“I’m not my father,” I whisper. “You can’t get to him by hurting me like this.”
He stares at me like I’m the dumbest person ever born. “I’m not trying to get to him anymore,” he says sharply. “He’s fucking dead. He got what he deserved for trying to steal my family from me. Now, this here between you and me? This is personal. It became personal when you tricked your lying ass into my bed and murdered my sons.”
I give him the most withering glare I can muster. “They deserved worse,” I say quietly, “for the things they did to me. The things you told them to do. Monsters, all of you, and I’m going to wipe the rest of you out if it kills me to do it.”
I don’t know how, but the desire to make them suffer—especially Dornan—burns inside me along with the last of the drugs he injected into me. Now that I’m a little more lucid, my brain begins to connect the dots and I guess at what he’s done to me - given me a downer, then an upper, confusing the hell out of my body in the process. It’s a form of torture I’ve read about, but never experienced.
Until now.
Dornan taps his foot impatiently, as he sits perched on the edge of the bed in front of me. “Where’s my money, Julie?”
I roll my eyes. “That shit again? I told you, I.Don’t.Know.”
He purses his lips and I remember how he sucked my blood from me just days ago. The thought makes me shiver in my seat.
“John Portland wasn’t a fucking idiot,” he says, standing and running a hand through his hair. “And neither was that fucking whore, Ana. It’s got to be somewhere.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I keep telling you, I don’t know where it is, Dornan. Do you think I’d be here if I did?”
He snaps his gaze to me, and I can see he’s seething mad. Oh, shit.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I do. I’ve replayed every fucking moment we’ve spent together before I figured out you were John’s bastard, back to get your vengeance on me for whatever you think I did to you.”
My eyes fill with tears. “What do you mean, what I think you did to me?”
He doesn’t respond, just sets his jaw stubbornly.
I blink and a tear falls on my cheek, so salty it stings my skin.
“You were supposed to protect me,” I whisper, almost choking on my own words. I don’t want to show my weakness, I can’t stand it, but these damn drugs make my tongue loose and my eyes water. “And you took me from my mother. You pushed me into a ring of animals and told them to attack. You let them take that from me.” I swallow back tears as I finish my sentence. “And you watched.”
His face stays impassive but I see his fist tighten as his dark eyes remain fixed on me. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I remember the story he told me, of the day I was born, how he was the first person to ever hold me. I weep as I wonder if he’ll be the last one to hold me, too.
Or if he’ll make me die alone.
“How could you watch me come into this world,” I whisper, “and then take my world away from me?”
He stares at his shoes, dark leather dress shoes fit for a funeral. I imagine him kicking me to death with them. It’s something he’d likely take great pleasure in.
He ignores me as I gaze up at him, the most human I think I’ve ever seen him. The mask is slipping, too much death and destruction seeping into every facet of his existence. It’s the first time I’ve ever really seen him look vulnerable. Sure, there was that lapse he had after Chad’s funeral, but not like this. He’s him, and I’m me, and we’re locked in this hell together until one of us cashes out or dies.
He busies himself with the vials of drugs and I watch, unable to tear my eyes away.
So the devil has a heart. Is that better, or is it worse?
“Tell me,” he says gruffly, stabbing a needle into one of the vials again. “Tell me, did my boys know it was you before you killed them?”
A chill sweeps over my skin as I remember the look of shocked recognition in Chad’s eyes, while his heart seized in his chest.
“Yes,” I say thickly.
He sits back down in front of me, the flimsy, bare bed frame creaking under his weight. He looks at me from under his lashes as he plays with the full syringe in his hands. It’s double what he gave me the first time, if it’s the sedative he’s holding.
“Tell me,” he demands. “Tell me what it was like.”
I almost laugh, but catch myself. He wants to know what it was like? To watch the light die in Chad’s eyes? In Maxi’s? To hear the blast rip through the air and know I killed more of them? Or maybe he wants me to recount the day he picked me up from my home, my safe place, and stole me away. Perhaps he’d like to hear how I felt when his demon spawn took turns holding me down and fucking me half to death. While they made Jase watch. What it felt like to realize I wasn’t leaving there alive. How I wept when I realized I was going to die underneath the man who I’d called family, the man who was supposed to protect me from the evils in the world instead of delivering me to them.
What it was like to know my father died at his hands?
I don’t care what he’s asking, though, because my answer will remain the same. I’m not giving him one more ounce of my memories so he can feast upon my sadness with delight. I still have a minute amount of power here, despite being physically powerless.
No. I’m giving him absolutely fucking nothing.
I clench my jaw. “No.”
He smiles darkly, and it’s the first time I can see the hurt and the sadness under the malice in his expression. He reaches out and squeezes a hand around my arm again, my vein popping to attention, the needle sliding in with a sharp prick. Warmth floods me and my head lolls back. Too much.
I feel my heart begin to skip in my chest.
“You should’ve told me, Julie,” he says. “Now you’ve made me angry. Now you’re going to die.”
It’s the last thing I hear. I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Jesus, I can’t think. How much did he give me? He emptied an entire needle of that shit into me. Heroin. I think of my mother’s huge green eyes as my eyes fall closed and my body relaxes completely.
As I think, it’s not the worst way to die.
It’s the end for me. I can feel it. My heart thuds slowly before petering out to a whisper. And then…nothing. It’s quiet in here. Dark. Still.
I am at peace.
I feel acceptance. I feel relief.
Because it’s finally over.
Because I’m finally free.
When I wake up, I’m not in heaven.
I’m in hell.
Fuck.
Rough fingers skate along my collarbone, and I start to shake. Everything is so heavy. Even dragging my eyelids open is the biggest effort. I’m crying, and I don’t know why - but I feel so fucking sad.
It takes a moment to realize where I am. Lying on the bed, the one without a mattress, my wrists limp by my side, not bound for once. I’m not sure if my ankles are tied and I don’t have the energy to care. I don’t have the energy to do anything.
“Wakey, wakey,” Dornan coos in my ear, his breath hot on my neck. I tense, trying to pull away from him.
“Sleep well?” he asks, sitting back in the chair I was just tied to.
I just glare at him.
“You’ve been out for hours,” he says. “You must be hungry.”
I narrow my eyes, wondering where he’s going with that. As if he cares about my appetite.
“I should feed you my cock,” he says, laughing. “But those teeth, mmm-hmm. I don’t think I could risk those.” He strums his fingers on the side of the bed, seemingly upbeat. “I suppose I could break your jaw. That’d stop you from biting down.”
I ignore him. It’s just words. If he were going to do that, he would have done it by now. He’s just goading me.
The packages on the table beside him make me pause and think back to why I’m here in the first place, feeling like I just woke up from death. “You gave me a hotshot,” I slur. “I t
hought I was dead.”
He smiles, showing a set of straight white teeth that would rip my flesh from my bones if it took his fancy. “You were dead. I brought you back.” He holds up a cardboard package that says NARCAN on it, and I stiffen. Holy Shit. That wasn’t a close call. He really did kill me and bring me back to life. I was dead.
“I told you you’d die for taking my sons from me,” he whispers, leaning in close and nibbling at my earlobe. “I never said you’d stay dead. That’s much too kind.”
I swallow thickly, meeting his gaze as he moves away from my ear.
He tips his head back and laughs, a long, booming noise that rattles my chest and makes me want to scream.
“Oh, Julie,” he says. “You’re in my world now. You know what they call a man who can take life and give it, too?”
I stare at him, guessing what he’s about to say. And true to form, he doesn’t disappoint me.
“They call him a god.”
I would laugh if I had anything in me, but I’m empty and cold.
I close my eyes again. “So, what?” I ask. “You’re just going to keep killing me and bringing me back to life? I don’t think it works like that. My body will give out eventually. And then you’ll be left here all by yourself with nobody to hurt.”
He shrugs. “You’re young and healthy. I think you’ll last awhile.”
“Whatever,” I snap, opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling. I don’t want to look at him, and I’m so goddamn tired I just want to sleep, but I need to keep him in my field of view in case he does something.
In case? Huh. More like for when he does something.
“I’ve spent so long daydreaming about all the ways I’m going to make you suffer. And now we’re finally here, and you know you’re never getting away from me.”
I got away from you once, I think. But he’s right. I am never getting away from him this time.
“Who’s going to save you this time?” he asks. “The rookie cop who happened to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong? I don’t think so.”
My entire body freezes as he mentions Elliot. Holy fuck.
“I’m going to find him, Julie. Your little boyfriend thinks he can hide from me, but I’ll find him soon. And when I do, I’m going to make you watch while I gut him like a fish.”
He knows about Elliot. What else does he know about? Does he know about Jase?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say stubbornly, staring at the ceiling.
He laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle that shakes me from my scalp to my toenails. “You’re a terrible liar, baby girl. You should’ve stayed in Nebraska with Grandma. I’m gonna find her too, and I’m gonna make her die slowly for hiding you away from me. Everybody will know. You. Are. Mine.”
I blink back tears as he falls silent for a while. I don’t care about me. This is what I deserve for playing with fire. To burn and suffer. But Elliot? Grandma? Kayla? The thought of Dornan hurting them is too much to bear.
His cold fingers fidget with mine. I don’t even have the strength to pull my hand away. “You understand, don’t you, baby girl? That I’m just cleaning up your mess. These people are going to die because you’re a selfish bitch.”
A wave of anger builds inside my chest. “You want me to understand you?” I bite out. “I’ll never understand you. I’ll never understand the things you’ve done.”
His voice is a gravel whisper, a rock tugged along my bare nerves. “That’s where you’re wrong, baby girl. You’re just like me. I killed your father, I ruined your mother, and you tried to wreak your revenge on me.” He pauses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m smarter than you, better than you, more depraved than you, little girl. You ventured into my playground and now I’ve got you in my web.”
I turn my head to the side, my eyes boring into him, and if looks could kill, he’d be convulsing on the ground right now.
“What do you get when you cross two vengeful beasts?” His teeth gleam in the dim light the naked bulb throws off, and I imagine him cutting my heart out and devouring it whole. I can’t help but ponder his question. What do you get? You get him and me locked in a battle of wills, trapped together in this place of torture and pain. You get two animals fucking and killing and biting and tearing each other apart in pleasure and pain. You get blood and agony and ultimately, one of you ends up dead.
I just didn’t think it would be me.
“You get a war,” he answers his own question. “And I’m the fucking winner.”
“Really?” I murmur. “Body-count wise, I’d say I’m winning.”
He smacks the smile right off my face, a mighty backhand that rattles my cheek and leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. I’m so used to tasting my blood now, it’s no longer foreign. It’s just part of my existence. I’m glad I affect him, glad my words cut him the way his knife cuts me every day.
“You think you’re winning?” he asks, standing so that he is towering over me as I lay tied to the bed. I shrug. He must have no idea about Jase, I think. That reassures me. I want to keep it that way. And if he says he can’t find Elliot, then hopefully that means Elliot is smart enough stay hidden until things blow over.
Which, knowing Dornan, means forever.
“Mark my words, baby girl. Everyone who ever helped you is going to die.”
He winks at me, grinning as he leaves the room. As the door slams behind him, I feel the bed frame shake, and silently pray to anyone who’s listening that he’s just bluffing.
But I know Dornan Ross.
He doesn’t bluff.
Another couple of days pass, and I’m in real trouble. I’m sick - really, really sick, and Dornan hasn’t come back. Once a day, The Prospect unlocks the door and slides a tray of food to me, before slamming it shut again. I wish he’d talk to me. But he doesn’t, nobody does - and I huddle in the corner, wheezing and coughing until I throw up.
And nobody fucking cares.
I’m burning up before long, and this time I know it’s not just the lack of temperature control in my windowless dungeon. Sweat pours from my forehead and makes my back itch, and my lungs feel thick and full. It’s impossible to take a full breath.
I can’t breathe in here.
One day, they’ll slide a food tray in here and find me dead.
I decide that might not be so bad, but my stubborn primitive brain demands that I try and survive. It’s so annoying - I try to squash the thoughts like ants, but they keep multiplying like toxic amoeba, urging me to fight.
And I just want to give up.
In the end, I get creative. Or maybe, just desperate. Instead of trying to call for help—because they’d never answer, anyway—I switch positions, laying my body on the floor across the doorway. The door to this room opens inwardly, so somebody is going to have to hit me with the door to get in here. Maybe it’ll work, maybe not, but I need something to change before I go completely insane.
In the times when I’m asleep, I have vivid nightmares. A knife through Elliot’s chest, a pillow over Grandma’s face, and I can’t even say what I dream of him doing to Elliot’s daughter, it’s so depraved.
So when the door slams into my stomach, and the person attempting to open it swears loudly, I respond with a low, guttural groan. I scrabble to my knees, head still spinning, and I’m relieved when I see it’s The Prospect. The dude who let me shower. The nice one who told me I had eyes just like her.
“I’m sick,” I say to him, backing up my story with a genuine hacking cough. My chest rattles with mucous; my breathing is ragged and desperate.
“Please,” I say, my arm darting out to close around his wrist. “You said I looked just like her. My mother’s here. She’s a nurse, she can help me.”
He snatches his hand away, narrowing his eyes at me. “What the fuck do I care if you’re sick?” he asks.
I feel my face fall. “Where’s Dornan?” I demand, trying to peek down the hallway. A look of annoyance passes acro
ss his face as he kicks at me with his steel-capped black boot. “Get back inside,” he says, pressing himself and the food tray through the narrow opening and slamming the door shut behind him.
I scoot away, giving him some room to stand.
“That’s your mama out there?” he asks, his eyes darting around the room.
“Caroline?” I reply. “Yeah.” I fucking knew it. I knew that bitch would be here with Dornan.
“You know she’s got no idea who the fuck you are, right?”
I stare at the ground. There’s an awkward silence, until finally he nudges me with his boot. I look up to see he’s extending his hand to me. “Come on,” he says. “Get up. Eat something.”
I look at the tray of food in his other hand with renewed enthusiasm. “The starve-out’s over?”
He shrugs, hauling me to my feet with zero effort. He seems like an incredibly intense asshole, but he’s somehow different to the rest of Dornan’s mongrels. Is it my imagination, or does he seem to dislike Dornan? I wonder if I could somehow convince him to help me.
I bat my eyelashes at him, smiling as much as I can while I feel like I’m dying from the fucking plague, and search his face for any indication of his intentions.
“What’s your name?” I ask softly.
He laughs, plonking the tray on the small wooden table beside him. “Oh no, nina bonita. Don’t flutter your pretty eyelashes at me. I’m not going to help you.”
My heart sinks, but somewhere in the back of my mind, that phrase registers. Nina Bonita. The pet name Mariana had for me.
“You just called me pretty girl,” I say excitedly.
“Oh yeah?” He chuckles. “The girl speaks Spanish. Good for you. Eat your food and stop blocking the fucking door.”
He turns to leave, and I catch his sleeve as he moves. He freezes, staring at my hand like it’s bird shit on his shirt.
“You’re Colombian,” I whisper.
His face turns to thunder, his hands to tight fists. I back away as fast as I can without even thinking.
Three Years Page 4
