Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series)

by Spain, Shirley

  Pressing her memory for the details, she remembered them because, at the time, she considered it a rather gruesome form of self-defense. Best she could recollect, Liddy said any man could be stopped if the woman had the courage to jab her fingers into the man’s eyes. Once the fingers were inside the sockets, the next thing to do was to bend the fingers, then while keeping the fingers bent, pull outward. The pain of the eyeballs being ripped out of the head would be so excruciating the attacker would instantly cease whatever violent act he was committing.

  But Jewels had a bigger problem than coming to a final decision whether or not she should forever take away this creep’s sight. For her plan to a have a thimble-sized chance of working, at least one hand had to be free, preferably the right one, though the left one would certainly be better than nothing.

  However both were mercilessly pinned under her captor’s knees. Still, if he intended to rape her, sooner or later, he’d have to let up. And the moment he did, she must strike. There would be no second chance. No time for hesitation. Knowing injury trumps strength every time, Jewels decided, right then and there, she would blind him. Having given her inner predator permission to do what needed to be done, her plan solidified in her mind: when the bastard released her hands, the last thing he’d ever see would be her ripping out his eyeballs.

  Without warning he struck. His massive hand hammered on her sternum with fingers bent like thick claws and with one powerful yank, ripped her T-shirt in half, down the middle of the V-neckline.

  The extreme force of the jersey being violently torn off her body seared the flesh on her shoulders and upper arms like a savage rope burn. “No,” Jewels screamed, launching an all-out struggle for freedom, berserkly thrashing her body under his restraint, but her mindless combat didn’t faze his hold.

  “Settle down,” he barked, drawing the knife from his waist to cautiously press the tip under her chin.

  Gasping, she ceased fighting, elongating her neck to extend it as far away from the razor tip of the knife as possible. A mask of unadulterated terror demolished her features. Was he going to slash her throat, too?

  His black eyes pierced her innards. “You’re a pretty little bitch,” he said, menacingly stroking the side of her chin with the edge of the intimidating seven-inch blade. “If you want to keep it that way, you better be a good girl.”

  Gazing up at her captor, she purposely batted her big blue eyes at him as a tacit plea for mercy. Witnessing how one mighty stroke of his hand had nearly sheared the head off Boo-Boo, she had little doubt he could butcher her face into hashed meat ... or worse. Though she dared not move a muscle, her teeth chattered involuntarily and tears leaked onto her cheeks. Perhaps if she wanted to live, she had no choice other than to be a good girl.

  Keeping the knife firmly pressed at her neck, he scrutinized her face with dissecting eyes. Explored her chest. Watched her full tan breasts pump up and down within the confines of the C-cups of her lace embellished black bra.

  Sensing his deviant desires, her entire body trembled erratically. As distraction from her captor’s assault, her mind churned in chaos ... about the map. Sharon’s murder. And murderer. The abrupt manner in which she shooed away the FBI agents. And Howard Dyson. If only she had gone to the Uintas with him, none of this would have happened, and she wouldn’t be up the old shit creek without a paddle right now.

  Unexpectedly, like he had been awakened from a hypnotic state, he straightened his back and smoothly sheathed the knife.

  Audibly sighing with relief, the severe stress crevices on her face softened but didn’t disappear while her mind continued to boil with questions. And regrets.

  “Time to go,” he announced.

  “Go? Go where?”

  Ignoring her inquiry he proceeded to unload his bulging jacket pockets, straightening the twisted pieces of leather and laying them out to the right side of her head.

  Consumed by grim curiosity, Jewels craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the articles. “What are those? What are you going to do?”

  He didn’t reply, just kept emptying his pockets.

  “Please, say something. At least tell me if you were the one following me in that green Ram today.”

  Slightly nodding his head in agreement, “You’re alert. Intuitive—”

  “Did you kill Sharon?”

  Raking his teeth against the bottom of his lip, he again nodded, and eyed her almost with a look of admiration. “Hmm. Glad you’re a quick study,” he said, picking up one of the leather pieces and dangling it menacingly over her face. “See this shit? They’re restraints for your wrists and ankles and you’re gonna wear ‘em.”

  Eyes bulging, “No, please don’t,” she begged, violently squirming for freedom.

  “Stop it, or...,” he warned, promptly drawing the knife threateningly waving it in her face.

  Instantly she complied, stopped struggling.

  “That’s better,” he said, a broad smile of superiority parting his lips. “The facts are this: you’re coming with me, you’re gonna be restrained, and there’s simply no way of getting out of it. However, we can do this the hard way or the easy way, my pretty little bitch,” he explained, his tone demeaning.

  “Please, don’t—”

  “Shhhh,” he said, rapping the side of the knife against her lips. “So you gonna be a good girl for me?” Lightly and carefully, he slid the razor edge of the knife against her throat before returning it to the sheath.

  Quivering nonstop, she gazed wide-eyed at her captor. Good girl? Were there any other viable options?

  Snickering wickedly, his colossal hands palmed her bra-covered breasts. Squeezed.

  Reactively she whimpered and instinctively flinched, but dared not purposely move or say a word, figuring enduring the hardhanded fondling of her breasts was more tolerable than the probable alternative of surviving a diced up face or slashed throat.

  His fingers, thick and hard like rolls of quarters, crept under her bra, roughly toying with her constricted nipples.

  Pinching her eyes shut, she ground her teeth. Held her breath. Braved the abuse.

  “What I said about being a good girl when I put these straps on you includes keeping your mouth shut. No screaming. No begging. No biting.”

  Opening her eyes, she gazed up innocently at him while her mind secretly plotted her eyeball-ripping counterattack; she wasn’t going to feel the least bit bad about blinding this sleazeball.

  Smirking, he planted his hands on his hips, wiped his tongue across his sparkling white teeth and shrugged. “But, it don’t matter to me,” he sighed. “The hard way or the easy way, you’re just gonna wear this shit,” he promised, motioning with his head to the restraints.

  Her mind kicked into overdrive. If she was going to rip out this slime bucket’s eyeballs and escape, obviously she had to do it before he bound her.

  “So what’s it gonna be? Easy, you don’t fight me when I put these on you,” he said, again nodding at the restraints. “Or hard and you still wear ‘em, except they’ll be much tighter and you will be hurting ... that’s a guarantee.”

  Falsely capitulating, she remained still, focusing on the ceiling. All part of her eyeball-ripping scheme.

  His piercing eyes analyzed her. “Maybe I should fuck you to make sure you’re still alive,” he needled with a mean laugh as he again savagely grabbed her breasts, squeezing mightily.

  Jewels cringed, but otherwise remained silent. Motionless. Focusing only on the opportunity to dig out this lunatic’s eyeballs.

  Exhaling a sigh of disappointment, he dusted his palms together. It appeared she had surrendered and was going to be a good girl. “Right first,” he said, widening the loop of the smaller of the two sets of leather bindings in preparation to engulf her wrist. Raising his body off her hand just enough to jerk it out while keeping her left hand held down by his right knee, he yanked her right arm toward the strap.

  “No! Don’t!” It wasn’t in her nature to simply and quietly surrende
r. Launching a full throttle battle, amounting to little more than clenching her fist and wildly thrashing her arm about, she desperately attempted to keep her wrist free of the waiting leather jaw. But, once again, resistance proved futile. Close to triple her size, he was fiercely stronger and unequivocally meaner.

  A wicked smile sneaked from beneath the leather mask. Unmistakably, he was enjoying her resistance. Maintaining an overpowering hold of her right arm, he swiftly encircled her right wrist with the leather, jerked it hard. The strap automatically locked in place.

  “No! Please, no,” Jewels shrieked, engaging in yet another physical protest.

  “So, much for being a good girl. Wanna do this the hard way, huh?” Narrowing his eyes, he slowly waved his head up and down. “Well you’re gonna really get it, Bitch.”

  “No-no. I’m sorry. Please don’t,” Jewels begged, shaking her head in vigorous disagreement to his plans. Her mind tumbled. Clearly she couldn’t overpower him, not that she hadn’t tried. Maybe if she surrendered, he’d let down his guard and lighten up the pressure from his knee on her left hand just enough to unleash her eyeball-gouging strike.

  “I like the hard way,” he said with menace in his voice, the whites of his eyes radiating eager delight through the frightening mask.

  “No. No. Please, I’ll cooperate. I promise. I will. Just don’t hurt me,” she rapid fired.

  He gazed at her in disbelief.

  Coercing herself to relax as a signal to him her words were genuine, she repeated, “Please, don’t hurt me.” Her voice sounded almost calm. The tension on her face eased.

  “All right then,” he sneered victoriously.

  Despite breathing heavily and heart hammering, she forced her muscles to remain as relaxed as possible.

  “Roll over and put your hands behind your back,” he commanded, holding onto her tethered hand by the restraint as if it were a short dog leash.

  Attempting to obey his command she tried to turn onto her side, but couldn’t. The bulk of his three-hundred-twenty-five pound body remained perched on top of her. “I can’t,” she whined, once again attempting to turn over, providing evidence her words were true.

  Not taking his eyes off of hers, he cautiously raised his body enough to permit her to roll onto her side, freeing her left hand in the process.

  This was her chance. Yanking her left arm out from under his knee, she swung it up, stiffened her fingers—which had gone numb from the weight of his knee—and thrust them at her captor’s eyes, imagining the driving motion would stop only when her acrylic nails collided with the back of his skull. Something soft and gooey slimed her tingling fingertips. That was her cue! Crooking her fingers, she sat up slightly to enlist the entire weight of her body then wrenched backward with all her might.

  The killer let out a startled yell, falling backward onto his heels. Reflexively his hands covered his eyes.

  Jewels was free! And something was on the fingertips of her left hand, but no way did she want the distraction of even taking a glimpse. Instead, she focused on reaching the master bedroom where she could retrieve the shotgun and, if by some chance the G-man’s eyeball-ripping tactic had failed, she would finish off the knife-wielding wacko with a blast from the twelve-gauge pump.

  But her legs, also numb from him sitting on top of her, wouldn’t support the weight of her body. Feverishly crawling on all fours she scrambled toward her safe room, less than twenty feet ahead.

  After a few seconds, most of the feeling had returned to her legs. “Come on, Jewels, get up and run,” she whispered to herself. Stumbling to her feet, she clumsily sprinted down the hall.

  “You fuckin’ bitch!”

  Diving into the bedroom, she slammed the thick metal door shut, twisted the doorknob lock, and flattened her back to lean against the door while catching her breath and allowing her eyes to acclimate to the semidarkness. Once her vision adjusted, she glanced over at the huge rose-colored Fort Knox gun safe. A mere thirty feet away in the corner next to the four-poster cherry wood bed, the huge metal chest housed the solution to her problem.

  Must reach the safe. Retrieve the shotgun ... but, she was getting ahead of herself. Must first barricade the door. From the edge of the door jamb, she flipped the hinged bracket forward, grabbed the bar attached to the opposite side of the frame, swung the rod down across the width of the door to the bracket that would secure it in place. But she wasn’t fast enough.

  The masked terror bulldozed the locked metal door with his solid shoulder like it was constructed of plaster of paris, buckling the surrounding metal door frame as if it were nothing more than a flimsy aluminum window screen. The velocity of the door blasting open smashed Jewels’ head and chest into the back wall, sandwiching her between the venetian plaster and metal door. The impact knocked the wind out of her, inducing an instant headache.

  The intruder hit the light switch on the wall. Dozens of recessed lights illuminated the expansive room resembling a palatially decorated suite in Vegas reserved for high rollers, presidents and royalty.

  Angrily he slammed the door shut.

  Dazed, Jewels’ body wilted, falling against the closed door; the door designed to keep threats out ... providing the Doorricade security bar was engaged. Shit! Another screw-up on her part.

  Lips snarling, his eyes glared murderously.

  Gracelessly, but boldly, she vaulted past him. If she could just maneuver around him, scramble over the bed, sprint to the other side of room, open the safe....

  Snaring her waist with his sizeable arm, he whipped her rearward, slamming her to the ground before she had a chance to travel half the distance to the bed.

  Violently her head snapped back and her body collided with the plush carpet, which felt more like concrete. Lying breathlessly on her back in a battered heap, Jewels gazed up at her attacker hovering triumphantly over her. The image of her assailant’s head a fuzzy blob. Details out of focus.

  “Turn over,” he thundered in fury, but didn’t wait for her to respond. Latching onto Jewels’ slight shoulders, he wrenched her over onto her stomach and ground her head into the floor, fiercely cranking her arms behind her back.

  Carpet fibers scoured her tender facial skin like a Brillo pad as the masked man slapped a restraint on her left wrist, then bound her hands together brutally tight. Feeling as though her arms were going to be ripped out of their sockets, she bleated in pain, her features twisting in agony. Moments later he performed the same savagery to her ankles, binding her legs together.

  How could the G-man’s eyeball-ripping advice have been so wrong? So ineffective?

  “You fuckin’ cunt, you tried to rip out my eyes! Temporarily blinded me. Made me see double,” he snorted, as if in direct response to her thoughts.

  Flipping Jewels onto her back, he pitched her like a footlocker onto the elegantly dressed bed, continuing his tirade. “And you fucked up my mask!”

  Gazing in stunned horror at her captor, her eyes required a moment to focus. Part of the man’s face was distinguishable. Sure enough, the mask had been demolished; the eye holes had been torn down almost to the zipper mouth. The slimy something she felt on her numb fingertips was sweat-soaked leather. Nothing more.

  The destroyed mask afforded her the opportunity to glean two details from the face at her attacker: one, the desire to murder in his eyes; and two, he was a black man she had never seen before. Was he going to rape her? Torture her? Kill her? All of the above? Her body pulsated with fear.

  Like hot car exhaust, his voice seared her face. “Let’s get this over with, Bitch. I told you. I fuckin’ warned you. Hard way, easy way. Didn’t matter to me. You were gonna wear this shit!”

  Bedlam ravaged her mind, prompting an impulsive escape attempt. Rolling her body toward the edge of the bed, when she hit the floor, she would...?

  The answer didn’t matter. Pouncing on her the instant she lurched to her side, he cast her on her back again, straddling her chest between his knees. The bones of her bound a
rms dug into her spine. Vertebrae cracked and popped like knuckles. Wildly contorting her body for relief, she moaned in despair. “What do you want with—”

  The barbarian didn’t let her finish, wedging the egg-shaped gag in her open mouth.

  “No! No!” Jewels violently shook her head back and forth, hoping to dislodge the awful solid blob cruelly jammed in her mouth. Resistance proved worthless once again.

  “Over the head and tighter,” he said, jerking hard on the adjustment strap positioned around the back of her head.

  Wailing, she pinched her eyes shut in misery. The teardrop protrusion tormented the back of her throat. She wanted to puke. Needed to puke. But resisted the urge, knowing if she gave in, she would probably drown in her own vomit.

  Helplessly she watched the brute revel in victory as he knelt towering over her. Tears of frustration and fright rained down her cheeks. Just when she thought her predicament couldn’t possibly get any worse, he slammed a dingy cloth laundry bag over her head, drawing the string tautly around the base of her neck. The bag smelled like ripe tennis shoes. Again she harnessed the urge to puke.

  Seconds later the killer yanked her off the bed, pitching her body over his broad shoulder.

  Madly wiggling her torso and kicking her bound legs, she shrieked pitiful, unintelligible noises. Suddenly, WHACK! His open hand swatted her buttocks.

  “Stop it or the next time I’ll use my belt,” he threatened.

  Not wanting to add being beaten with a belt to her dilemma, she quit squirming, but couldn’t subdue the tears, wondering—dreading—where the hell he was taking her. Mentally she tracked her whereabouts as he carried her down the carpeted stairs, across the travertine entry and through the single swinging door that softly whined as her bound feet tapped it.

  After several steps, he paused, squatted. Stood up, seconds later a mild thud; a padded object had been dumped on the counter. An instant later, the familiar sound of items in her purse being rummaged through, then the clang of a bundle of keys. The creep had ransacked her purse, stolen her keys and who knows what else.