gently and walk her up the stairs and to the bedroom.
When I tie her up, I leave her hands in front of her body, so she’ll be a little more comfortable tonight.
“Do I have to sleep in the bed with you?” she asks softly, looking everywhere besides my face. “I can sleep on the floor.” Her words bother me more than I can explain. The fury that had simmered down returns full force like a raging bull.
“You will sleep in this bed with me, or you will sleep in the cell naked and with the light turned off. Which one do you prefer, princess?”
“I want to stay up here,” she answers, her voice breaking at the end, and I know she is about to cry.
“Lie down then. Do you want something to help you go to sleep?” I offer, but she shakes her head right away. She awkwardly crawls into bed and curls up onto her side.
I tie her ankles together before I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed.
Turning off the light, I pull the blanket over both of us as I settle into the spot next to her. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust, and I can just about make out her blonde hair and delicate shoulder. She is turned away from me, quiet as a mouse, until a tiny sob escapes her.
Fucking Christ. Why does that bother me so much?
Huffing in frustration, I reach for her. Wrapping my arms around her slender body, I pull her into mine. She goes stiff before trying to wiggle out of my hold. I pull her closer until her back is pushed up against my chest. For good measure, I throw my legs over hers, rendering her completely immobile.
When I have her wrapped up like a cocoon, she loosens up slightly, but it isn’t until minutes later that she finally gives in. Instead of trying to get away, I can feel her relax into my hold.
Maybe I’m imagining things, but when she turns her head and moves her shoulder slightly, I almost think she is cuddling into me.
Not long after that, her breathing evens out, and I know she’s going to sleep. Only then do I allow myself to close my eyes and drift off into a dreamless sleep.
9
Fallon
They say things get better with the start of a new day. That yesterday’s sorrows fade with the rise of a new sun, but I think that’s a lie. You can’t forget the bad that happened the day before. Not when it plays on repeat like a record in your mind. Not when the man holding all your fractured pieces together is the cause for such evilness. I knew Markus was bad. I knew he was evil. I even knew he was a killer, but knowing and seeing are two different things.
I’d seen him kill before, but that was different in my mind. He killed someone bad, someone who’d hurt me. Hurt all the girls. An evil even greater than Markus himself… or so I thought. Witnessing the true darkness he harbors ignites a new fear.
No matter what I do, I can’t forget the feral look in his eyes. I can’t forget how little he cared when he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. It was like the man wasn’t even a person at all, but instead a nuisance. A fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing.
>
But the worst feeling of all is knowing how I acted, that I came. I gave in to his touch, enjoyed the way he took me roughly in front of that man. I knew who Markus was; I just didn’t know I was capable of such things.
All night I stayed cocooned in his warm arms, feeling hopeful and safe, but it was a false sense of hope, safety. I’m not safe with him; he’s proven it again and again.
I’m so ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t have accepted his kindness. I shouldn’t let him soothe me. Nothing good will come from this.
“Are you hungry?” His voice startles me, and if I wasn’t wrapped up like this, I would have probably jerked to a sitting position. The thundering of my own heartbeat fills my ears.
“Yes,” I whisper and wait for him to release me.
We get up, and he undoes my restraints. I’m glad he tied my wrists together in the front last night. Even with him adding ropes around my ankles, it allowed me to sleep much more comfortably.
Markus puts on his jeans and a shirt, and I avert my gaze. I don’t want to look at him or be attracted to him. I’m ashamed enough that my body betrayed me and that I let him fuck me over the couch while that now dead man watched.
Once dressed, he leads me downstairs. “Go sit in the living room, and I’ll make us some breakfast.” He points in the direction of it. I do just that and meander over to the leather sofa, folding my legs beneath my body.
He prepares breakfast in the kitchen. I can hear bowls clanking together and the stove turning on, but I keep my eyes trained on the fireplace in front of me.
I don’t want to look into the kitchen because I see a man with a bullet lodged in his skull every time I do. I see vacant eyes staring back at me. I see death. And I see Markus looking at me like I’m next.
It’s probably not healthy, but I’m just going to try to forget about it. If I don’t look at the kitchen, maybe I can force the memory to the back of my mind or pretend that it never happened.
Fat chance. Those images will haunt me for the rest of my life.
A few minutes later, Markus appears with two bowls of cheesy grits and two cups of instant coffee. I eat and drink everything he gives me, even though my stomach is tight with knots. I know I need to eat to keep my strength up.
I have to survive, to make it through this. Eventually, I’m going to have to escape Markus, and I can’t do that if I’m broken and weak.
Silence settles around us. I’m finding it impossible to look at Markus for more than a second. I bet he thinks I haven’t noticed the change in him. He’s being overly nice, almost caring, as he takes my bowl back into the kitchen and returns with another cup of coffee.
Bringing my lips to the rim of the cup, I wonder if his behavior could be a sad attempt at him being sorry. I wonder if he’s really remorseful about yesterday or if he’s playing games with me. If he really is sorry, what exactly is he sorry for? Buying, drugging, and fucking me without my permission, or torturing and killing a guy? Perhaps both? Filling my coffee cup up and providing me food isn’t exactly an apology.
It’s doubtful he would ever apologize.
“I think some fresh air would do you good. We’re going to go for a walk. Find some clothes and boots upstairs in the closet and get ready while I clean the kitchen.”
“Oh… okay.” I look up from my coffee and at him for a brief second before looking back down. I wasn’t expecting that at all.
Going for a walk? That seems too normal. Maybe going for a walk is code for taking you out to shoot you. Then again, he shot someone inside the house yesterday, so he clearly has no qualms with cleaning up blood.
Walking back up the stairs, I head straight to the bedroom.
I stop in the doorway and look to my right and down the hall. There are more doors further down the hall, two actually. They’re most likely an office or bedroom and bathroom. I bite the inside of my cheek and stop only when I taste the coppery tang of blood on my tongue.
I can’t… I’m not risking checking those out yet.
Soon I won’t have a choice. Time is running out.
Before I can change my mind and make a mistake I won’t come back from, I walk into the bedroom. Going through the closet, I notice that there is an equal amount of male and female clothes. A couple lives here or used to live here. Maybe this isn’t his house at all? Maybe it’s someone else’s? Maybe he killed the people who lived here? Or maybe he’s working with someone? The questions surrounding this man stack up right before my eyes.
I find a pair of jeans and a sweater. As well as thick socks and brown boots in the closet’s corner.
As I strip out of my clothing, I dare to look down at my body. The way Markus handled me yesterday, claiming my body with such raw, primal power, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were bruises branded into my skin.
Dragging my gaze down to my hips, I’m not even surprised when I find just that—fingerprint-sized bruises mar my skin, each one a shameful reminder of what I allowed to occur. Bile rises in the back of my throat as I remember the way he took me, owning my body, claiming it not like a lover would claim a woman but like a beast determined to remind me who I belonged to. I shake the thoughts away. I’m disgusted enough with myself. I should’ve fought more, begged and pleaded more. Not orgasmed.
I dress in a flurry, wanting to hide all proof of what happened. If I’m not reminded of it, then it never happened.
Once I’m completely dressed, I turn around to walk back downstairs, but I crash into a wall, and by wall, I mean Markus. My cheek presses into his chest, and I take a step back, trying my best not to breathe his manly scent into my lungs. I don’t want to enjoy any part of who he is because doing so makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.
This is wrong, Fallon. All of it.
“Sorry,” I blurt out.
How can someone so big move so quietly?
“Ready?” he grunts, unfazed by the fact I plowed into him.
“Yes.” I hold my arms down at my sides, even though I want to cross them protectively over my body. As I follow Markus down the stairs, I let myself look at him and realize he is now wearing boots and a hoodie, both of which he wasn’t wearing before.
That only reminds me of the mystery of this place and where all these clothes I’m wearing are from.
“Is this your real house?” Curiosity is finally getting the better of me. I can only hope it won’t get me killed. He stops mid-step, and I almost run into him again. Maybe I need to stop walking so closely.
Peering over his shoulder, he glares down at me. “No, I brought you here mainly for convenience, and because there is a cell in the basement, which I don’t have at my house.”
His frank words shock me, but at least he’s honest. With nothing else to do with my hands, I shove them into my pockets.
“So, you know the person who owns this place or…” I’m waiting for him to tell me he murdered them or something.
“If you’re wondering if I killed the person who owns this place, the answer is no. I more than know him. You could say he’s my boss.”
Well, that’s a surprise.
“What kind of work do you do?” I know it’s a stupid question before I finish the sentence. Markus doesn’t sell cars or sit in an office all day. His boss has a cell in a house located in the middle of nowhere.
“Are you sure you want me to spell it out? I’m sure you can put the pieces together and come up with your own conclusion.”
Markus leads us outside, and I decide to not push him by asking any more questions.
If I’m honest, I’m quite surprised. I didn’t expect him to let me outside, let alone without having the chains attached to my body.
Is he no longer afraid that I’ll run? Or is this a trap? Maybe he brought a gun and is planning on shooting me if I run. Yes, that is much more likely.
Gulping fresh air into my lungs, I take a moment and check out the scenery. Trees. There are trees everywhere. It’s like someone took the house and dropped it into the midd
le of a tree plantation. Seeing for myself that there is nothing but forest for miles makes the fear of it all really set in. There is no one to help me, no one to save me. I’ll bet there are no neighbors for miles. Markus doesn’t offer to take my hand, almost as if he’s testing me.
Testing to see if I’ll run, like I would be stupid enough to do that. Instead, he cocks his head in the direction he wants to go before heading off that way. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets, thankful that he didn’t try and hold my hand. Every time he touches me, I’m zapped into another dimension and seem to forget all the bad he’s done.
I don’t like how my body reacts to him or the heat that stirs in my belly when he looks at me. This cannot end any differently than it was supposed to all along. I have to remember the task at hand. What’s really important here.
I follow behind like a lost puppy, taking in the sights and sounds around me.
The birds chirp, and the sun hangs high in the sky. The warmth of it against my skin is like a beacon of light in complete darkness. It’s only been a few days, but it feels like forever since I’ve been outside and felt the sun’s rays on my skin or the wind in my hair.
For the first time since arriving here, my lips turn up at the sides, and though the motion feels foreign, I’m smiling, letting the fresh air and sun push me through another day.
I do my best to keep up with Markus, but one of his steps equals two for every one I take, and after only a few feet, I fall behind. He’s almost at the edge of the large backyard before he realizes how far behind I am. Turning around, he stares at me, his eyes narrowed to slits. He’s watching me, hunting me. A shiver runs down my spine, and the knots in my stomach coil tighter. I say nothing, though, and neither does he.
When I reach him, he looks away, and I pause beside him, looking down at the ground where he is looking. There is a pile of ashes near our feet.
My throat tightens, and my heart gallops in my chest.
“What happened?” I ask moments before I spot the remains within the ashes. “You burned his body.”
