by K. Webster
When I wake, it’s dark. My stomach is growling loudly, but that isn’t what startled me awake. It was him. In the dark, I can feel his eyes on me.
Watching.
Waiting.
Threatening.
I sit up and tuck the blanket under my armpits as I search for him in the darkness. Moonlight seeps in from the window, illuminating a small space, but he hides within the shadows.
“Why didn’t you try to escape?” he demands, his voice cold and hard.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and shrug. “There’s a chain around my waist and it’s bolted to the floor. Where was I supposed to go?”
He’s silent for a moment. “I don’t like it.”
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
The sound should unnerve me, but it’s almost as soothing as the ocean. When in Seattle, the noises from the bustling city always made me crazy. Out here, wherever we are, I can actually hear myself think.
“Do you have something I can eat?” I ask, my voice a slight whisper.
The creaking stops and I sense him standing—his presence looms above the room. Then, with quick, light footsteps, he’s towering over me. The moonlight casts an eerie glow on his furious face.
“The first thing you did, Anta,” he seethes, “was starve us.” His hand reaches out and he strokes my hair. “So I am going to starve you.”
I purse my lips together and frown. I’m hungry, but this wouldn’t be the first time I was denied food in my life. One of Alan’s favorite games is making me cook for him but not letting me eat the meal. Sometimes, if I’m being punished, this goes on for days.
“Okay,” I murmur. If there’s anything I’ve learned from Alan, it’s you don’t provoke the beast. I’m not this Anta person, but something tells me he won’t care if I argue the point. If I want him on my side, I need to play him just the right way.
He stiffens. I can hear his teeth grinding together. When I look up at him, his eyes are wide. Madness flickers in his gaze—he’s positively livid. “Not okay,” he snarls. “Your stomach will hurt. Every second of every day, you will think about food. Anything to fill it. It will feel like it’s collapsing in on itself. The hunger will bleed into every part of your life. Every goddamned cell. Every fiber of your being. It will consume you.”
Tears well in my eyes and I glare at him. Defeat crashes into me. Maybe I can’t convince him to help me. Maybe he’s no better than Alan. Fury explodes within me. He’s an asshole just like Alan. They’re all assholes. He’s not going to help me, he’s only going to hurt me. The realization makes my blood boil. Anger is a much better emotion than letting the defeat swallow me up. Before I can stop myself, I burst out my angry words. “I’ll resort to tearing pages from my book and snacking on them—anything to fill my stomach. I will lick the condensation from the window panes. I will attempt to curl myself into a tight ball to make the pain lessen. I’ll dream of walks on the beach with my mother as we buy hot dogs from local vendors. I’ll dream of birthday cakes and ice cream when I was a kid. My mouth will water and I’ll consider just how painful it is to bite off a finger or a toe. I’ll hunt for bugs or vermin. Anything to fill the void. Yes, I know all about hunger.”
With surprising speed, he strikes out and snags my neck. I yelp when he brings me out of the bed and to my feet, the chain clanging with the movement. The air is chilly and I shudder without the blanket. His nostrils flare as he regards me with hate.
“You know nothing,” he spits out and bares his teeth at me. “Fucking nothing.”
Despite him being a kidnapping monster, I’m not afraid of him. His threats are nothing compared to what I endured with Alan. So instead of cowering like I normally would, I knee him in the balls.
He releases me and I fall to the floor in a heap. His grunts of pain bring me satisfaction. I watch his retreating frame as it falls into the shadows once more. I stand and face him. My entire body trembles but not from terror. I’m cold and amped up. And quite frankly, I’m angry.
I was so close.
Thirty-six days.
“I have money. Is that what you want?” I don’t tell him that technically I don’t have it yet.
“Ahhh,” he sneers. “There she is. The money-hungry snotty whore. Just like all the rest. For a split second, I thought I fucked up. Of course I didn’t fuck up. You fucked up the second you climbed inside my SUV.”
“What do you want from me?” I demand, my arms crossing over my bare chest.
He emerges from the shadows again and into the moonlight. “I want to kill you. Slowly. So fucking slowly, Anta.”
“Natalie,” I mutter. I don’t tell him I’ve slowly been dying for years now.
“Here you are, Anta,” he snaps, ignoring my correction.
“And what do I call you?”
“Your worst motherfucking nightmare.”
I must be losing my mind officially because I cackle. “That’s a mouthful.”
He stalks over to me and grabs my jaw in his punishing grip. “I’ll give you a mouthful.”
“And then I’ll be your worst motherfucking nightmare,” I threaten back. I’ve got nothing to lose at this point.
His eyes widen and his full lips part. Of course my insane kidnapper would be hot. Hell is real and it’s here on Earth. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I snap my teeth at him and hiss. “I’ll destroy your cock, psycho.”
“Don’t call me that!” he roars, his spittle showering down on my face.
“Then what do I call you?” I ask again, my voice calm.
“Heart.”
I snort because it’s the craziest suggestion ever. “You shove that filthy-ass piece of meat into this starved mouth and I’ll show you what hunger truly looks like, Heart.”
For a beat, he blinks and the corner of his mouth twitches. As if I entertain him with my words. He releases my jaw and flashes me a smile so incredibly handsome, my legs sway beneath me.
“Your eyes scream innocence, but your pouty mouth is all grown up. Do you kiss your momma with that dirty mouth?”
When my shoulders hunch at the mention of my mother, his predatory eyes gleam with satisfaction. As if I’ve given a puppy a new bone to chew on.
“No,” I bite at him.
“Good.”
He pushes past me and yanks the blanket and sheets from the bed. And then he snags my coat and dress from the floor. I stare after him as he storms over to the door.
“See you in a few days,” he calls out over his shoulder.
He wasn’t lying.
I’ve counted the sunrises and paired them with sunsets.
Three.
He’s left me in here for three days.
Alone. Filthy. Starved.
I’m losing my damn mind.
Mostly, it’s given me time to think about what’s going through Alan’s mind right now. He’s probably exhausting all his resources in an effort to find me.
He. Will. Find. Me.
I do exactly as I told Heart. I tear the pages from my novel and eat them. They fill my stomach as though they are real sustenance. When I’m thirsty, I lick the condensation from the window. It doesn’t fill me up, though. My thirst never goes away.
My madness is what distracts me from my hunger.
It’s like Alan has found me because the nightmares from my past with him are real and tangible. As if he’s the one who’s imprisoned me even here—not this man whom I don’t know.
But what’s worse than the hunger and having to relieve myself in the bucket behind the rocking chair is the cold. At least with Alan, his home was warm. Here, though, I’m chilled to the bone. The heavy chain around my midsection is like death’s grip. Unrelenting and unforgiving. At night, when I attempt to sleep, I tuck the pillowcase in between my flesh and the chain. It doesn’t keep the cold completely away, but it’s a start.
When I hear the sound of a lock disengaging, I jerk my head toward the door. I smell it befor
e I see it. Food. Something salty and savory. Something succulent and delicious. My stomach rages inside of me. Clenching and unclenching like a fist eager to smash. My fists mimic the action as I contemplate attacking him and stealing the food. Despite the feral hunger driving my thoughts, I reach deep inside of me and remember how I dealt with Alan. I watched his moves. Paid attention to his actions and reactions. I studied him until I could manipulate him in a way that saved me further distress and pain.
“Hungry?” The raspy gruff sound of his voice is the only sound besides my own and the ocean outside, for days. I’m not even sure he stayed at this house because it was so quiet.
“Yes,” I croak out. I try to wet my cracked lips, but my tongue is dry and rough like sandpaper.
His cold, brown-eyed stare rakes over my disheveled appearance. “You’re dirty.”
With slow movements, I slink off the bed with the chain in my hand to keep it from clanging. “I’m a lot of things right now.”
He pulls a plate from behind his back. My eyes zero in on the food. Rotisserie chicken, corn, green beans, and a buttery roll. A needy whine escapes me.
“I thought I’d have dinner in your company,” he bites out as he sits in the rocking chair.
Instead of touching the food he gingerly sets on the top of his thighs, he opts for rocking.
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
The sound gets under my skin. It drives me further into my madness. I crave to pounce on him and steal the food from him.
But I also know better.
It’s a test.
Alan had plenty of these tests in the beginning. At first, I failed miserably. I let my basic needs drive me rather than my mind. When you’re playing with psychopaths, you must learn to outsmart them.
“May I have a bite?” I ask softly. My legs twitch to move forward, but I keep my feet planted on the cold surface. Maybe I can get him to like me and then let me go. Or at least let his guard down enough for me to run.
Both of his dark brows shoot up in surprise before he quickly schools his features. “No, you may not.”
I try not to sulk in defeat. Instead, I try another tactic. Slowly, on wobbly legs, I approach him. I kneel right in front of him and tentatively run my fingertips over the tops of his black boots.
“Please.” I make my voice small and innocent. Like I’m a child asking for a cookie before dinner. When I lift my gaze to meet his, he’s glaring at me with hate in his eyes.
“Maybe I should make you earn some food. After all, Anta, it’s what you made me do,” he snarls, his body practically rippling with rage.
He’s mentioned this Anta before. She haunts him like Alan haunts me.
“What do you want?”
His eyes narrow. “Everything.”
The mouthwatering scent of the chicken is making me crazy, but I don’t look at it, not once. I keep my gaze on Heart. “If you’ll be more specific, I can comply.” I drag my palms up along the sides of his calves over his jeans. The muscle is hard beneath. He’s tense as he watches my movements like I’m a snake in the grass waiting to strike.
“I want you to eat,” he hisses, malice dripping from his words. It’s a threat. I know this threat. A test. If I reach out and take the food, I’ll be severely punished. His games are ones I’ve played before.
Meeting his glare with a determined one of my own, I sit up on my knees and lean toward him. My bare breasts rub against his knees and I place my palms on the armrests of the rocking chair.
“Will you feed me?” I give him my wide, innocent eyes that usually worked for Alan.
For a brief moment, Heart appears stunned. His nostrils flare as he regards me with a mix of disgust and hatred. I’m hoping he’s at least a little like Alan in this aspect because I’m starved.
In the daylight, I can truly study this man, my captor. He’s not wearing a ball cap like the first time I saw him. His dark, almost black hair is styled in a way that’s meant to look messy but somehow looks good on him. It’s shaved close on the sides and much longer on the top. When he leans forward, a lock falls in front of one of his manic eyes. Everything about his face is perfect. Strong cheekbones. A straight nose. Full lips. A dark dusting of facial hair that looks about a day off without shaving. Now that he’s not wearing his trench coat, I can see tattoos on every bit of exposed flesh. All of the tattoos are painted on his neck, no piece uncovered, and stop at his jaw line. As though he dipped himself into a vat of colorful paint and kept his head barely above it.
It’s a shame that all the beautiful men I’ve come to know are absolute monsters.
He plucks a morsel of chicken from the bone and holds it up. I part my lips, my eyes on his, praying for him to give me a bite. Surprisingly, he holds the food in front of my face. More tattoos color the top of his hand.
“The others were different,” he grinds out as he pushes the chicken into my mouth.
Delicious flavor explodes on my tongue and I desperately try to contain the sounds of joy attempting to escape me.
“The first day I brought food, they attacked. Some begged. Others cried. Not one of them asked nicely,” he muses aloud. “You’re making this difficult for me.”
I’ve already demolished the piece of chicken and I can’t keep my eyes off his greasy fingers. As if he can read my mind, he holds out his hand to me. Hesitantly, I reach forward and grab his wrist. I’m surprised to find beneath the tattoos are scars—deep and prominent. I pull his hand toward my mouth and flick my tongue out. A hiss escapes him when I lick away the grease. When he pulls away his hand, I smile at him.
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” he grumbles. At first I worry he’ll deny me food again, but then he offers me more. Greedily, I eat from his fingers.
I eat and eat and eat until my stomach violently seizes.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I groan as a wave of nausea washes over me.
He doesn’t say a word as I scramble around him to the bucket that’s full of my waste. The smell aids to my stomach issues and I purge out the food I was so starved for. Hot tears snake down my cheeks as I vomit. I’m weak and ill so when another wave of sickness strikes, I barely get it into the bucket before I pass out.
WHEN SHE SLEEPS, SHE LOOKS just like them. Same dark hair. Same petite build with a nice—smaller but real—rack. Same pouty frown. It’s when she’s awake that I have trouble sticking to my rules. So far, I’ve done as I always do. I select the perfect Anta. Bring her to my home. Steal away her warmth and her clothes. And finally, I starve her.
This one acted like her clothes were an abomination—as if she were thankful to be rid of them. I was shocked she was wearing such a nightmare under her mink coat. It doesn’t make sense, nor does her behavior.
I fed her like I did the others and watched with glee as her stomach revolted. When you don’t eat for days, you’re supposed to start off plain and small when reintroducing foods into your diet. Something rich and heavy, like the rotisserie chicken, instantly wreaks havoc on your malnourished system. At least I could count on her body to comply with my rules.
She passed out after puking and now lies sprawled out near the bucket. Her skin is pallid, but it’s the scarring on her ass that catches my eyes. The scarring holds me prisoner to my past.
“Beg for it,” Anta croons. “Beg for all of it.”
She’s switched tactics. Gone are the torturous ones I could tune my mind out to. The cunning bitch has grown smarter. Adapted. Changed her ways. I yank against my bindings on the bed in the palatial room to no avail.
“Say please,” she purrs as she holds a grape just inches from my mouth.
I haven’t seen real food in ages. When we’re down in the black hell hole, they feed us slop of some sort here and there just to keep us alive. I scarf it down each time despite my nagging worry about what’s actually inside it.
“No,” I snap.
Ignoring me, she pushes the grape past
my lips. My mind shuts down as my body takes over. I devour the sweet fruit without another thought.
“I have more,” she says, her voice like dripping honey. Sweet and sticky.
Our eyes meet as she unzips the side of her silky white gown that’s adorned with rhinestones and gold embellishments. It drops to the floor and her naked form is bared to me.
“Tell me what I need to hear,” she urges as she swipes a handful of grapes from a bowl. “Tell me.”
I glare at her, but my attention is on the grapes. My stomach rumbles loudly. She laughs and it’s the chilling sound that nightmares are made of. She takes my limp cock in her hand and expertly works it to attention. I’m infuriated at how my body betrays me. I stare in horror when she slides down over my length. Her tight body sparks mine back to life. I hate her for making me feel anything other than pain. For the first time in months, I feel like myself.
Much like I do when they torture me, I let my mind wander from this new type of abuse. She feeds me grapes one by one as she fucks me. Just as I’m about to come, she slides off me and purses her lips together.
“Tell me what I need to hear,” she hisses, the sultry façade now gone.
I spit at her. “Fuck you.”
“Maybe this will make you talk instead.” She produces a shiny knife that’s almost as dangerous looking as her smile.
As she carves holes into my abdomen, I speak all right. I call her every awful name under the sun until I pass out.
A moan from the floor drags me from my unwelcome thoughts. Here, in the present, I’m able to control who receives the pain. Who starves and suffers.
And it sure as fuck isn’t me.
“Get up,” I bark at her.
Her body trembles as she attempts to sit up. When she collapses again, I let out an irritated grunt and leave the room. My beach house overlooks the Pacific Ocean on the Washington coast. Here, it’s always gloomy as fuck, which is exactly why I love it. I love standing on the edge of the cliff as the rain pelts me and the wind threatens to push me over into the choppy abyss. Sometimes I welcome those thoughts—thoughts of my unhappy existence ceasing once and for all. After the newest woman, maybe I won’t have a desire to live anymore. Six lives in exchange for six brothers who were killed in Anta’s hell hole. What little bit of a happiness I had was absorbed into the shadows of that cell, never to be seen again. I’m nothing but a shell of hate and vengeance. My thirst for blood fuels me.
