by Kira Barker
“Don’t you fucking dare leave me!” he growled, his voice dropping into a register I hadn’t heard before. It pained every fiber of my being to hear him like that—hurt, disappointed, mad—but I knew it was too late.
I took another step, and another, each one just as painful as the one before, but slowly gaining momentum. Breathing hurt—just being hurt—but I knew I would get through this. It was the best thing for me, and the best for him—even if he might not see that now, or maybe never.
Only four more steps to the door. Three. Two—
I more felt than heard him come up behind me, but refused to look back. I knew that if I did, if I saw that pain in his eyes, it would be my undoing, and, inevitably, our doom. So I kept going, my fingers touching the doorframe—
It was only a tiny prick, followed by a sharp burning sensation, right where my neck joined my torso on the left side. I had a moment to wonder if we had any mosquitos in the house, but then my entire body went slack, my fingers falling away from the wood.
Of course he was there to catch me, using one arm to press me against his body as he eased me to the floor. I tried to say something, but the muscles in my throat wouldn’t work anymore. All I could do was stare up at Darren, and at the syringe he held in his hand.
Then everything went dark.
Chapter 29
Awareness returned in tiny steps.
First there was darkness, then light.
I thought I felt my body being moved, then inertia.
I was warm, then cold.
And then there was that annoying strain in my arm and leg muscles that just wouldn’t go away anymore, and finally, I rejoined the world of the living.
It wasn’t exactly an improvement.
I had never been drugged before, not even for anesthesia in the hospital, so I couldn’t compare the experience, but it didn’t resemble any of the hangovers I’d had in my life. My mind was up and running—if sluggishly—long before I gained control over my body again. That meant that by the time I managed to flop my head over to the side, thus evading the death glare of the megawatt strength lights that were shining directly into my eyes, my mind had had enough time to slam into full panic mode. My thoughts were a scrambled mess and I felt like my pulse should have been racing, but the steady thump of my own heartbeat was distressingly slow. I could only take shallow breaths, which likely explained why I felt so lightheaded. Or that was due to the drugs, too.
Being able to open my eyes, even though they watered immediately because of the bright lights, felt like a huge triumph. I couldn’t see anything except blackness beyond the circle of light, but felt the soft part of my upper arm below my cheek.
That I was still alive was a huge improvement.
That I couldn’t move, not so much.
There was the urge to scream and try to throw myself around, but I quenched it, even when I realized that my fingers and toes were starting to respond again. I had no idea where I was, and until I knew more, it was likely for the best if I just continued to play possum.
Then I realized that the reason why I couldn’t move were the leather shackles and straps keeping my body in a semi-reclined position, tied to some kind of stretcher or chair, and panic wiped away any sense of self.
I screamed. I thrashed. I likely would have wrenched something important if my body had been capable of any degree of motion. But at least the drugs were wearing off faster now and my heart was beating a mile a minute, helping the last cobwebs to dissolve.
Being able to fully assess my situation didn’t exactly help stave off the next panic attack.
I still couldn’t see much because of the bank of lights blasting down on me, but what I saw—and felt—gave me the heebie-jeebies. I could only see my own body and the floor—concrete—directly underneath me, visible when I managed to crane my neck enough. What I’d thought was a stretcher turned out to be a modified and reinforced version of a gynecological chair, from what it felt made out of solid stainless steel, no padding. The reason why I couldn’t move was because my entire body was criss-crossed with straps restraining me to the chair, the one over my ribs so tight that I couldn’t even fully extend my lungs. That my thighs were spread far enough that my hips were already hurting wasn’t very comforting, either. And I was completely naked.
Let’s just say that as a prostitute, there are a million ways you don’t want to wake up, but the nightmare my life had turned into topped all of them. My only saving grace was that I was alone, for now.
As soon as I’d thought that, I felt an icy draft all over my body, and the telltale sound of a heavy door falling into a lock reverberated through the room.
I wanted to cringe away, hide, and lacking either option, at least screw my eyes shut, but they wouldn’t obey me. They started to water again in the harsh glare as I tried to make out any details beyond my circle of light, but there were none. I couldn’t even estimate how large the room must be, but substantially bigger than I had thought at first, judging from how far away the door had sounded.
Straining my ears, I tried to make out any sounds, but my own harsh panting was too loud. Had someone come in, or left?
And it wasn’t like I didn’t have a very good idea who that “someone” was.
At least keeping me guessing didn’t seem to be part of his scenario, because no more than maybe ten seconds passed from the door closing to the sound of steps advancing on me. I counted them—twenty—before I could make out a tall figure beyond the lights, then three more until he stepped into the glare.
Darren looked down at me with a world of emotion heavy in his gaze.
Disgust. Revulsion. Disappointment.
I’d seen softer tones of that in his eyes before, but not the full-blown extent that was visible now. He looked at me as if I was some kind of insect he intended to squash, only that said insect had somehow managed to mortally insult him first, deserving what was coming for it. Seeing him look at me like that made my skin crawl in a way I hadn’t thought possible underneath the panic that was already scrambling my mind. But all of those were emotions I’d kind of anticipated, because you didn’t wake up like I did and expected someone to walk up to you and say, “Ha, ha, this is all one big misunderstanding, let me help you up.”
What really slayed me was that as he took his next step, the look in his eyes was changing. Now it was overwhelming sadness, loss, grief, but also love that I recognized there. And it got worse still when his last step brought him to a halt right next to me and he reached up, the back of his hand gently stroking down my tear-stained cheek in such an achingly familiar way that I wanted to start screaming all over again.
This was fucking madness.
I couldn’t shy away from him, the way my arms were extended next to my head kept me from that, but I wasn’t even sure if my muscles would have let me. While my mind was screaming at me to run, tension leaked out of me as if he’d dosed me again. My heart hurt, not just from too much adrenaline coursing through my veins but because I’d missed that very caress from him so much. I kept staring up at him, knowing that he could read my every thought plain on my face.
“Oh, Penelope, why did you have to be so fucking stupid,” he murmured, his voice carrying through the silence.
His hand disappeared, and I felt my bottom lip quiver with unspilled tears that had nothing to do with the lights. If the look in his eyes had been bad already, the defeated tone of his voice was worse. A world of grief swung in there, wrapping around me and driving a sharp blade right into my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I heard myself whisper in return, the words bypassing my mind completely or else I would never have uttered them. I should have been mad at him, letting blind rage chase away my fear, but it was as if that part of me still lay paralyzed somewhere.
“I know,” he replied, and the tiniest of smiles briefly curled up his lips. “And you will be a lot sorrier still until I’m through with you.”
If he’d uttered those words with menace lacing
his voice, it would have been bad enough, but hearing them with something close to compassion was ten times worse. It made my brain seize up with fright, and finally that anger roared to life, but was immediately squashed by a new wave of panic slamming into me.
Try as I might to hold still, I just couldn’t anymore. My muscles locked up, then tensed, and for ten seconds straight my body mobilized strength that I hadn’t known was in me. I screamed and tore on my bonds, trying to wrench myself free, but only managed to drive the thick, unyielding leather deeper into my flesh. My lungs started to burn and my throat was on fire, my world disappearing in a haze of red rage.
As suddenly as the fit had started, it was over, making me sag in on myself, as lifeless as a deflated balloon. Only the residual pain from strained muscles remained—that and the knowledge that, very likely, I was going to die down here, and there was nothing whatsoever I could do about it.
Darren kept watching me without batting an eyelash, but waited until I had stopped panting before he spoke up again.
“You are probably wondering about a million things right now. I’ll try to clear up a few for you.”
One thing I knew, he was a fucking psychopath—not that this knowledge did me any good now.
“There are rules,” he went on, clearly expecting me to listen to him. “You won’t get food—or water—unless you cooperate. I know that you are a stubborn, strong-willed little spitfire, but just wait and see how much will to fight you’ll have after two days without water. If you push me, I will push back, and I can guarantee you, you won’t enjoy that one bit.”
He had the audacity of letting his gaze roam over my splayed, naked body as he said that last bit, ending back at my face, a distinct and awfully familiar hunger burning in his eyes.
“Don’t worry. One thing I won’t do is rape you. There are so many more interesting ways I can violate you than the most obvious.”
He leaned closer as he said that until I could feel his breath on my face, making me want to shy away even more. How I managed to hold his gaze, I didn’t know, but it clearly amused him that he hadn’t reduced me to begging for mercy yet.
“If you have any questions, feel free to ask them now, but if you piss me off, you will bear the consequences. I’m done with letting you jerk me around, trying to guilt trip me into doing whatever you want me to do.”
“I never—“ I started, then cut myself off before I could say something that doomed me without actually deciding to go that route. If those were his terms, at least he’d presented me an easy out—there was only so long I could hold out before I died of dehydration. While that didn’t sound like a very pleasant or quick death, I could think of so many things that were worse. Sadly, so could he, judging from the smile that had appeared on his face as soon as I spoke up.
“You were saying?” he teased, sounding so damn conversational that it made me want to vomit. How could he keep up that veneer of civility after what he’d done to me?
“I have a few questions, yes,” I started, waiting for his nod to continue.
“Ask.”
“Is there any chance of me walking out of here alive?”
His smile grew, now even more out of place.
“Not really. You’d go to the police and they would hand your case from agency to agency until someone somewhere found a stupid little detail they could actually prove, and then all my careful planning and maneuvering would be for naught. If I wanted to get caught, I would be more sloppy. But, as it is, I’m not tired of playing this game yet. So, no, you will die down here, just like the rest of them.”
I’d been afraid that getting confirmation would feel like a ton of lead dropping down on my chest, but it actually helped me focus on the important details. Maybe it was shock, or some kind of last-minute fatality kicking in, but I managed to keep a lid on my returning panic—for now.
“So you’ve killed them all? The twelve girls who came before me.”
He went on studying my face for a moment before he replied.
“It’s really such a shame that you had to turn out to be just as vapid as the others. You have such a bright mind, paired with the right kind of survival instincts. I would have loved to continue to play civil for a little longer, but you have to admit, you forced my hand there.”
“Are you going to answer my question or not?” I interrupted him before he could continue his diatribe of my many, many shortcomings. Contrary to my expectations, that seemed to amuse him rather than piss him off.
“Yes.”
My heart sank as I exhaled slowly, hating to get confirmation on yet another piece of the puzzle.
“How long did they make it?”
He shrugged, the gesture again so achingly familiar that it tightened my throat to the point where breathing became painful.
“A few days to three months. Ninety-seven days was what Juliette held out. Completely surprised me there, too. She was so weak and fragile to begin with that I thought she’d only last a week, maybe two, but she found her inner strength down here. So much potential wasted, but then that shouldn’t surprise me anymore. In the end, you all disappoint me.”
I hesitated for a moment, not quite ready yet to deliberately antagonize him, but unless I knew just how volatile his temper really was, I couldn’t work on finding the right balance.
“Have you ever considered that you’re the problem? But no, you already answered that question when we were in New York, right? What was it you said? ‘It’s you, not me, never me?’”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I braced myself for what I was sure would be a very physical outburst, but all Darren did was smirk down at me.
“Remember that, do you? I fucked up so much with you, it’s phenomenal that you ever trusted me, even for a single day. Normally I’m better at this, but, you see, I didn’t expect to find you interesting in the first place or I would have waited after my mourning period for Juliette was over. But you hit me by surprise, and, what can I say? Once I knew that you were the one, I just couldn’t let you get away.”
His words sent an involuntary shudder down my spine, but that might have come from the cold, hard surface I was strapped to.
“I noticed. I just didn’t draw the right conclusions,” I replied, unable to keep a certain amount of self-loathing out of my tone.
“Ah, don’t beat yourself up over it,” he advised, leaning closer again as if to kiss me, but didn’t. “The great thing about most of you whores is that while you’re some of the toughest bitches out there, you are all so damn vulnerable at the same time. Abused at a young age, scorned, left at the altar, forced into the job because you were too stupid to seek better employment, you name it—you all come with a huge chip on your shoulder, and it doesn’t take much to peel away the layers of armor and get right under your skin. From the moment I met you, you were defenseless against me.” He let that sink in, then backed up a little. “The only thing that really saddens me is that, for a while, I really thought you loved me.”
I didn’t reply, but he must have seen something in my face because his eyes narrowed in a considering way.
“Or still do. Now that’s new. Although I expect things to change soon. Even you can’t hold on to the lies you tell yourself that long.”
“What if it’s not lies?” I asked, more to keep the conversation going so I didn’t have to think about the truth in his words rather than because I wanted to know.
Darren considered for a moment, then shrugged.
“Then I actually made a mistake. Would be a first. Guess I’ll have to do better next time, right?”
The smile he beamed down at me was so chipper that I actually felt my gorge rise.
“This is all that I mean to you? You’ve already moved on?”
Just like that, his mirth vanished, instantly replaced by anger.
“You think it’s that simple for me? Do you have any fucking clue how much this is hurting me?”
He made absolutely no sense there, and I rea
lized that was worse than when he was taunting me.
“Maybe if you didn’t just lose patience with the women you claim to love and killed them one after the other the first time something went against your ideas, you wouldn’t have to spend half your life grieving!”
Shaking his head, he backed away from me, both making me want to exhale with gratitude and cringe with anxiety. At least as long as he was talking to me, he seemed too preoccupied to do anything else.
“My patience is not an issue. My patience is endless, in fact, or I would have just snapped your neck the first time you messed up. No, it’s your fault that you’re down here. I love you, and I would have done anything for you, but you had to change your mind on a moment’s whim and try to walk out on me. No one walks out on me, understand!?”
He shouted loud enough to make me press myself harder against the chair, but after a few seconds of glaring at me, he calmed down again. Some residual anger remained in his eyes, his shoulders still tense, but he looked mostly relaxed again as he stepped up to me once more.
“Anything else, or shall we proceed?” His voice was still pressed, making me extra cautious.
I picked my brain for another topic, but it got increasingly harder to keep the panic at bay, and that sudden outburst of his had shaken me up worse than I wanted to admit. It was one thing to believe that he was completely insane, but quite another to watch him switch back and forth between the man I still had feelings for, sick as that was, and the deranged bastard who had murdered his previous twelve girlfriends. Fiancées. Whores.
“I understand that this must be quite overwhelming for you,” he went on when I remained silent. “Don’t worry, you’ll have time aplenty to process. Let’s start with the first lesson, then.”
“Lesson?” I asked weakly as he stepped away from me and turned to something hidden in the blackness.
“Unless you want me to just snap your neck right now? There’s always that option,” he explained, his voice losing that violent undercurrent. “In the end, I will forgive you and show mercy. Your last and final decision will be yours.”
