by Lucy Wild
I got back to find Claudia on my doorstep again. I was already out of the car and carrying the bags, too late to turn back and hide them. But as she turned round to face me, I realised it wasn’t Claudia. It was another woman, someone I didn’t recognise. “Mr Rutherford?” she asked, taking a step towards me.
“That’s me,” I replied, best smile fixed on my face. “Can I help you?”
“My name’s Detective Rikers. I understand you’ve just moved in here, is that right?”
I looked at her more closely, scanning her face in under a second. Forties, no physical threat, good control of her body language, hint of suspicion around the eyes. It was enough to put me on edge. “That’s right,” I said. “Is something wrong? Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“No, Sir, nothing like that. I just wondered if you’d seen your neighbour recently?”
“Why, has she still not come home?”
She straightened up, a giveaway. “So you know she’s missing?”
“Well, not really.” She wasn’t going to trap me that easily. “Her friend asked me to keep an eye out, told me she was looking for her. She gave me her number. It’s inside. If you want, I’ll get it for you.”
“What was her name?”
“Who?”
“The friend you spoke to.”
“Oh, Claudia something, I think.”
“What time did you see her?”
“Last night, I’m not sure when. Look, what’s this all about?”
“We’re just trying to establish where your neighbour might be. As you’re next door, you’re most likely to have seen her.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you. I haven’t seen anything.”
“Live on your own, do you?”
“I do. You’re welcome to come in if you like. I can make you a cup of tea. I’ve just bought some more Earl Grey.”
“Thank you but no, I have a lot to get on with.”
“Of course. Well, if there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, Mr Rutherford.” She walked past me, stopping as she did so. “Been shopping?”
“My niece’s birthday’s coming up.”
“Oh, how nice. How old is she?”
“Twenty-one next week.”
“What’s she called?”
“Sandra though she insists everyone call her Sandy for some reason.”
“I had a daughter like that, refused to answer to anything but Kitten for two years.” She smiled. “Got any kids yourself?”
“Need a wife first.”
“It does help,” she said with a smile. “Well, look, here’s my card. Give me a ring if you hear anything, won’t you?”
“I will. I hope you find her.”
“Oh, I will,” she replied, already walking away. “I’ve no doubt about that.”
I headed inside, forcing myself not to look back until I heard an engine starting. Only then did I glance over my shoulder and see her driving off in an unmarked car. Detective involved already. Claudia must have kicked up a stink. Better not take any more sick days, I thought. And no more shopping. Play it safe, don’t get complacent.
I was glad she hadn’t accepted my invitation to come inside. I knew it was a risk, suggesting it, but what better way to allay her suspicion. If she had come in, it wasn’t just the cellar door she’d have been interested in. She might have seen the box in the living room. If she’d looked inside that and seen the whips and canes, the cable ties and handcuffs, the bundles of rope, she’d have perhaps have taken a bit more of an interest in me. She might have wondered if I’d been waiting for the right person to come along who’d join me in using every single item in the box. Or if I had used them on countless people and might be ready to go to the next step and use them on someone who didn’t want me to. Tricky to get consent from someone you’ve got trapped in your cellar.
I took the box upstairs, emptying the contents into the wardrobe in my bedroom. Touching the cane brought an image into my mind, an image of it lashing down onto Bella’s ass. I walked back downstairs with a smile on my face, hoping she might try and attack me again. It would give me the perfect excuse to use it on her.
ELEVEN
BELLA
I was asleep when the door opened. I jolted upright in time to see him coming down the steps, a bowl in one hand, a carrier bag in the other. “I hope you like cereal,” he said, placing it on the bed in front of me. “Sleep well?”
I didn’t answer. Just the sight of him was doing things to my body. I wanted him to go. I couldn’t look at him without thinking of his hand on me, the way he’d slid that palm of his, down, down my ass, towards the part of me that was already starting to throb at the sight of him. It was all wrong, it was insane of me to react to him that way. I was still scared, terrified of what he might do to me. But that part of me that was deeply hidden, that part was happy to see him, wanted him to exert his power over me.
I ignored that part, the smell of the milk covered cereal drawing my attention to how hungry I was. I focussed on the food, drawing it towards me and picking up the spoon, refusing to look at him. He stood next to the bed, the carrier bag next to him. “Better?” he asked when I was done.
I nodded. “What’s in the bag?”
“I brought you some clothes, like you asked for.” He slid the bag across to me with his foot. “Take a look.”
I dug into the bag, bringing out a dress, thong, socks, and a pair of flat shoes.
“If they’re the wrong size, I have alternatives upstairs.”
I lifted my ass off the bed, sliding the panties up my thighs, glad to have my pussy hidden at last. I had a horrible feeling he might touch me there again and if he did, he might find out how wet I was, my body adamant that I was aroused even as my mind screamed that I wanted to get the hell out of there. I slid the dress over my shoulders. “Does it fit?” he asked.
I stood up. “It does,” I said, shocked by the gratitude in my voice. I wanted to tell him to let me go, to free me from this hell. Instead, my mouth said, “Thank you.”
“Stand up,” he said.
I did as he asked. There was a look in his eyes that dared me to disobey.
“It suits you,” he said, nodding slowly. “Not as good as when you’re naked but still, it suits you.”
“Please let me go,” I muttered, reaching out towards him. “Please, I swear I won’t tell anyone about this.”
“I told you to stop that whining,” he frowned, grabbing my shoulders. He sank onto the bed, pulling me onto his lap, ass towards him. He yanked the back of my dress upwards before I had time to protest. I opened my mouth to tell him not to do it but no sound came out. My body thrummed with energy as he brought his hand down on my buttocks, the smacking sound so loud it made my ears ring. A deep sting spread through me as he lifted his hand and brought it down again. “You’re to stop whining, understood?” he said, smacking me again.
“Yes,” I shrieked. “Please, stop.”
His hand fell on my ass but this time it remained in place. I thought I might explode, my brain was so conflicted. I hated him but his hand was so gentle, his grip on me so strong. He squeezed my ass out of nowhere, groping it roughly, staring down at me as I glanced up at him, saw the look in his eyes that I’d seen in the garden.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said, bringing his other hand to my ass, tugging at the line of my thong, yanking it painfully upwards. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” I snapped. “Let me go.”
“You don’t want me to let you go. You want me to keep doing this,” he said, playing with my ass rougher than ever, spreading my cheeks apart, staring intensely down at me.
“I don’t.”
“Bullshit. I bet if I touched your cunt, you’d be soaking wet for me.”
“I’m not,” I said, my voice weak. The worst thing was the fact that he was right. I was getting wet. It was wrong, I shouldn’t have felt anything but hate, fear, disgust. But the only disgust I felt
was towards myself for reacting this way.
“So if I touch you, your pussy won’t be wet.”
“Please, don’t.”
“You’re a bad liar,” he said, laughing coldly. “I know you’re wet, I can tell.”
His hand slid down the underside of my thong, moving closer and closer. In a second, he’d know the truth. There would be no hiding it from him. I held my breath, trying to bring my thighs together but he was far too strong for me. He tugged at my thong, lowering it to my knees. Then his hands moved back up, ignoring my muttered, “please,” as he stroked my inner thighs.
“You like being spanked,” he said, “don’t you?”
“I don’t.”
“Tell me the fucking truth.”
“I don’t. I don’t like it.”
“Then why are you glistening right here?” he asked, his fingers spreading my pussy lips apart, the cold air hitting me, making me shudder. I couldn’t speak, too shocked by the way his hand was sliding up towards my throbbing clit. “Not wet, huh?” he asked, grabbing my hand and bringing it painfully to my pussy. “Touch yourself. Do it!” He snapped the last two words, the menace in his voice scaring me so much I did as he commanded. As soon as my fingers touched my pussy, I could tell just how wet I was. “You’re soaking, aren’t you?”
I bit my lip, refusing to answer. He spanked the silence out of me, his hand slapping down on my ass once, twice, then a third time. “Aren’t you?”
“I am,” I muttered, my voice a faint whisper.
“And why are you wet?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do! Tell me. Why are you wet?”
“I don’t know.”
He suddenly leapt to his feet, dragging me up with him. His hand went round my throat, pressing down lightly. “I’m in charge,” he growled, his face an inch from mine. “You tell me the fucking truth right now. Why are you wet?”
“Because I want you to touch me,” I said, bursting into tears a second later. The tears became sobs, great wracking sobs that tore through my whole body. The grip on my throat loosened and I fell to the bed, slumping down as his arm went round my shoulders.
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice gentler than before. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not,” I shrieked. “You’ve kidnapped me. You’re going to kill me. Or rape me. Or both.”
“I’m not,” he replied, pulling me towards him until I was pressed against his chest. I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let me move. The tears continued to fall as I fell limp. It was a long time before I stopped crying. The entire time, he held me against him. Only when my sobbing had reduced to a hitching of my chest did he speak again. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m doing this to keep you alive.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“What do you know about your father?”
“What? What kind of question is that?”
“What do you know about your father?”
“He’s dead, all right. If you think you’ll get a ransom out of him, you’re very much mistaken.”
“And your mother?”
“Dead too, all right? Happy now?” I began crying again and he drew me towards him. As he did so there was an almighty thud directly above my head. He was up like a shot.
“Stay there,” he said, pointing to the bed. “Don’t make a sound.”
He was up the stairs so fast, I blinked and he was gone, the door closing and locking a second later. I remained in place, the tears rolling down my cheeks, my head pounding, waiting for him to come back, yet at the same time, hoping I’d never see him again. If he never came back, I’d never have to deal with the sick disgusting thoughts I was having, the way I wanted him to touch me, to take me, to put his hand back round my throat, to make me his.
TWELVE
JACK
I should have known it was a trap. I can only think that I was too distracted by her to realise in time. The sound had come from the living room directly above the cellar. I headed straight there, my hands already curling into fists. But there was no one there. Already on edge, I went over to the window and looked out. Nothing.
Turning, I listening hard. Nothing. I moved to the back door, rattling it. It was locked. I was heading for the front door when I caught sight of movement upstairs. I flicked my head in that direction. It had been a shadow on the wall, I was sure of it. I took the stairs silently, turning towards my bedroom. I didn’t hear him approaching behind me. The first I knew of what was happening was when his hands went round my neck, a thin length of wire pressing to my throat. I stepped back, slamming myself against the wall behind me, crushing my attacker as the wire dug deeper into my neck. “Where is she?” a voice hissed in my ear.
My mouth was open but I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to, the wire was cutting off my airway. I twisted round, slamming back against the other wall. “Where is she?” the voice asked again.
I managed to get my fingers under the side of the wire, ignoring it cutting into my skin as I yanked it away as hard as I could. It only moved an inch but it was enough for me to take a deep gulp of air. With my lungs full, I was better able to focus. He wasn’t strong but he was fast and quiet. I had to play to my strengths. I slammed back against the wall again, gratified by the grunting sound that accompanied this. Pushing my hands outwards, I reached his wrists. Gloves. Of course.
He’d got the drop on me but I was regaining the upper hand. His gloves meant he couldn’t grip as well as me. I shoved him back twice more against the wall behind me and with the second thud, his hands fell away from my neck. That was all the time I needed. I got under the wire, rolling away from him and coming up to my feet to find he’d dropped the wire. Instead he had a knife in his hand and was brandishing it towards me.
“I hope you know how to use that,” I said, looking at him properly for the first time. Clearly a hired hand. He was good, luring me upstairs like that. But he wasn’t that good. I’d already gotten away from him. I’d seen his face, the face of a man who wasn’t used to dealing with someone like me, someone who wasn’t afraid of him, who fought back.
“Where is she, Jack?” he asked, taking a step towards me. “Tell me and you can walk away.”
“This is my house,” I replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The talk had been to distract me. As I answered, he lunged forwards, the knife plunging towards my stomach. I sidestepped it, grabbing his arm and yanking it hard, making him lose balance. He was facing away from me, still trying to recover, when I kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the floor. I dived on him but as I did so, he brought the knife up to meet me.
I managed to shift my body weight so it missed my chest but in the time it took me to reach his hand, he’d brought it lashing down across my back. It cut straight through my shirt and sliced deep into my skin before I was able to bang his arm against the floor, once, twice, then on the third time the knife fell from his fingers.
“Where is she?” he hissed as I took his head in my hands and slammed it into the floor under him. He winced, his hands wrapping round me in a bear hug. I was stronger than him but he knew he was in trouble and that fear gave him power. He twisted with me. We slapped against one wall, then the other, rolling back and forth on the floor. Suddenly, he let out a scream and then a gasp, his hands falling slack.
I looked down at him, wondering what the hell had just happened. Was it a trick? Then I saw the blood trickling out from underneath him and realised. He’d rolled onto his own knife. I got to my feet, looking down at him with disdain. “If you’re the best they had to send, I don’t know why I bothered to hide her.”
He grimaced, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to say something. Then he died.
I turned away from him, walking into the bathroom and grabbing an armful of towels. I returned to the landing and pressed the towels to his side, staunching the flow of blood as best I could.
I didn’t feel much of anything
other than a slight tension. If one had come, others were coming. My employer had better work fast. I wouldn’t be able to fight off everyone. He better get his act together. It was damned frustrating. I’d have been better able to plan if I had been given more warning of the danger. But no, just, “lock her up and keep her safe until I can get her out of there,” and that was it.
As I stood up again, the pain in my back started. I’d always been able to ignore it while working but I couldn’t ignore this. It was soaking through the back of my shirt. “Shit,” I muttered out loud, reaching behind me and feeling with my hand, finding it sticky. There was too much of it. I needed help.
I ran into the kitchen, rummaging through boxes I had yet to unpack, tossing things to the floor, knowing I didn’t have much time. Finally, I found what I needed and with it under my arm, I ran for the cellar door, getting it unlocked a second later. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I stumbled down the stairs, crashing to the floor in front of her bed. I looked up at her, passing her the box, managing to say, “Help me,” before everything went black.
THIRTEEN
BELLA
I thought he was dead at first. He fell to the ground at my feet and then just stopped moving. It was only for a few seconds but it was enough to scare the hell out of me. There was so much blood. It had soaked through his shirt, it was all over his hands, it was dripping onto the floor next to the bed. No one could survive with that much blood coming out of them.
I’d known it was bad, whatever had happened up there. I’d head thuds, muffled cries, more thuds. Nothing good was making that sound. Then when he reappeared, he looked as if he’d been rolling in blood.
But within a moment, I realised it wasn’t all his. He was hurt. The tips of his fingers were bleeding, as was his back. But he wasn’t dying. Already he was moving again, looking up at me, his face grey. “I can’t reach,” he said, pointing towards his back. “I need you to do it.”
I looked down at what he’d given me. It was a sewing kit. “I can’t,” I said, shaking my head as the enormity of what he wanted me to do finally hit.
