Fractured Steel

by T. J. Loveless

  Something in his mannerisms struck me as wrong, and I wondered what could possibly keep him from asking for help. Shaking my head, I stomped to the shower, stopping at the bedside table for the pocket rocket. I hated being left wanting.

  Chapter Three

  I stepped out of the shower, clean and relaxed. I left my hair wrapped in a towel, grabbed the pair of Scooby Doo boxers and brown t-shirt, three sizes too big.

  The house was only one floor, three thousand square feet of wood, stone and glass. My great grandfather built the original cabin, which had been renovated into the living room as the rest of the house was added. My office was on the south side, one wall filled with big picture windows showcasing a view of the mountains. It remained the coldest room in the home, but a little space heater under the large mahogany desk, hand carved and one hundred fifty years old, took care of it.

  I sat in the overstuffed, brown leather office chair, the blinking red light on the phone catching my attention. I pushed the play button.

  “You have six messages,” the mechanical, feminine voice intoned.

  Two messages from the bank about recently deposited checks, and three from Spade Farms.

  “Karen, it’s Rhonda.” It sounded like she whispered into the receiver, her hand was cupped over it. “I can’t talk long, but you must call my cell phone. Don’t worry about the time.”

  “Voicemail left at ten eighteen a.m. Next message.”

  I stood, putting both hands on the desk, locking my elbows and leaning forward.

  “Karen, it’s Rhonda. You need to call me and soon. I don’t know how much longer I can find a way to communicate.”

  “Voicemail left at one forty seven p.m. Next message.”

  “Karen, whatever you do, don’t search. Call my cell phone, I’ll pack it where they won’t check. Leave a message. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  “Voicemail left at five twenty nine p.m. No new messages.”

  I hit rewind, and listened three more times. I grabbed the handset and called Rhonda’s cell phone. Her voicemail kicked in after the first ring, meaning the phone was off. I left a quick message and sat back, chewing a thumb nail.

  I didn’t know what was going on in Oklahoma, but it didn’t sound good. Rhonda was a bit of a drama queen, but a very good person at heart. She would never pull a stunt like this without cause. I also worried about Five Alarm. He was worth millions, and most of us would come together to pay any ransom. If he was sold on the black market, he could be given forged papers and make someone a fortune when his offspring began to prove themselves in the ring, or on the track. All those wonderful genetics he carried, and easily passed on, could be worth a high profile theft.

  I tapped my fingers on top of the desk, legs crossed, and one foot bouncing in the air. I peeked out the window, the full moon throwing shadows on the mountains, rocks and trees glistening in the bright light. I didn’t focus on any one thing, instead watching for movement. As far out as the ranch was settled, it wasn’t unusual to hear of the occasional lynx or cougar slinking through, hunting for their next meal. The horses were stalled at night for that very reason. But the habit of watching for danger never died.

  I counted five coyotes trotting across the north pasture, and smiled. I personally had nothing against coyotes and wolves, or the rest of the predators in the area. It went with living in the boonies. I did my best to ensure nothing was left out to make them think my little one hundred thirty acres was a drive through restaurant, and they didn’t try to get into the stables for food. Worked out very well.

  The phone rang and I jumped, nearly falling out of the chair. I grabbed the handset. “Rhonda?”

  “No, Rhonda will no longer be making calls. Who is this?” The voice on the end reminded me of graveled roads, too much smoking and whiskey. I detected an accent and cultured tones, but the pounding of my heart made it hard to pinpoint the origin.

  I shivered, goosebumps rising all over my body. “I am Karen Barnes, a friend of Jerry and Rhonda Spade. Who is this?” Instincts screamed bloody murder, telling me to call the police, call anyone, whatever was happening was on the flaming hell side of bad.

  The sound of a click, followed by a dial tone answered my question. Slamming the handset into the cradle and cursing, I turned away from the desk, a sound catching my attention. I’d lived my entire life in the house, I knew all the creaks and groans. The noise was new.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I tip-toed to the open door. Most of the lights were out, only moonlight filtering through the tall windows. I did as Dad taught me, and closed my eyes to improve hearing.

  The sound of rubber soles pressing against hardwood floors whispered in the dark, accompanied by the click click of Rage’s toenails. The footsteps halted, as did Rage’s. I opened my eyes, grabbing the edge of the door, and closing it slow inch by slow inch. I whispered, “Usich.” A deep growl echoed through the living room. Rage heard the command. I pushed the door hard, intending to slam it closed, but a big body, dressed in black and wearing a ski mask barreled through, knocking me out of the way. My back hit the desk, I bounced off, fell, and tried to stop the descent with my left arm. I landed on the stone floor, the distinct sound of bone breaking echoing in the silence. Pain shot from the break and into my head. I slid to the ground, cradling the arm and trying to find the intruder.

  He stood over me, something recognizable about the silhouette. He was tall, and in the moonlight, his lean muscle stood out. I kicked out, connecting with a knee and watched the male fall, screaming. I tried to stand, but I was a mass of pain, and opted to crawl instead.

  Using slow, awkward, hopping movements, I tried for the living room. Gritting my teeth, I cleared the doorway, and inched into the silence of the living room. I expected to be greeted by cold noses and snuffling muzzles, but the area remained quiet, devoid of loving canines. Rage, at least, should have been walking next to me the minute I got out of the office, yet, nothing. Chills ran up and down my spine.

  I crawled to the living room phone, when my hand slipped in something warm, thick, and smelling of copper pennies. I swallowed hard, eyes following the dark pool of liquid to a canine form lying a foot away.

  I found Rage, as a shaft of moonlight inched across his body, showcasing a slit throat. Tears escaped as I inched close to the warm body, and dripped onto dark fur. I heard boots, and scrambled to the side desk holding the phone. I grabbed the handset.

  “I don’t think so, little lady.” The new voice was young, deep and strong. He grabbed the broken arm. I screamed. “Ah, so it is broken. If you want to see a doctor, you’ll stand and do as you are told.” He pulled on my arm, squeezing. The pain proved too much. I felt my body go slack, the pain fade, and as I slid into the sucking black hole, arms wrapping around my waist and chest.

  Chapter Four

  My body throbbed. I didn’t move, but anyone with a decent set of eyes would be able to see I’d tensed the moment I regained consciousness. I performed a mental check of every inch of skin and bone. A crude cast encased my left arm, and a tight bandage wrapped around my middle, with some kind of cold pack pressed against my back.

  I dared to open my eyes and glance at the room. The gasp of surprise escaped as recognition of the large bedroom seeped into my head. I was at Spade Farms. Rhonda settled me in the room during every visit, luxurious with the deep, comfortable, California king bed, light cream colored walls, and heavy dark green drapes. Sunlight filtered through a gap, enough to take inventory.

  Most of the heavy objects had been removed, no HDTV, lamp, desk and office chair. I attempted to sit up, but the sharp pain of metal around each wrist, and the sound of chains, restricted movements to mere inches.

  “Hey! I have to pee, you bastards!” The words echoed in the empty room, but a scuffing noise from the other side of the door snatched my attention. “Hey! You heard me! Don’t make me piss myself after you broke my arm!”

  The noise of a key unlocking the door was fo
llowed by the light creak of ungreased hinges. A young man walked in with a swagger and nasty smile. He stood about six foot, heavily muscled, sporting a dark tan. His black hair tousled, dark green eyes roaming over my form. He had a rugged handsomeness that would show itself once fully matured. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, wearing time-worn Wranglers, a t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and boots. Something about him tried to trigger memories, but was unable to place him.

  “Come on, little girl, let’s get you to the bathroom.” His voice. The one who grabbed my broken arm at home.

  The memory caused me to growl and shrink back.

  He laughed. “Sorry, honey, but I’m all you’ve got. Or you can piss yourself. Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me.” He stopped in the middle of the room, hooking thumbs in the front pocket of the Wranglers.

  I clenched my jaw. Despite the need to break his perfect nose, using the bathroom carried a bigger priority.

  He chuckled, coming over and unlocking the cuffs. He took two steps back, “Don’t try anything. Unlike my brother, I won’t underestimate you. He’s still nursing the knee you took out.”

  I stood, grabbing the footboard when my legs started to give out. The little punk grabbed my arm, and I wrenched it away.

  He put his hands up, “Hey, just trying to help. Let’s go.” He pointed at the door.

  I shuffled the first few steps, before feeling strong enough to walk normally. I knew the way. The bathroom door was open and I entered, making the movement to close the door.

  “No. I get to watch,” he leered.

  I sucked on my teeth, took a deep breath and released a big sigh. Fine, fuck him. He needed to watch a wounded woman take a piss? I grew up in a house of males, body shyness was not an option. I walked to the toilet, pushed down the boxer shorts and panties, sitting on the toilet and relieving myself.

  “Not shy? Awesome. Great ass, by the way.” He leaned against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed, the epitome of relaxation while enjoying the view.

  “Get your rocks off watching a woman on the toilet? You’re a little shit. Like to know where you came from,” I growled.

  He laughed. “My brother said you were a spitfire. It’ll be great breaking a spirited filly like you. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

  I finished and turned to stand in front of the sink. Out of my peripheral, I could see curly hair sticking up in all directions, and a few dark purple bruises on my cheek. I washed my hands and ran them through my hair, in a vain attempt to calm the bush on top of my head. I felt the ponytail holder tangled in some curls and worked it out. Using fingers to pull it back, I quickly pulled the thick mass into a tight ponytail and used the hand towel to wipe off the sweaters covering my teeth. It’d have to do.

  “Love a woman who cares about her appearance. You’d make one helluva broodmare.”

  I tried to brush past him, but he grabbed my waist and spun me around. He slammed me into the wall and pressed from behind. I could feel how much he enjoyed the last few moments. I tried to pull a hand up to push against the wall and get some leverage. He wrapped the ponytail around his fist and yanked backwards. I yelped.

  “Keep fighting me, please. I love it when a woman fights, bruises are a turn on.”

  “You are one sick puppy. Let go of me.” I wanted to sound strong, commanding.

  It came out weak and breathless.

  “Yes, I am. Accepted it years ago.” He ground his erection into the thin cotton of my boxers, breathing faster as he moaned in my neck.

  I wanted to throw up.

  “Get the fuck off me!” I pulled my head forward, gritting my teeth against the pain. He pulled harder and my head bounced off his chin. The move made for an instant headache, and probably a huge goose egg.

  He screamed and slammed my head into the wall, creating stars. I fought the nausea and oncoming blackness. I wouldn’t pass out again. He let go, and I collapsed.

  “Damn it, Johnny, I told you not to rough her up. She is no good to us if she can’t calm that damn stallion down.”

  I looked at the source of the words. The man who’d come to my ranch, wanting to board Five Alarm. What the hell?

  “If I’d known you were Karen Barnes, I wouldn’t have approached you two days ago. But you’ve grown up. What a beauty you’ve grown into. Look just like your mother.” He reached out and I jerked away. “And inherited her spirit. No wonder Paul Barnes guarded you so zealously. He always had great instincts about people.” He took my elbow, gentle yet commanding. “Come, you need to rest a bit more.”

  “Two days? It’s been two days?” Great questions, Karen, you moron. “You do understand people are going to wonder why I didn’t show at the auction today, or why my horses weren’t delivered on time.” Maybe if he believed I was important, or missed enough, he’d let me go. Wait, he knew my mother? Knew Dad?

  “It was all taken care of, paperwork sent with the horses, and canceled your appearance at the auction. All the other horses were released into the big pasture. We even called your horse sitter. Nobody is going to suspect a thing.”

  Shit. He guided me to the bedroom and stopped at the door.

  “If I let you roam free, do you promise to be a good girl and not try to escape?”

  I gave him the look it deserved.

  “Of course you will. Which will prove entertaining, to say the least. So I am going to allow you freedom within this room. Johnny will continue to stand guard until his brother is able to join us. Lunch is in an hour, I’ll make sure to bring you something.” He turned and closed the door. The key made little noise as the tumblers clicked into place.

  Standing at the door, sore, tired, and a little woozy, I heard a muffled conversation from the other side. I knelt, trying to hear what was said between the two men.

  “Does she know who you are?” Johnny’s muffled voice filtered through the small gap under the door.

  “Knowing her father, I doubt it. He was a secretive son of a bitch. Paul Barnes didn’t even tell her the truth about who he was or about her mother.” The older man’s voice started to fade, as two pairs of footsteps walked away.

  “Can I tell her? I’d love to see the look on her face,” Johnny’s voice faded to nothing.

  I went to the bed and lay down. Dad’s face floated in the air, the strong chin, deep blue eyes, and short, blond hair. I’d only seen pictures of my mother and wondered if what the men said carried any merit. Dad was secretive, that much was true. But what about my mother? What kind of secret did Dad keep from me? I had to find a way out of here, dig into Dad’s past.

  Thoughts skipped around, and I realized they could have put in some kind of surveillance. I needed to look around before I tried to escape and knew the house like the back of my hand. I slitted my eyes and remained still. Carefully glancing around the room, I spotted two cameras, one hidden above the windows and almost concealed in the dark drapes. The second was attached to the high backed chair in a corner, barely visible. It was likely at least two more existed, as neither of them were night vision cameras, and the picture would suck in the dark.

  I questioned why I thought of the older man as highly intelligent and cunning, laying the blame on gut feelings. He knew my family, hinted we’d met when I was young. I continued to flip through as many early memories as I could muster, but no hits. Johnny, the little bastard, I recognized something about his face and build.

  The headache went from throb to full blown, fetal position, squeezing my head, hoping for death, pain. Between the slam into the wall, walking, and now the position I was curled into, my back let me know it was injured and not happy about it.

  Time meant nothing as I attempted to make it through the agony. My arm throbbed, and I let it lie across my hip. I dozed, one ear listening. I jerked awake at the light knock on the door. Frowning at the sudden manners from my jailer, I stared at the door.

  It opened and the older man walked in, carrying a large wooden tray. His loafers made no s
ounds on the thick, pile carpet, and he carried the tray to the bed. I didn’t move. He chuckled and put the tray on the other side. I watched every movement.

  “Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to you at this moment. I need you to handle the stallion.”

  “But I can have a go at her, right, Uncle?” Johnny posed in the doorway.

  “Let her heal first. Injuries are always better when they’re fresh,” he winked at me.

  Fear skittered along my spine, but I kept a neutral expression. They merely wanted to scare me, and while it was working, I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

  “I’m going to enjoy breaking her,” Johnny gloated, his dark green eyes glittering maliciously.

  They paused in the doorway, both staring, but different expressions. I could decipher the lust easily enough, Johnny wasn’t schooled enough to mask it. His uncle, however, let me see what he really wanted, but only enough to tease my fear.

  In a synchronized movement, they left and locked the door.

  Chapter Five

  I woke to a dark room, moonlight slipping past the drapes. I gingerly stood and walked to the window, opening the curtains wide. The dinner tray had not moved, I lifted the lid from the plate. The congealed gravy resembled blood in the moonlight, covering soggy mashed potatoes¸ and what looked like chicken fried steak. My stomach rebelled.

  The throbbing in my body remained tolerable. I tried to lift the tray, but it was off balance and I couldn’t lift properly. The tray tilted, causing the knife and fork to slide off and bounce on the pile carpeting. The dishes clanked against each other as I hastily set the tray down.

  Throat parched, I wanted to drink the bottle of water. Picking it off the tray, I tried the cap it was loose. No telling what they’d done, and I set it aside.

  Sitting on the bed, I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  I tried to remember everything Dad taught me. He was the ultimate survivalist, and in the last years, it became an obsession. Nothing could appease him, and I’d spent those waning teen years learning to live like the Winchester boys in the show Supernatural. But salting and burning everything wouldn’t work in my favor at the moment.