I collapse on top of her, satisfied that I’ve marked what’s mine. I rest my forehead on her shoulder as I catch my breath, basking in primitive, male pride as she shudders beneath me and languidly strokes my neck and shoulders.
Deciding that I’ve had enough of these four walls, I release the cuff from around her wrist, scoop her up and carry her upstairs to my bedroom.
I want her with me from now on. Whether she accepts it or not—she’s mine.
Madonna
I wake up disoriented. It takes me a minute to remember where I am and why I’m here. The room I’m in now looks nothing like the room I’ve been held in since Liam took it upon himself to protect me. It isn’t that the other room was dirty -- it was sparse, yet impeccably maintained— but it was little more than a cellar prison. This room is a palace compared to where I’ve been sleeping. The navy blues and deep burgundy tones mix perfectly with the generously proportioned antiques. The distinctly male décor is breathtaking.
I’m facing away from Liam. I dread the walk of shame that will be necessary for me to get to the bathroom and pee. Eventually, my bladder wins out and I slide from the bed. Before my toes touch the floor, a hand clamps down on my arm and a deep, husky voice rumbles in my ear.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I instinctively jerk away and stand next to the bed, glaring down at him. “I’ve got to pee. Is that okay with you, your majesty?” I resist the urge to curtsey, but I think I’ve made my point.
His lip curls in a snarl and those cold blue eyes make it impossible for me to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. Nevertheless, I continue, “Regardless of how cozy we got last night, Liam, I haven’t forgotten that you brought me here against my will.”
“I don’t do cozy. Go pee. The bathroom is just through that door.”
He gestures behind me and flops back down on the mattress. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, but I swear I can feel him staring at my ass as I cross the room.
I trudge into the bathroom and my heart drops when there is no lock on the door. The lack of a lock will rob me of any opportunity to look for a means of escape without being seen. Dammit.
I quickly pee and wash my hands, but leave the water running for a little cover noise. All I need is a few precious seconds. With one cautious look over my shoulder, I go for it and quietly unlock the window. Even though I’m only wearing the sleepshirt and underwear he gave me last night, modesty is the furthest thing from my mind right now.
I peer out, judging the distance from the window to the ground and sweet freedom. Considering all that’s at stake, it isn’t too terribly far down. The shrubbery beneath the window will break my fall. I make my move before I can change my mind.
My body crashes into what must be a fucking holly bush because the pointy leaves slash at my arms and legs. Adrenaline overrides the pain as I frantically work to free myself from my bloody salvation. I stand and take a second to get my bearings. I have no idea where I am. At best, my sense of direction usually sucks. I’m operating on gut instinct and an overwhelming fight or flight response.
I have the option of going right or left and I decide the front door is probably to my right. That’s where he’ll most likely come from as soon as he realizes I’ve run away. So I take off running to the left like the hounds of hell are after me -- and run right into him.
I scratch and claw as he yanks me up against him. I’m unable to think coherently, I just instinctively fight for all I’m worth. He wraps an arm around me and clamps his free hand over my mouth. It’s positioned perfectly to press against my nose and cut off my air. If he thought that would make me stop fighting, he was dead wrong -- panic sends me into a frenzy of kicks and muffled screams.
Somehow he has managed to get behind me. He half-carries, half-drags me back down to the basement level via an exterior door. I hear the beep of a security code in the distance. He carries me through a series of hallways to a cellar door.
He tosses me back into the room as if I weigh nothing. I run to the cot, eyeing him from behind it like a trapped animal. He ignores me, moving swiftly to remove the books, the computer, even the chair. After depositing them outside the door at the top of the stairs, he returns with a small First Aid kit, which he tosses on the cot. Then he leaves without ever saying a word.
I’m being punished. I may not know much, but I do know that much. He’s denying me all ‘privileges’. He’s keeping me from my only remaining connection to sanity: words.
“So, what?!? I’m fucking grounded now, you bastard?!?” I shriek, my voice laced with venom.
He doesn’t respond. It’s as if he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. I want to throw something at him, but he’s taken everything with him. So I hurl the one thing I still have—the spoken word.
“I hate you! Do you hear me? I. Hate. You!”
The door clicks shut, the lock beeps, the lights go out. I’m alone.
Chapter Thirty One
Liam
I’m pissed, beyond pissed. What is it going to take for her to get it? I wish I had access to crime scene photos—a visual I could show her to wake her ass up. I know what I’m doing is crazy. Hell, I know I’m crazy when it comes to playing kidnapping games, but I know the difference and nothing about this is play. I’ve always been able to walk a tightrope in the past, taking fantasy play and spinning it until hints of authenticity seep into the scene. But I’ve never taken a woman against her will. Not really. Until now.
No matter how much I attempt to compartmentalize this situation, there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind taunting me. My brain feels like a pinball machine with thoughts and emotions bouncing and pinging off the walls—going from reason to being unsettled and back again. One look into those cobalt blue eyes of hers and the crazy comes out again, that dangerous part of me that will do anything to keep her safe, to keep her with me.
Everything you’ve worked for can be lost now. All it takes is her getting free and telling someone. If she escapes and gets killed, it’ll be your fault. What do you think your colleagues will think of you when they find out what a fucking sicko you are? You’re depraved, demented. You like what you’re doing. You enjoy taking a woman, making her yours by force.
It’s true…I do, but…there’s always been consent at some level. And, for the most part, an understanding of the difference between fantasy and reality. But this, right here, is as real as it gets.
What am I supposed to do, wait until he kills her, all for the sake of doing the right thing? I’m a man given to reason, facts, and careful consideration of the risks and benefits of every decision I make. I don’t get backed into corners, yet this woman, this object of my obsession, has managed to do what no one else ever has—confuse me.
“Doctor?” My surgical nurse’s voice interrupts my musings as she looks over at me quizzically, obviously concerned. “We’re ready. Sir, at the risk of being out of line, are you okay?”
Alarm bells go off in my head. It’s time to put on the proverbial game face.
“Just one of those cases I’m overthinking.”
Her expression softens to one of relief and she’s back to business.
I keep my voice neutral, “I’m on my way.”
I’ve already scrubbed up, so I join her as she strides toward the operating room. I clear my mind of all thoughts except the details of the surgery that will consume the next three hours or so. It’s show time. Luckily, compartmentalizing is what I do best.
Madonna
If I thought being in here was bad before…now it really sucks. I shuffle over to the small refrigerator and grab a bottled water and deli sub sandwich. A fucking cup of coffee would be nice. This bastard has the audacity to think he can use rewards and punishment to control me? Who the hell does he think he is? Bastard!
I sit on the cot and take a long draw from my bottle of water as I contemplate my options. Options, yeah that’s a joke. Suddenly I can hear his voice in my head: “Y
ou have no fucking idea! The man who was following you strangled a woman and mutilated her body, then left her behind a dumpster in an alley—that could have been you!”
I can’t imagine the terror that woman must have felt. Her last hours must have been hell on earth. It would be so easy to feel guilty. After all, she was killed because he couldn’t get his hands on me. Though I’m grateful to be alive, I’m horrified that my safety came at the cost of another woman’s life. Nothing about this situation is fair. It just makes no sense to me.
What kind of monster becomes enamored enough with a serial killer to start killing in order to impress him? Maybe a way to break free is to talk to Liam and see if he can get his brother to influence whoever the crazed maniac is. I have so many unanswered questions: does his brother know who the killer is and just won’t tell him? Or does Liam know who the killer is and he’s not reporting it?
I refuse to sympathize with the man holding me in this room. And yet, it can’t be easy for him having a serial killer for a brother. But if he’s involved... I don’t even want to think about it, because it opens up a whole new world of crazy.
Maybe rather than fighting, I should pretend to go along with the madness so I can get the computer back. I still won’t have internet access, at least not at first, but I’ve got to get out of this room so I can learn the house and find out more about what’s happening here. What kind of relationship do the brothers have now? Does Liam visit him? He has to, or he never would have had the heads-up about the man who wants to kill me. I panic when the question that plagues me once again surges to the forefront of my mind: is he in on it? Am I locked in the basement of a man who is only playing the superhero?
One thing is for certain in all this madness: I have more questions than I do answers.
Chapter Thirty Two
His Enigma
Yeah, she didn’t waste any time contacting me, did she? Max with the facts—or so she thinks. I’m in control; the only facts she has -- that detective wanna-be bitch -- are the facts I give her. It amazes me how people respond when you have something they want.
I read her e-mail one more time.
Kikazaru…If memory serves me correctly your name is a reference to ‘the three wise monkeys’. I’m curious why you would trust me enough to contact me. I can only assume you want your story told.
What has made you so angry that you would mutilate a woman and leave her behind our dumpster in a cold, dark alley as if she were trash? A few years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to have a dialogue with you. But with experience comes wisdom. This isn’t the way to get my attention or to have your side of the story told. I have no desire to see more women die, but please don’t include me in the equation as if you’re doing me some favor.
When you’re ready to talk—and I mean really talk, contact me. Until then…I have no intention of giving you the attention you’re seeking. Until you come at me with truth, I’m not engaging.
Max…
It isn’t what I expected, not at all how I expected her to react. Why is she mad at me? Is this how she reacted to Lance when he contacted her? It sounds like she’s talking to a child who’s behaving badly – next thing you know, she’ll be urging me to ‘make good choices’.
Cutting Lance off entirely might not be such a good idea after all. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to play some games of my own.
Liam
I lean back in my office chair and pull up the video monitoring app on my phone. She scowls as she vacillates between pacing and plotting. Watching a person when they’re unaware can unearth their true nature and reveal their deepest secrets and desires. If you really want to know someone, going covert is the way to do it.
When I’m satisfied she’s safely tucked away and will stay that way, I close the app and return the phone to my pocket. I need supplies, a few things that will ensure I achieve the results I want. Normally I’d have someone else take care of such mundane tasks, but that’s not possible in such a delicate situation.
I hang my lab coat on the back of my office door and head home. My work here is done. My job at home...well, not so much.
I quickly dash over to my car and manage to avoid several of my colleagues. I’m not in the mood to talk and being rude wouldn’t be in my best interests. The memory of the look on that nurse’s face when she asked me if everything was okay flashes in my mind. I make a mental note to take extra effort to be normal. What many people don’t understand is a hospital is an entity all its own, a private little community with drama, gossip, and plenty of suspicion and speculation.
Maybe that’s my problem. I enjoy walking the razor’s edge. Playing with fire is a favorite pastime of mine. It’s always the ones you’d never suspect – and with the most to lose -- who have a dark side.
Chapter Thirty Three
Madonna
I hear the key in the door and I know it’s him. This isolation is wearing me down so quickly that I’m excited to see anyone at this point—even my enemy.
I’m torn between wanting to meet him at the door and barrage him with questions, and standing in the corner to protect myself. And then there’s always the thought of busting him upside the head with something—anything, just to see him bleed. Self-preservation wins out and I go with sitting on the bed and waiting.
Every creak of the stairs causes my heart to beat a little faster. I don’t know what to expect or just how crazy this guy is, but, for now, he’s all I’ve got. I depend on the bastard for my survival and I hate it.
He enters the room still dressed in scrubs. How the fuck can he operate on people and then come back home to feed a woman he’s imprisoned? I’ve heard of living a double life, but this guy takes it to a whole new level.
“How do you do it, Liam?” I ask in an offhand, conversational tone. “I have to admit, I’m baffled. How do you portray yourself as an upstanding citizen and then come back to this?” Though he hasn‘t even acknowledged I’m here I continue talking for the sake of my sanity. If I don’t get this shit off my chest I’ll go crazy. “I’ve never been able to do that—you know, be fake like that. A fraud. I can just see you walking the hospital corridors, talking to other nurses and doctors, your colleagues—” My voice drips with sarcasm as I continue. Hell, I’m on a roll, why stop now? “I couldn’t do it. Yep, what ya see is what ya get with me -- but you… I don’t think you even know who you are. Do you get off on this, Liam? Does some sick, twisted part of you like having me locked up in here, forcing me depend on you? Let me tell you something, Liam, you may have my physical body behind makeshift prison bars, but you’ll never have the real me, the part of me that creates—you’ll never have that part of me, not while I’m here in captivity. I’ll never let you steal that from me.”
He never acknowledges that I’ve spoken, just calmly sets a tray of food on the desk and leaves, turning back to close the door. Before I have time to think about it, I storm over to the desk and hurl the tray against the door. It barely misses him as he closes the door. That fucking figures.
I don’t even care as my dinner lands in a heap on the floor. I bang the tray against the door over and over, not stopping until it’s reduced to plastic shards that scatter across the floor.
I collapse onto the bottom step and give in to the urge to sob. I have no idea how long I lie there weeping, but I know he’s watching me. With my last vestiges of strength, I sit up and wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. With a deep breath, I stand and glare up at the tiny camera mounted in the far corner of the ceiling, my fists clenched at my sides. It takes everything I have not to unleash a barrage of insults and vitriol and call him a coward for not facing me. Instead I stare defiantly at the camera and let the silence speak for me.
Liam
Who would have thought my quiet little library mouse had such an explosive temper? I guess you never really know someone until you live with them. I must say, I never saw this side of her when I was stalking her. I learned a long time ago that peop
le are never what you think they are. Hell, I’m a prime example of it.
Even though her outburst was little more than an adolescent fit, I can’t say that I really blame her. I’m sure I’d be pissed off, too, if somebody locked me in their basement. Even if it was for my own good.
But she thinks I’m a fraud. I shake my head and scrub my hands over my face as I recall her damning words. Fake. A fraud. I am neither of those things, not really. There’s a big difference between being fake and being…complicated. I’m just one big, fucking contradiction. I may be an arrogant ass but I refuse to let anything bad happen to her. If that means keeping her six feet under in the equivalent of a fucking military bunker, then I’m just the man for the job.
I enter my bedroom, get out of my scrubs and take a shower to wash off the day. What I have in mind for Madonna will take patience, but the rewards -- for both of us -- will be without end…
Chapter Thirty Four
His Tutorial
I’ve got one thing to teach these pompous investigators: expect the unexpected. Most murderers would target women like the one who slipped through my fingers the other night—the woman who was supposed to be not only Lance’s next kill but my first. Sometimes killers will redirect their rage by using a type of proxy—a lookalike to serve as a substitute for the real person who crossed them. For some, it’s a mother who neglected them, a girlfriend who jilted them, fuck, it could be a teacher who humiliated them during class. For me, it’s Madonna. If I can’t kill her, I’ll just target the next best thing. Works for me.
I go through my kill kit, a large leather bag that I take great pride in. It contains all the tools and toys I could possibly need. There’s vet wrap (a self-adhering bandage wrap) that can be wrapped around a woman’s head to secure the dirty panties I’ll stuff in her mouth. That pretty much guarantees that she’ll shut the fuck up. Then there’s the all-purpose duct tape or you can always use electrician’s bundler tape—both have a multitude of uses. And of course there are other odds and ends like a knife, a gun, rope (I like mine in different colors, after all, why buy a bitch flowers when you can give her rope?), scissors, and the ever versatile club drugs—compliance being of the utmost importance. Yep, no gateway drugs like pot for me; it’s just as easy to go to the street dealers for the good shit that will make a girl see things my way.
Cellar Door Page 9
