Now the villain held a gun to Liberty’s head.
I’ll kill him this time.
“What’s the matter?” Mark asked. “Not so tough without a bailiff between us?” His feet shifted. “Don’t you have something to say to me?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Let’s start with an apology for wrecking my life. You took away everything. You ruined me!” he shouted.
Ashley stirred, but thankfully she didn’t wake.
“What, no apology?” Mark stuck his tongue out at Connor like a child. Then he turned on Liberty and licked the side of her face, from jaw to eyebrow.
She grimaced and tried to pull away. As he wrestled her back into position, Connor inched closer. Mark saw what was transpiring and pressed the gun harder against Liberty’s temple.
“Well, I’ve had my eye on you for a while, Dunstan. At first I was going to see what you were keeping locked up in that safe. But then you took off so fast I figured I’d follow you and find out what you were up to. I thought about killing you a few times, but there’d be no fun in that.” He moistened his dry, cracked lips. “Why should you get off easy? Killing you would be much too kind.” Then the psychopath used his unarmed hand to stretch the front of Liberty’s dress away from her chest, in order to gawk at her suddenly exposed breasts. “Since you took it upon yourself to interfere with me and my women, I thought I'd return the favor.” He nibbled on Liberty’s ear and she shuddered.
“I know it’s not a very fair trade, but honestly, you don’t have much to offer, so I’ll settle for taking your girl.”
“I am not his girl,” Liberty growled through clenched teeth.
“No sweetheart, now you’re mine.” He leaned into her and smiled like they were posing for a picture. “What do you think?” He asked Connor. “Don’t we look great together?”
Liberty’s hands were trembling.
Connor knew he had to do something. With no weapons, he used the only other skill he had and tried to reason with Mark. “Listen, I’m sorry for what I did. Let me make it up to you.”
“How are you planning to do that?” Mark tilted his head to the side. “Can you give me my life back? Can you call my mom and tell her that I was falsely accused? Can you buy me off?” He snarled. “No, this looks to be the best thing you have to offer right now, and I’m taking her for payback. Unless you want me to take her instead.” He motioned toward the sleeping Ashley.
Liberty’s green eyes widened. “No!” she said. “Don’t you touch her.”
“Mark, please,” Connor pleaded. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re right, you are.” Mark launched at Connor with the butt of his gun.
Connor hadn’t been expecting it, and before he realized what happened he heard a loud crack and his world went dark.
* * *
“Jake, I’m on my way,” Connor said into the phone, trying to sound reassuring.
“We can’t stay here,” his brother replied. “We’re heading to the store now, we’ll meet—”
Connor’s phone went dead. He redialed his brother’s number, but reached a recording that told him all circuits were busy. He slammed the useless compilation of plastic and metal into his steering wheel and floored the gas pedal.
Only moments ago, Connor had been running on the treadmill in his home gym. The basketball game he was watching switched to a “Live Breaking News Flash” that showed an unfathomable scene in front of the White House. Connor about tripped, having to step to the side to avoid falling. He pulled the emergency stop cord on his treadmill and watched the news, disbelieving his eyes. Puffs of gunfire were everywhere. People roamed the streets with sticks and guns, taking down whoever they came across. Police in riot gear arrived on the scene, attempting to push back the crowd. Smoke bombs were launched and people pressed in on the police, overwhelming them quickly.
“And this is the scene all over the country,” the news reporter said.
Connor flipped through the channels, looking for local news. Sure enough, riots were going on in downtown Olympia as well. He left the television on and hurried through the house, gathering his guns and a couple of knives. He grabbed a box from his garage and dumped all the canned food from his cupboards into it. Since he was a bachelor who generally ate out, he didn’t store up much, but what he had was better than nothing. He packed everything into his SUV. Dialing Jacob’s cell, Connor peeled out of the driveway and headed in his brother’s direction.
Jacob’s wife was one of those apocalyptic preachers, always talking about the end of the world and preparing for a catastrophe. As the recession plunged into a depression, Cathy had started investing in bottled water by the case and bulk dried foods. She’d taken over the safe in Jacob’s store and stocked it full of survival supplies. She'd even nagged Jacob until he had the safe door modified with a combo lock that could open from the inside and outside. Connor had written her off as crazy, but as he drove, he reevaluated his opinion of his sister-in-law.
Jacob’s store was ten minutes from Connor’s house, but he made the drive in six. The moment he stepped out of his SUV, Jacob pulled him into a hug.
“You made it!” Jacob shouted. “I told you he’d make it, Cath.”
Cathy walked over and embraced Connor. “Yes, dear, you did. Now let’s get this stuff in the safe. It’s about to get crazy out here.”
Connor looked around and realized they were missing someone. “Where’s Ashley?”
Cathy had just leaned into the SUV to grab something. She stopped and turned back toward Connor, lines of agitation spread out from her pursed lips. “She isn’t with you?”
“Sure she is,” Jacob replied, resting his arm over Connor’s shoulders. “My brother would never let anything happen to our little girl.”
Connor’s Glock appeared in his hand. Smoke rose from the warm barrel, blotting out the sky. “I killed you. Both of you.”
Jacob and Cathy were standing in front of him now. The bullet wounds in their foreheads leaked blood down their faces.
“I killed you,” Connor repeated.
“But where’s Ash?” Jacob asked.
Connor’s body lurched forward and Jacob and Cathy disappeared.
* * *
Connor could hear Ashley sobbing. “Uncle Connor, please wake up,” she begged. Her tears spattered against his face, and she tugged on his shirt.
“Ash. There you are.” Still shaken from the dream, his arms wrapped around her. Then he realized she’d spoken to him. He squeezed her tight, not wanting the moment to end, dreading the inevitable return of her silent treatment. If this was a dream, he didn’t want it to ever end.
“Uncle Connor, where is Libby?” Ashley asked slowly, emphasizing each word.
Where is Libby? Connor closed his eyes and remembered Liberty’s very large, very frightened eyes pleading with him to rescue her from the gun Mark Fletcher held to her head. He opened his eyes and searched the room, hoping to find something that would prove his memories wrong. Mark Fletcher? Couldn’t be. His head ached, preventing him from focusing. He reached up and gingerly explored the large lump forming on the top of his head.
It was real. As his brain struggled to shove together pieces of the puzzle, there were two things he was absolutely positive of: Mark Fletcher had Liberty and Connor had to get her back.
He massaged his temples for a moment, and then struggled to his feet. The throbbing in his head climaxed, becoming an obnoxious base line that blackened his vision. Gritting his teeth he stood against the pain. “She’s gone. He took her.” And he will die for it.
“Took her?” Ashley grabbed Connor’s arm and attempted to steady him. “Who? Where? You’re not making sense.”
“A … lunatic. He had a gun … took her.” He pieced the facts together while heading toward the bed. Reaching between the mattresses, he pulled out the Glock and its extra clip.
Ashley’s slumped down on the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! What lunatic? An
d where did he take her? And—”
“I don’t know!” Connor snapped. “I just know I have to find her. And I don’t have much time, so I need you to just hush for a minute and let me think.”
Ashley hurried to Liberty’s pack and unzipped it. “I’m coming with you.”
“You’re what? No. I don’t have time for this.” Connor sat on the bed and pulled his wet sneakers back on.
“I want to help. I’m coming.” She rummaged through the pack and pulled out Liberty’s gun and knife.
Connor felt his jaw drop. “No you’re not. And put those down before you kill yourself!”
“So, what?” She glared at him. “I’m just supposed to wait here and hope you both come back? And what if he comes for me while you’re gone?”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not going to just sit here and wait for you two to die!” Tears formed in her eyes.
Connor looked around the room, desperate for help. If he could find some sturdy rope he could solve this problem. At least temporarily.
Ashley seemed to read his mind. “You don’t have time to tie me up. We need to help Liberty.” She wiped her eyes and sniffled.
“Okay fine.” He glanced at the weapons in her hands. “You can come and bring the knife, but the gun stays.”
She started to argue but he cut her off. “Ashley.” He tried to sound composed and competent while his stomach twisted with concern. “You’re barely twelve—you’re not carrying a freaking gun!” He shook his head, refusing to believe he was even having this conversation.
My life used to be so normal.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I GASPED AS the intruder nailed Connor over the head with his gun. Connor crumpled to the floor like a rag doll.
Not dead. Please don’t let him be dead.
Mark had one hand around my wrist, and the other on his gun. He dragged me down the stairs and slammed me into the wall. The front of my dress was stretched out, I had bite marks on my shoulders and chest, and my lip was bleeding. This is exactly why I don’t date.
I watched my abductor from the corner of my eye. Mark Fletcher? Seriously? How about sending a nice guy my way for a change? Mark was infamous. Anyone who picked up a newspaper or turned on a TV during his trial knew who and what he was: spoiled rich boy turned sexual deviant. He preyed on young women, abused his position, and took advantage of his employees. Of all the people who could have been hunting down Connor, it had to be this one.
Mark found the duffle bag Conner had filled with food. He tucked his gun into his pants, unzipped the bag, and glanced inside. With a grunt of approval he zipped it back up, and then slid it over my shoulder, slapping my butt like I was his own personal beast of burden. The slap stung and I reflexively stepped away and attempted to pull my wrist from his grasp. My resistance seemed to encourage his advances. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me, pushing me back until I hit the wall. Then he leaned against me.
“Just a taste,” he purred and nibbled on my neck, starting in the center and moving to my ear. Anger danced with pain when he pierced my lobe between his teeth. I swung at him with my free hand, but he intercepted it. When I tried to kick him he moved closer, trapping my legs with his. I cried out, but he muffled my scream with his lips.
He ripped the clip from my hair, raking it through the tangles. When I gasped in pain his tongue forced its way through my teeth. Coppery-sweet blood mingled with the flavor of Mark’s kiss. Warm, sticky liquid dribbled down my neck as his hands pinned mine against the wall.
He pulled away from me and the manic gleam in his eyes shattered my fury—each shard of rage melted into a different shade of terror. As he led me from the house, the magnitude of my situation hit me. Mark was beyond reason and I was unarmed with no allies and no options. Must run!
Instinct took over. I lowered my shoulder and the bag fell to the ground with a loud thump. When Mark bent to pick it up I yanked my wrist from his grasp and sprinted away. It was a stupid move, but panic and intelligence are not usual bed fellows.
Mark caught me within seconds, grabbing a handful of my hair and jerking it hard, he brought me to a hasty stop. I fell backwards, arms flailing. My hands grasped for his jeans as I landed on my bottom with a tail-bone bruising thud. I battled for breath through my nose as he forced another disgustingly sloppy kiss on me. He dropped the duffel bag and pulled the gun out of his pants, returning it to my temple. His lips released mine and his hot, reeking breath stung my nostrils.
“You don’t need to walk, and they don’t need to live to get what I’m after.” The threat was delivered with the sensuality of a lover and the malice of a serial killer; a disturbing combination. He yanked my hair, pulling me back up to my feet, and led me over the threshold of a nearby house. This time I went willingly. There was no doubt in my mind of the consequences if I didn’t. The door shut behind us—like the final nail in my coffin—extinguishing all hope.
“Sorry about this babe,” he whispered into my ear.
A sharp pain on the side of my head preceded the nothingness that overcame me.
* * *
When I awoke, I was lying on my back in a dark room. My clothes were wet and my teeth chattered from the cold. I paused and listened, but silence greeted me. The ceiling spun, and the shadows remained fuzzy no matter how many times I blinked. My arms and legs were uncomfortable. I tried to reposition them, only to discover that I couldn’t move.
Every inch of my body felt stiff and sore. I lifted my head and saw the problem: my hands and feet were secured by sheets, tied to bed posts. I tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the gag in my mouth. As my mind began to decipher previous events, my heart rate and throbbing head entered into a drumming competition. Out of all the ways I’d ever woken up, this was—hands down—the worst.
There was nothing funny about the situation, but I laughed around the gag anyway, knowing if I didn’t tears would start falling. Seriously, God? We need to chat about Your sense of humor. Though threatened several times, I’d never actually been gagged. It was a hideous experience that took ‘helpless and violated’ to a whole new level. I pulled against the restraints to no avail; they held fast. Oh, yay. Our resident freak has apparently spent some time perfecting his bedroom bondage techniques. What a surprise.
By the time Mark’s hazy figure darkened the doorway, my arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. Human limbs were never meant to be in this position, and I had no idea how long I’d been there. It was still dark outside, but that told me nothing about the time since the storm raged on. Each boom of thunder and flash of lightning created the ideal background for my personalized horror movie.
Mark slowly circled the bed—a predator inspecting his prey—then sat next to me. Pulling the gag down, he nibbled on my bottom lip, as I lay there, exposed. He kissed me again, but this time it was slow and tender. It might have even passed for romantic had he not knocked me out and dragged me to this kinky love nest against my will. I’ve heard that some women are into that sort of thing, but definitely not this one.
He came up for air and gave me a self-congratulatory smile. “I’m a better kisser than Dunstan, aren’t I?”
I tried not to roll my eyes, but it was so typical. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never kissed Connor,” I lied.
Mark backhanded me. It was so fast and unexpected that had my arms been free, I still couldn’t have blocked in time. The slap felt like a belly-flop on my face. My eyes watered, my nose ran, and my pounding head stepped up the tempo.
“Don’t lie.” He glowered at me and raised his hand again. I winced, holding my tongue, not knowing how to respond. I lowered my eyes and tried to look cowed.
His hand dropped and his shoulders slumped forward. “I’m sorry. You just can’t make me angry. I don’t want to hurt you. If you make me hurt you again, I’ll be very angry with you.”
As my clouded brain searched for the logic in his muddled statement, he started pacing. “I had a g
ood life before Dunstan came along. I bet he told you all about how he took me down.” He paused and looked at me.
He’s serious? He really thinks we sit around talking about him? I hid behind my closed eyelids, hoping the maniac wouldn’t find me there.
“He ruined my life!” Mark screamed the words. “I wasn’t a saint, but neither was he. He had no right. He should have never stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong!”
I opened my eyes and watched him. If he was going to hit me again, this time I at least wanted to brace for the impact. It was too dark to see his expression, but anger emanated from his body in waves, eroding what was left of my resolve. Goosebumps spread across my flesh and my body trembled.
He sat beside me and lovingly stroked the mark he’d left on my face. His touch brought sharp spikes of pain to my injured cheek. Raising his hand to his lips, he licked my blood from his fingertips.
Sick. He’s really sick. Oh. God. Please help me.
“Hush. I won’t let anyone hurt you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He tenderly brushed the hair away from my face.
I wanted to scream, but somehow retained the mental capacity to understand that it would be a very bad idea to evoke his anger again.
“Look at what he’s turned me into.” Mark whispered. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He kissed my hair.
I didn’t want to argue, but I had a pretty strong suspicion Mark had always been a power-hungry, sex-fiend. But, with the blood he’d drawn running down my face, I tried to look as sympathetic and comforting as possible.
Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1 Page 12
