His eyes were closed, but she had no way of knowing if he was truly out for the count or just on his way. It didn’t matter, either way. All that mattered was he couldn’t stop her. Lawes was no longer a threat, brought down by his own self-satisfied arrogance. Rising, April skipped back to the open cupboard, grabbing a fistful of the red-rimmed syringes before exiting out into his office. Her gaze scanned the room, finding it exactly as she remembered from the countless times she’d been brought here for punishment and pleasure. The fog of those memories threatened to rise and slow her down, but the adrenaline forced them back. This was not the time to reminisce—if such a word could be used in conjunction with the place.
This was the time for action.
Moving to Lawes’ desk, she reached for the phone with her free hand. It was an old-fashioned type which had come back into vogue, the sort with a receiver and a dial. Inhaling, she dropped the syringes onto the expensive wood and lifted the black receiver from its cradle. April’s heart was still pounding and acting on instinct, she moved away from the door she’d just used to enter the room, sliding the sedatives in her direction. She still expected to see Lawes charge in after her even though she knew that was impossible. Surely, she’d given him more than enough to tranquilize him for hours, but the paranoia lingered, warning her not to rest on her laurels. Not until the task was complete. Not until she was free from the men in this place.
With a gulp, she pushed her finger into the dial and drew the number back around the circle. Why did Lawes have a phone like this, for God’s sake? Of all the modern devices he could have chosen, he’d selected the one which took the longest to achieve the same purpose. April drew in a breath, trying to get a grip on herself. She would be okay now—the hardest part was over—but the notion Zander or one of the others might come check on them distressed her, a niggling terror she wouldn’t be free of until she was out of this house.
Perhaps, she’d never be free of it?
Three times she repeated the deed, watching the dial move as though the thing had hypnotized her.
9. 9. 9.
Her eyes blinked as the final digit registered, and slowly, oh so slowly, as though the phone knew every second counted, the call connected.
“Nine, nine, nine, emergency response. Which service do you require?”
April gasped at the woman’s voice, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.
“Hello, is there anyone there? Which service do you need?”
All at once, as though someone had released the cork on a vintage bottle of champagne, the words flowed.
“Police!” she nearly shouted. “I need the police. I’ve been kidnapped. There are other women, too. Please, please send help.”
“Okay, ma’am. It’s alright. We’re going to help you. Stay on the line with me. I can trace your location from this number.”
She exhaled, clutching at a syringe—just in case she had an unexpected visitor.
“Please hurry.”
The woman’s voice was smooth and calming. “Okay, if you’re in danger and can get out, then you should do so. If not, hang in there. The police are on their way.”
She swallowed, easing off the syringe’s cap to reveal the needle.
“I’m okay,” she murmured. “I’ll be okay.”
As the tears began to fall, she knew she would be.
Twenty-Six
Hannah
The first indication something was different was noise from the training yard… or perhaps, from beyond it, Hannah couldn’t be certain. She was chained to the hosing post when the commotion started, Fuller looming nearby with the dreaded hose pipe in hand. Though she’d sought to be clean and shaven—a legacy of the woman who’d walked unwittingly into the trap set by Lawes and Fuller—she had learned to meet the hose with trepidation. The water was always freezing, and the intensity of the stream could be painful, depending on how much they wanted to harass her.
Fuller’s focus shifted from her trembling form back to the place they’d come from, and Hannah took the opportunity to glance up at the sky. It was getting too late to be naked outside. This was England for fuck’s sake—it was rarely ever warm enough for that. As the thought resonated, her gaze took in the color of the heavens. The clouds were changing from a heavy white to gray, and the realization gave her hope. Maybe it was an omen, a sign of things to come for the men who ruled with discipline and pleasure. Whatever it was, there was definitely something taking place in the yard. By the time she glanced back to Fuller, he was already striding away to investigate.
Hannah eyed the back of his body as he stalked away, conscious of the way her heart rate had sped up. What was going on in there? Was this it—was this what she and the others had been waiting for? Had April managed to bring justice to this twisted system of debauchery? Initially, the signs didn’t look good. Fuller didn’t re-emerge quickly, but there was no new noise to suggest the cavalry had arrived. She remained there for an unquantifiable amount of time, her body limp in the bondage while the cool breeze whipped past her naked flesh. Silence whirled around her, every inch as chilling as the wind. Where was Fuller, and what the hell was going on in there?
In the end, it was the sound of a man shouting that burst the bubble of tension that had burgeoned in Hannah’s belly. A low, loud cry which ordered her to release the breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding.
“Stop!”
That was it. Just the one word, but she panted at the sound, her brain firing as it tried to process it. Hannah didn’t think the command had come from Fuller—she’d heard him yell similar instructions many times before. It didn’t sound like Matthew or Zander either, and as far as she knew, Lawes was still with April.
April.
The image of the brunette burst into her mind, her teasing smile growing in Hannah’s head as she considered their last hope. Had she really been able to pull the plan off and pump Lawes full of sedative? Was the voice she’d just heard that of a stranger? A rescuer?
“Get your hands in the air! All of you.”
Hannah blew out another breath. That was definitely the voice of a man she didn’t recognize. A surge of excited energy rushed through her body, and reflexively, she pulled against the chains which held her to the infuriating post.
“Help.” Her voice was weak at first, her eyes fluttering as she tried to process what was happening. “I’m out here. Help me!”
Time protracted with only the cruel wind and intermittent noises from beyond the doorway for comfort until finally, another order met her ears.
“On the ground.” It was nearly a snarl. “You too, asshole. Get on the ground, hands behind your head.”
She panted, daring to believe what should have been obvious. The rule of Lawes and Fuller had been infiltrated. Their time was coming to an end, but until she saw the police, until she was released, clothed, and back at home, she couldn’t believe it. The risk of being wrong, of having it snatched away, was too high. Hannah wouldn’t be able to deal with that.
None of them would.
“Out here!”
She was bolder now, her voice louder as she sensed the arrivals weren’t too far away. Lifting her head, her eyes strained to see into the building.
A hero appeared from the gloom, dressed in the regulation black uniform of the police service. He emerged slowly, scanning the place for threats, and Hannah was startled to see a weapon in his hand. His gaze fell over Hannah—the naked, chained woman—and with one final sweep of the area, he called behind him.
“There’s another one out here. Bring the paramedics.”
Lowering the gun, he walked toward her. Hannah surveyed the face of her savior. He was young, surprisingly young to be brandishing such a powerful weapon. The dark stubble on his chin was the only real sign he might be old enough to serve. He tilted his head toward the radio, strapped to his shoulder.
“Bring blankets,” he instructed to whoever was on the other end. “And this one is chained up. Search them
for keys.”
“Roger that,” came the reply. “We’ll check.”
“Is it over?” She barely recognized her voice, but there was hardly any embarrassment as his gaze took in her bound nudity. Even in the comparatively limited number of days she had been trapped here, Hannah had become used to being seen naked. All the women were naked.
Bare flesh was their uniform.
“It’s okay, miss.” He was only a couple of feet away, moving to one side to assess the binds which restrained her. “You’re safe now.”
“Really?”
Somehow, Hannah still didn’t believe it, even though there was a police officer standing before her, even though she was talking to him—she couldn’t. Her demons wouldn’t allow it, their snide little voices reminding her anything could happen. Perhaps, Fuller would find a way to overpower the officers and use their own weapons against them. Perhaps, these men would turn out to be no better than the others. She gasped at the torrid thought. It had been a while since men had represented anything except tyranny. Learning to trust them again would take some doing.
The officer smiled and slipped off his jacket. “Here.”
The gun fell loose at his side, the strap it hung from keeping it near as he opened the garment and shrouded Hannah with it. It didn’t cover all of her of—far from it—her legs, feet, and backside still perilously exposed, and the humiliating animal tail was still caught against her right thigh and the post, but it was something, some cover, some modesty and protection. It was the most Hannah had received since she’d been stripped that first day in the treatment room.
“Thank you.” She glanced up into his dark eyes, absurdly grateful as the stranger held his jacket in place.
“Confirmed, Sarge. We have keys in our possession.” The voice from the radio made her jump, her gaze flying to the thing still attached to what looked like a bullet-proof vest.
“Roger that.” The officer cast a sympathetic glance at Hannah. “If the place is secured, bring them out here.”
“It’s secured. I’m on it.”
“How long have you been here?” Large brown eyes surveyed her as he asked the question. “Do you know?”
Hannah swallowed. She knew exactly how long she’d been held captive. She had been keeping a mental count of the nights she was forced into the cage.
“Just over a week.” She sounded dazed. Hell, that was how she felt.
The officer nodded. “Are you Hannah Bowman?”
She blinked at the inquiry, the sound of her own name sounding strangely foreign.
“Yes,” she muttered, her eyes falling to her cold feet. “Yes, I’m Hannah. How did you know?”
“You were reported missing by your mother a few days ago,” he told her in a soft tone. “The latest in a line of missing women in the vicinity.”
Her belly furled, meeting the news with a peculiar mixture of both relief and misery. Her mother. It had been her mum who’d alerted the authorities, and even though Hannah knew without the fortitude shown by April, that report alone wouldn’t have set her free, it meant something. Her mum had noticed her absence and worried. Someone had given a shit about her. All these women held for all this time—how many of them had relatives out there, worrying right now. Partners, children, and parents who had also suffered at the hands of these vile men?
“Sarge.” The voice of another man drew her focus. Looking past the officer covering her, she saw another, even younger guy, closing the distance between them. “Here’s the keys he reckons will do the job.”
The first officer raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Try them,” he ordered. “See if they work.”
The second cop nodded, wandering closer to Hannah. “Excuse me, miss.”
She offered him a small smile as he dropped to his haunches and began to work on the lock at her ankles.
“This is Miss Bowman,” the first guy informed him.
“It’s Hannah,” she responded, almost without thinking.
The guy at her feet glanced up and smiled. “Hi, Hannah. I’m Police Constable Morgan.”
There was a tug at her feet, and to her relief, Morgan slipped the shackles from her ankles.
“It works, Sarge,” Morgan told him, throwing the metal aside as he rose back to his full height.
“Good. Now, get the ones off her wrists.”
Morgan nodded, wandering around the post to assess the second lock.
“And who are you?” Emboldened by the partial liberation, Hannah directed the query to the man who had found her.
His gaze fell over her, his dark gaze burning, though with what emotions, she didn’t know.
“I’m Sergeant Rose,” he informed her. “Don’t worry, Hannah. We’ll have you out of here soon.”
“That would be great,” she murmured in a wry tone. “I can’t just hang around here forever, you know?”
Rose’s lips curled at her quip. “We’ll do our best, ma’am.”
She pressed her lips into a hard line. What was she doing? Was she actually flirting with the cop who had come to release her?
“There we go.”
Morgan’s voice cut through the thought, and the pressure at her shoulders eased, her arms falling instinctively to her sides as though they were made of lead. No longer secured to the post, Hannah’s body lurched forward, unable to bear its own weight.
“Easy.” Rose caught her, wrapping her in the warmth of his jacket as he knelt on the ground beside her. “Where are those blankets?” He glanced at his colleague.
“I’ll go grab them.”
Hannah heard Morgan’s reply, but she didn’t look up to acknowledge it as he ran back inside.
“Thanks,” she breathed, managing to lift her chin and meet Rose’s gaze. “Again.”
“You’re welcome,” he told her as he drew her back to her feet. “Let’s get you warmed up, then the paramedics can check you over.”
Morgan was back, but Hannah couldn’t concentrate on him. She wasn’t sure what was happening to her, but in the minutes that passed, she couldn’t focus on anything or anyone. Her skin felt clammy to the touch, and as a gigantic blanket was flung around her shoulders, a pit of nausea rose in her stomach.
“I don’t feel great.” It was the understatement of the year as she mumbled the words into her chest, not directing them at anyone in particular.
“You’re in shock.” A voice permeated her consciousness. A voice she knew—Sergeant Rose. “Take some deep breaths, Hannah.”
She desired to lift her head and answer him. The man who had saved her—the one with the alluring stubble and the soft timbre—but she couldn’t muster the energy.
“Paramedics are here, Sarge.” Another voice, Morgan’s.
“About time.”
“What do we have here?”
A new voice and finally, her chin rose to acknowledge the stranger in the green uniform. A round face with kind blue eyes gazed back at her before his attention shifted from Hannah.
“This is Hannah Bowman.” Rose debriefed, and Hannah tilted her head in the direction his voice came from. “She’s in her thirties, and we found her chained out here.”
The kind eyes of the stranger widened with concern.
“She’s in shock. Possible hypothermia.”
“I’m not surprised,” the stranger said. “Okay, thanks. We’ll take it from here. Hannah, my name is Mike, and this is Sandra.” He gestured to his right, but Hannah’s gaze didn’t follow the deed. “We’re going to help you now.”
She swallowed, aware her brow had knitted. She didn’t want Mike and fucking Sandra. She wanted the reassuring voice of the Sergeant.
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m okay. Just take me home.”
“We need to check you over, Hannah.” A female voice floated past her, presumably Sandra.
“Just let us do our jobs, and we’ll soon have you somewhere safe,” Mike encouraged as he edged toward her.
Reaching for her wrist, he lifted it in his direction, and
even though Hannah logically knew Mike posed no threat—he was probably just wanting to check her pulse—she snatched it away from him. No man was going to touch her without her permission, ever again.
“Hannah.” It was Rose’s soothing tone that met her ears this time. “Mike just wants to make sure you’re okay?”
She inhaled, finally mustering the energy to turn toward his voice.
“No,” she told him defiantly. “I don’t want him to touch me. I… I have to go.”
Using the remaining fragments of her energy, she pulled herself to her feet, not caring as the warmth of the blanket slipped from her shoulders.
“Hey!” Rose caught the cover, wrapping it back around her body. “Where are you going?”
Hannah turned to look at him. “I have to go,” she told him. “I have to go home.”
Sergeant Rose shook his head with a smile. “Not without the medical all-clear,” he assured her. “Now, just calm down and let Mike do his job.”
She glanced down at Mike. The man crouching by her feet might have kind eyes, but he still represented everything she had come to abhor—a guy who wanted to touch her, to do things to her, things she didn’t want.
“No!” Hannah’s tone was emphatic as she backed away. “No, I’m fine. I just—”
But she never finished that sentence. The motion set her head spinning, the sparse concrete space around her blurring into a hot whiteness she didn’t understand. She stumbled, expecting to feel pain, but instead, somebody caught her, their arms tightening as consciousness began to seep away. The final thing Hannah heard was the dulcet tone of her liberator.
“It’s okay, Hannah,” he told her. “I have you.”
Twenty-Seven
April
After so long in captivity, it all seemed to happen in a flash. Time, which had moved so slowly, in protracted pockets of the routines laid down by the men in charge, sped up around her like someone had pushed the fast-forward button on her life. Leaning against Lawes’ expensive desk, fumbling with the syringes, April chatted to the woman on the other end of the line. Calmly, soothingly, she assured April that help was on its way, and even though she should have run—should have taken those needles and fled—April believed her.
Countered: A Dark Suspenseful Gothic Romance (The Rule of Lawes Series Book 2) Page 16
