Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology

by Colleen Gleason

  When his flesh made contact with hers, rubbing against her inner thighs, she closed her eyes and sought a safe place in her mind and hid there. A place where happily-ever-after was real and sadistic killers didn’t exist.

  He slammed his fist into her jaw. Her head dangled, as stars shot through her skull.

  “Bitch,” he gritted, then hit her again. “Fight me.”

  Squeezing her eyes, she fought the bile rising in her throat, and forced herself to remain still even as her heart pounded. Even as the cold metal of the knife pressed against her stomach, even as he stabbed his erection against her thigh.

  “Fine,” he grunted, his breath labored. “No foreplay. We’ll just get right to the good stuff.”

  With her eyes still closed, she brought John’s strong, handsome image to mind. She remembered his soothing touch, how it had always calmed her and given her strength. She honed in on that memory now as Dan licked a sloppy, wet path from below her bra, to her stomach. His mustache chafed, grated against her skin. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, she squeezed her eyes tighter.

  “Look at me,” he ordered, then ran the serrated edge of the blade along her torso.

  Pain sliced through her. Snapping her eyes open, she screamed.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. “Fight me.”

  She clenched her jaw. “Not much of a fight when I’m tied down, is it?”

  Laughing, he punched her square in the stomach, then stilled.

  She did, too, as the room began to rumble and shake.

  Then she heard the unmistakable hum of helicopter blades. The sound, a beautiful symphony, as it thumped and hummed.

  John.

  “Mother fucker,” Dan shouted, as he raised the knife high, his eyes wild with hate and anger.

  She tensed, and cried out at the cruel twist of fate. With rescue in sight, she’d die anyway.

  He brought the knife down with a hard stab, catching the skin along the side of her waist, then shoved off the cot. “Don’t fucking move,” he said as he righted his pants. He withdrew his gun, gave her one last glance, then left the cabin.

  The moment the door slammed shut, she strained the handcuffs against the hook. Hoping the helicopter meant they were looking for her, she fought with renewed determination.

  Pulling. Tugging.

  The skin around her wrists broke against the metal cuffs. A thin stream of blood trickled down her arms as she continued to exert herself.

  Something snapped, popped in her left shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Sweat soaked her skin, and she put her weight into her good arm. Small shards of wood fell against her forehead as the hook moved against the old plank.

  Despite the pain, she pushed herself. The hum of the helicopter retreated. Dan could storm into the cabin at any second. Kill her and—

  The hook fell, and bounced off her nose. She didn’t give herself a moment to savor the small victory. Moving quickly, despite the cuffs, she wrenched the knife imbedded in the cot, cut through the duct tape surrounding her ankles, then hiked her jeans to her waist.

  Free. But now what? She glanced around the room. Moving toward the door, she stopped and looked through the window. Other than empty cobwebs, the only thing she saw was her reflection in the dirty glass.

  Giving up on the window, which was too small to crawl through, she moved to the door. She pressed her ear against it and listened.

  Nothing, but the pounding of her own heart.

  She clutched the knife in one hand. Her fingers tingled as she touched the rusted metal door handle with her other hand. She drew in a deep breath.

  Dan had a gun.

  She had a knife.

  John—hopefully—was on his way.

  And if he wasn’t? She knew how the fourth vision ended.

  As the memory of it ran through her mind, she whipped open the door, then ran into the darkness.

  Fuck fate. She’d change hers tonight.

  * * *

  Dan lost sight of the helicopter’s search light as it flew east, back toward the county road and where he’d hidden Celeste’s car. While there wasn’t enough room for a helicopter to land there, or even on the highway a half mile west of the cabin, he knew he’d just run out of time.

  They could block him in, which would force him to run north or south through over a thousand acres of dense forest. If that were the case, he’d have to leave the motorcycle behind, then steal a car later.

  He sprinted for the cabin, mulling his options, then decided he would not deviate from his plan. The bike was packed, gassed and ready to go. Even pushing the bike, he could reach the highway in ten minutes.

  Fuming over how fucked up the night had become, he ran faster. First he’d been denied Ugly Evie, now he’d be denied Celeste. His ultimate fantasy would have to wait until he started a new life.

  Still, he considered as he slowed when a cramp seized his side, it would only take maybe a minute, two at the most to kill her. Not enough time to fuck and gut, but plenty of time to wrap a cord around her neck until he squeezed the life out of her. And what a fitting tribute using the cord would make. A kickass, fuck you farewell to Garrett, a way of coming full circle, if he believed in that shit. He bet Celeste did, and maybe he’d tell her about this whole full circle thing as he circled the cord around her neck.

  Grinning at the prospect, that the night wasn’t completely lost, he approached the cabin. Stopped. Drew his gun, then quickly crouched.

  The door stood slightly ajar. He crept toward the cabin, and when he was certain an ambush wasn’t awaiting him, he moved to the window.

  Empty.

  He raced inside. She was gone, and so was his precious knife.

  “Fuck,” he shouted and flipped the empty cot. Reining in his anger and disappointment, he rushed outside. Not having time to kill her infuriated him, but there’d be others. And they’d pay for what she’d denied him tonight.

  He moved to the bike, knocked the kickstand back, ready to walk it to the highway, then froze. The bitch had taken the key. He’d locked his passports, IDs, credit cards, and cash in the side compartment. He needed that key.

  He ran back into the cabin and grabbed the flashlight and cord.

  The bitch was now as good as dead.

  Chapter 30

  CELESTE PRAYED THE night’s shadows concealed and worked in her favor as she dashed between the trees. It had grown eerily darker the deeper she moved into the forest, but without knowing which direction she was heading she worried she might accidentally circle back to the cabin. To Dan.

  She held onto a sliver of hope, though. With the helicopter still flying over the area, she assured herself that John and a search party were looking for her. Until they found her, though, she was on her own, continuing this fight alone.

  She gripped the knife, wishing she’d spared a few minutes to search for the key to the handcuffs. She’d hoped it was on the key chain she’d swiped from the motorcycle, but apparently today wasn’t her lucky day.

  As she fumbled through a thicket of trees and thorny brush, a branch snapped across her swollen cheek. The sharp sting a lover’s caress compared to Dan’s ruthless fists.

  She broke through the overgrowth of small spiky pines and entered a small clearing. Heavy clouds moved in the night sky. The moon’s strong beam infiltrated through the trees and gleamed off the steel edge of the knife. The weapon gave her confidence. The moon’s luster gave her light. The openness of the clearing gave her vulnerability.

  Twigs snapped behind her, heavy footfall crunched through layers of brittle leaves. She held her breath, and glanced over her shoulder. The high beam of a flashlight danced and zigzagged.

  Deep fear centered in her core. Had to be Dan. If it were someone searching for her, they’d call out, right? Not willing to take the chance, she fled from the clearing and moved for cover among the trees.

  The beam of light grew stronger. The crackling twigs grew louder. She panicked and c
hanged directions, then hesitated, twisted her body. If she went left, would it lead her back to the cabin? Or was it right...?

  Damn it, she couldn’t remember. No time to think, she ran straight ahead.

  As she dodged trees and brush, she looked over her shoulder. The flashlight faded and diminished. Out of breath, she paused, crouched behind an immense pine and ran the back of her cuffed hands over her sweaty forehead, then stilled.

  Her fourth vision filtered through her memory. Now that she thought about it, the clearing she’d run through had been similar to the one in her vision. The chirping crickets, the hollering of owls, the fluttering of bats as they whooshed amongst the treetops. These sounds were similar, too, only she swore she’d heard something else, something different from what she’d dreamed.

  She crawled to the neighboring pine, and then the next. Flattening her back against the bark, she closed her eyes and concentrated, listened.

  In her vision she thought she’d heard the hum of cars along a highway, and had even caught the scent of rubber and tar. The noises she thought she heard a moment ago didn’t sound like traffic. They sounded like—there it was again.

  Tears of relief streamed down her cheeks as the muffled shouts of men grew louder, the baying of a dog grew closer and more distinct. Spurred by hope, she took off toward the barking.

  A hard crack smashed against her skull, jarring and fracturing her vision and equilibrium. She tripped over a large rock. Tumbling and unable to flail her arms, she threw her cuffed hands in front of her. Her efforts did little to help cushion the fall. Her chest hit the hard ground knocking the air from of her lungs. She panicked, gasping and wheezing, trying desperately to fill her lungs with air.

  Blood oozed from her scalp and dripped into her eyes. Catching her breath, she wiped her face with the back of her hands, then gasped.

  She stared at a pair of muddied, black boots. Fear broke and shattered. She gripped the knife as strong hands gripped her ankles.

  With a sudden, hard yank, Dan dragged her. Her torn shirt flapped around her sides. The rugged ground scratched against the thin knife wound on her stomach. She tried to scream, from the pain, from the fear and outrage, but her jaw remained snapped shut as it scrapped the dirt.

  He released a low, menacing, mocking chuckle as she struggled. Still clutching the blade in one hand, she dug her fingers into the dirt with the other. The red acrylics she’d had applied only days ago snapped back, a bitter reminder of her fourth vision, of its horrifying outcome.

  She tamped down the increasing terror and fought. Clawed, scratched, searched for anything to halt her descent. Left with a fistful of dirt, she mule kicked. Twisted and thrashed.

  “Goddamn bitch,” he grunted, and tightening his hold on her ankles, flipped her onto her back.

  A large tree root slammed into her shoulder blade and the shock to her system caused her to drop the knife. She ignored the pain.

  What he had planned for her next was much worse.

  * * *

  John broke through a thicket of trees, then stopped when the search dog began moving in circles. Its handler had arrived hours ago, and had thankfully remained for the impending search. The same men they’d used to look for the third victim this morning were present, too, along with a dozen State Troopers and officers on loan from the Eau Claire PD. Lloyd had led half of the men into the forest from the county road, and had discovered Celeste’s car, but nothing else. John had remained with Roy, Ian, and the other half of the search party and had entered the woods from the highway at mile marker one sixty-two.

  When he’d first climbed out of the sheriff’s cruiser and stared at the forest, with the way the sun quickly dipped into the horizon, the dense woods had appeared dark, ominous, and endless.

  For over twenty minutes they’d been combing the forest. With each step, fear for Celeste had consumed him. When they’d found Malvern’s cabin empty, the cot with a knife slice and shredded duct tape still attached to the metal legs, his fear had intensified. He’d hoped to God she’d somehow managed to escape, but considering Malvern had left his motorcycle behind, he’d immediately assumed the worst. Malvern was going after her.

  He needed to find Celeste before it was too late. His chest tightened and his gut twisted with alarm and anxiety as the dog continued to circle and sniff. He loved her so much, and could no longer imagine life without Celeste in it.

  “What’s with the dog?” Jesse asked as he approached with Ian.

  “Could be the trail your guy had used to reach the cabin,” the German Shepherd’s handler answered, then crouched down and petted the dog. Speaking low in its ear, he held a piece of Celeste’s clothes under its nose. Tail wagging, the dog dropped its muzzle to the ground, then took off, back toward the cabin.

  John reluctantly followed behind, beginning to think the dog unreliable. Minutes passed, then the dog stopped, put its nose to the ground again, then ran in a completely different direction.

  “Up ahead,” Ian called.

  A faint beam of light broke through blackness, not moving side to side as if being used to search. Instead it remained still.

  Although difficult to gauge the distance, John figured the light came from at least a hundred yards away. Not far, but if Dan had Celeste?

  Better watch out for her. My brother’s got a thing for knives.

  A woman’s scream pierced the night, sending sharp shards of fear and terror straight into his heart. A hundred yards suddenly seemed as if it were a hundred miles.

  * * *

  Celeste released another scream, this time beneath the hand clamped over her mouth, as Dan dug his fingers into the thin cut lining her stomach, stretching and pulling at the tender skin. She cried and moaned, as waves of pain ricocheted throughout her body.

  “Shut your mouth,” he ordered, then grabbed her head with both hands, crushing her skull, digging his fingers into her temples and cheeks. With a grunt, he pulled her forward then slammed her head against the ground.

  The impact rattled her jaw and shook her brain. Her vision blurred. The flashlight he’d dropped next to her dimmed, as her eyelids drooped and everything began to fade to black.

  “You’re not going to pull an Ugly Evie on me.” He smacked her face. “Keep your eyes open and look at me.”

  He hit her a second time, the sharp sting jarring her from the blessed semiconscious state. When she met his gaze, a sick smile twisted beneath his mustache.

  “Running from me was your first mistake.” He settled his weight on top of her and reached into his back pocket. “Your second was taking my knife, which I see you’ve gone and lost.” He stretched a thin cord taut. “Your third and biggest was taking the keys for my motorcycle.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek as she stared at the cord and sifted her hands through the leaves above her head. “I...I didn’t take your keys,” she lied, hoping to bide her time and find the knife. “Check your pockets. You could have already been on the road to freedom by now.”

  A deep scowl lined his face, as his eyes turned feral with shock and rage. “You’re a lying bitch.” He raised his hand to strike her again.

  She turned her face away, searching for the knife with both her eyes and her fingers. “I swear, it’s true.”

  He dug through her jeans pockets first, and she thanked God she’d tossed them when she realized the key to the handcuffs wasn’t on the chain. “Better be,” he warned, as he checked his pockets. “Or I swear to God I’ll wrap this cord around your neck until you begin to die, then just when you think you’re free to travel through those pearly gates, I’ll stop. Revive you and do it all over again.”

  Stunned he’d fallen for such a stupid distraction, she continued to carefully sift her hands through the leaves. When the sharp edge of the blade nicked her right palm, she inched her fingers along the knife until she could wrap her hand around the handle. Her heart pounded, with adrenaline, with hope.

  When he finished patting his pockets, he settled his
full weight back on her stomach. Pulling the cord tight again, he raised it above her head. “You lied to me.”

  “I swear I didn’t. The keys must have fallen out while you were chasing me,” she said, keeping her cuffed hands and the knife under the dead leaves.

  “Is that right?” he chuckled. “What did I tell you I’d do if you lied to me?”

  She tightened her hold on the handle with her sweaty palms. “You don’t have to do this. Just leave me here and run. Go. I won’t tell. I won’t—”

  “I know you won’t. You’ll be dead,” he whispered, with another low, mocking chuckle.

  After all she’d gone through the bastard had the balls to laugh at her? Hate, pure and black, raged within her as the images of the other women he and his brother had murdered tore through her mind.

  “Better make sure,” she baited.

  His face twisted into an ugly sneer. “Bitch,” he muttered, then lunged, pressing the cord against her throat.

  The dog she’d heard earlier barked. Maybe it was her imagination, her hope playing tricks on her, but she swore it grew louder, closer.

  “You hear that?” he asked, his putrid breath hot against her cheek. “Somebody’s looking for you. Maybe that boyfriend of yours. But guess what? When he finds you, you’ll already be dead, and I’ll be gone.” He leaned in and shoved his tongue in her mouth.

  She gagged, clamped her teeth and bit as hard as she could.

  He jerked back and punched her in the head.

  “Stupid bitch,” he cried over his bloody tongue. Yanking her hair, he wrapped the cord around her neck and squeezed.

  The thin cord closed off her windpipe. With hatred burning in her soul, she used every ounce of strength left in her, and plunged the knife into his back.

  Dead leaves flew and settled around them as he released a harsh grunt. He dropped the cord, but replaced it with his hand, squeezing her throat as he reached for the knife with his other hand.

  Kicking her legs, she clawed at the hand surrounding her throat. His grip slackened, while his face twisted in pain, as he wrenched the knife free.