Fractured Steel

by T. J. Loveless

  Rolling my shoulders, I tried to relax. Eyes slitted, I hoped to get more details, possibly find the other cameras. I saw a slight glimmer of weak light bounce off a lens above the bed. Standing, I created a trail around the room. By the fifth circuit, more cameras were located, making a total of eight.

  Now what?

  Memory conjured an elk hunting trip when I was seventeen. Dad felled a bull, and he stopped midway to the fresh kill. He crouched, giving the hand signal to follow his lead. I couldn’t find the source of whatever spooked him and waited. Pointing two fingers at his eyes, then away, he signaled at a far aspen grove. I searched, trying to find the object. A slight movement, and I met the cougar’s cold, magnificent, yellow eyes. The big cat didn’t care if we lived or died, he was after food. Whether us or the elk, it didn’t matter.

  I shivered in the cold, yellow gaze.

  The smell of blood attracted predators, but to be that quick, I understood he must have been stalking us for some time. I’d had no clue.

  I froze, hoping not to set off his prey drive, but Dad stood and fired a shot. The bullet grazed the tree in front of the big cat, just above the head. The cat hissed and sprinted away.

  “Sometimes, Karen, you have to face the bigger predator, not to kill, but to scare it off. Most predators prefer an easy kill.” He continued walking to the elk.

  I shook off the memory, but kept the lesson. I was the prey at the moment, without a gun. Neither was I an easy kill. I’d have to follow both examples from when I was seventeen. I’d have to stalk and figure out how to fell my own prey.

  I paced, keeping an eye on the door. The hall light was on, and shadows passed along the floors. One stopped and I tensed. The key in the lock and a light clicking sound gave little warning.

  “Up and around, I see. I’ll take the tray,” the older man flicked the switch, and I blinked in the bright light. “Johnny has been begging to take the new filly for a ride.” He smiled and left, leaving the door open.

  I took two steps forward, but stopped when the little bastard appeared, wearing new jeans, and a t-shirt with “No Fat Chicks” emblazoned across the chest. He walked into the bedroom, closing the door and locking it. He put the key in the jean’s front pocket.

  “I’ve been given permission. I promise not to break anything,” he grinned, and stalked me.

  I stopped in the middle of the room. We made two full circuits, but if a person learned one thing training horses, whoever made the feet move was boss.

  He smiled and pushed into my personal space. I wanted to move backwards, to get away. Whatever happened next was going to hurt, one way or another. He stood so close a deep breath would make us touch. He looked down, and for the first time, I was distinctly aware I wore no bra. I wasn’t big enough to really need one, but in this moment, the more clothing the better.

  “Ah, found your spine. The more you struggle, the better it is for me.” Lightning fast, a hand was around my throat and squeezing.

  I couldn’t stop the reaction. My knee rose, but he moved and I managed to hit the meatiest part of his inner thigh. Hearing his laugh caused sweat to pour down my neck and back. His fingers tightened, and I fought to breathe.

  “I can smell your fear.”

  My hand rose and gripped his wrist, attempting to push him off. He pulled me closer. I smelled cinnamon toothpaste, and bile rose, stinging. Eyes watering, I jerked backwards, loosening his hold long enough to get a good breath.

  He leaned close, taking a deep breath, “Oh yes, keep fighting me, let the fear ratchet up.” His voice lowered to the sound a man makes when turned on.

  I wanted to scream, to kick, to run away, but an arm banded around my waist and found the pack still tied in place. With three quick moves, it fell away. He put a hand over the injury, just above my waist, and hit it.

  I screamed.

  “Oh god, yes. That’s what I want.” He loosened his fingers, letting me breathe, and repeated the hit.

  I struggled, but he quit, and pulled me closer until I could barely move. Scenarios of rape flitted through my brain, and I raised my legs in a last ditch effort.

  He couldn’t hold the weight and I dropped to the floor with an agonizing bounce. I rolled onto my knees and tried to crawl away.

  “Man, that is a fantastic ass! With your blue eyes and dark brown hair, it’s no wonder you managed to keep a boyfriend for a decade.”

  I looked over a shoulder, in time to see a booted foot connect with my right hip. I rolled, stunned. Everything ached, my back, my legs, my hips, my butt, my arm, my head. I lay still, whimpering.

  He grabbed the ponytail and pulled upwards, until I was on my knees. A hand gripped his wrist, digging into the soft flesh on the underside, between the ligaments. He punched me.

  I fell limp. Stars filled the room, a fog covering all thoughts. I had no strength, nothing to fight with. I couldn’t take any more.

  He pulled on the ponytail a second time, whipping off the oversized t-shirt. “Nice tits.” He yanked my head back, forcing my chest out and up. Taking one breast, he squeezed until I whimpered. Leaning down, taking a nipple into his mouth, he bit hard. I screamed. He repeated with the other one.

  I broke. Emotions fell away, the agony a dream. Everything was foggy, with a warm, fuzzy feel. I stopped struggling, and he chuckled. My arm fell backwards, hitting the carpet. He yanked on my boxers, managing to get them halfway down. His hand went between my thighs, using several fingers to sodomize me. I felt the soft flesh tear, and warm liquid dripped on the floor.

  A metallic feeling on the back of a hand caught my attention. He continued to bite and rip into me, blood flowing freely from my breasts and down my stomach, the vaginal tears making my thighs sticky. But the cold feeling was more important. I tried to see, unable to turn my head, and glimpsed the shine of metal.

  The butter knife.

  Wrapped in fog and muffled emotions, I pictured the possible damage to his body. Moving in slow motions, I grabbed the butter knife.

  “Hey, you little fuck. Should have cleaned the room better.” Mustering every ounce of strength, I shoved the knife into the side of his ribcage, but bounced when the bone resisted. I stabbed again, going for his waist. I smiled when his skin and muscle gave way to the dull cutlery, blood pooling across my hand. I jerked back, leaving the knife sticking out of his side.

  He let go of me and rolled away, yelling and grabbing at the wound. “You’ll die for this!”

  “Seems to me you’re the one running away,” I gasped. I lay on the carpet, face swelling, no part of my body without injury. Yet managed a bloody smile as he slammed the door. I waited, listened. He didn’t stop to lock it.

  My chance to escape arrived, and I was too weak to make the most of it.

  Chapter Six

  I lay on the carpet, a mass of bleeding agony, counting each breath a small victory. I rolled onto hands and knees, pulled the boxers up, and managed to put the brown t-shirt on. The bleeding slowed, but it didn’t take long for the blood to soak through the clothes. I needed stitches, but didn’t think a doctor was handy, and was sure no one would take me to the ER.

  Despite the pounding in my ears, I listened for the footsteps bringing retribution. Nothing. I crawled to the bed, ignoring the tears, and using the footboard, climbed onto the bed. Laying on my back, I tried to think of a way out, to escape without more injuries. Resulting in a blank inner screen.

  The light filtering through the drapes announced the arrival of dawn, and slowly changed to a sun filled morning. I remained still, hoping the sharp pain would dull to a nice throb.

  The sound of boots caused alarm, but my broken body couldn’t remain tense without severe consequences. I forced the muscles to relax, and waited. The key sounded in the lock and hinges whispered as the heavy door opened.

  I glanced at the doorway. A strange man walked in and shut the door. He carried a bottle of water and a small pill bottle. Putting a finger over pursed lips, he made a “shhh” sound. I stared
.

  A baseball cap, pulled low, concealed his face. He walked to the bed, movements graceful and predatory. My mind screamed in anticipation of more agony. I raised my hands to ward off an attack. I couldn’t fight off a mosquito, much less a strong, healthy male.

  He put the two bottles on the ground next to the bed and reached behind me, whispering, “The cameras are temporarily disabled. I have, maybe, ninety seconds. Take the pills and hide the bottle under your pillow. Drink the water quickly.” He grabbed the two bottles off the floor and handed them to me.

  I snatched them, ignoring the sharp reminders of the earlier episode with Johnny. I downed two pills and half the bottle of water. Once done, I shoved them under the other pillow. He helped reposition my upper body, and moved back.

  “I can’t say or do anything right now. Johnny is nursing the wounds, but he’ll be back. He’s going to get revenge, and it’s going to be painful. Rupert, his uncle, is pissed. Work it to your advantage. I have to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He turned on a booted heel and left.

  The pills took effect, dulling the pain enough to move. Maneuvering slowly, I managed to sit up, wondering what to do next. Slipping off the bed, I gained balance and shuffled to the window, pushed the drapes aside and sighed at the view.

  The guest bedroom overlooked the south pasture, filled with mares of various colors and sizes. I could see a few in late pregnancy, and new foals scampering next to their dams. Overseeing the herd, Five Alarm. The stallion stood at attention, on high alert. His coat shone a new copper penny color, the wide blaze identical to Ringing Alarm’s. One ear swung around, and he snorted, pacing at the back of the herd. The mares lifted their heads in unison, and trotted for the far pastures.

  A man walk into the pasture, holding a halter and rope, but Five wasn’t having any of it. He reared, lashing out. Coming down, hooves tearing into the earth, he rushed the man, teeth bared. The man moved gracefully to the side, swinging the rope at the stallion. Five sidestepped and charged again.

  The two began a deadly dance, and I was helpless to turn away. The man showed awareness of every move Five Alarm made, keeping out of range of the powerful teeth and hooves. He swung the rope, moving Five in a different direction. Neither gave ground.

  The lead mare, champion Pops Fine Lena, left her place at the front of the herd, and ran at the man when Five Alarm emitted a sound of rage. The man whirled, too late, at the sound of pounding hooves. Pops ran him down, knocking the male five feet and following. She and Five Alarm attempted to pound the man into the ground with steel shod hooves, but he rolled out of the way.

  I smiled as he gained footing and ran out of the pasture, leaving behind the halter and rope. Dropping the drapes, I shuffled to the bed and crawled in. As I threw the duvet over my legs, a sense of relief surged.

  At least Five Alarm could fight off his captors, but for how long? Jerry had a tranquilizer gun in the stables. If found, the men could bring Five down easily and cart him off. The only thing saving the stallion was the fact they couldn’t get near him. What did they want with Five Alarm, anyway? Worth millions, ransom might be one reason, but it didn’t ring true. Why on earth would anyone want to deal with a horse known for a deadly attitude? Selling wasn’t really an option, killing him out of the question. As popular, and well known, as Five was, they would not do themselves any favors. None of it made any sense.

  Warning bells rang in my head, loud and clear. A few pieces clicked into place. I understood why they kidnapped me. Five Alarm was known for being hell to handle, until saddled. Only three people could work with the big stallion and walk away. Jerry and Five’s groom, Brent Hollingsworth, were two. I was the third.

  Chapter Seven

  Rupert brought dinner, carefully setting it on the bed. I limped as far away as possible, ignoring the laughter. His eyes roamed over me, the blood soaked t-shirt, and the line of liquid trickling down my thighs. I needed medical care, the slow, steady blood loss left me weak and dizzy.

  “I see my nephew had a lot of fun before you injured him. He’s right, you’d make a damn fine broodmare,” he sneered.

  I stared, standing straight, arms at my side, meeting his cold, faded green eyes.

  “I’ll send someone in to see to your wounds. I need you nice and healthy to handle Five Alarm.” He turned to leave.

  “What …” I croaked. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “What happened to Jerry and Rhonda?”

  “Oh, Johnny didn’t tell you? They are buried behind the stables. Gave them a wonderful Viking send off, too.” He smiled and left.

  I wrapped the good arm around my waist, folding in on myself. Blinking rapidly, I took several deep breaths, trying to calm the riot of thoughts. Now is not the time. Later, do it later.

  I walked to the bed, noting the trails of red drops scattered across the carpet. I could feel the injuries near my cervix and vaginal opening, the throbbing around my nipples steady. I swallowed and took the dome off the plate. Settled in the middle of the plate, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a large chunk of crusty bread sat on a plate, and a bottle of water. I tested the cap. It was sealed.

  I ignored the lack of appetite, I needed something to keep at least a modicum of strength. I ate slow spoonfuls of the savory soup, drinking greedily from the water bottle. My stomach rebelled. I took chunks of the bread, dipped them in the broth. I wondered whether or not they’d drugged it, but it didn’t matter. I was weak, and couldn’t fight a fly.

  A light knock on the door brought my head up and I waited to see who the next abuser was going to be. An older woman walked in, carrying a basket filled with gauze, several bottles of liquid, and what looked like a small sewing kit.

  “It’s just me, honey. Don’t fight me please. I’ve had enough of blood and death to last a lifetime,” her eyes met mine. She drowned in fear. “I’m here to see to your wounds.” She glanced around the room, eyes stopping at the trails of blood around the bed. “Damn it. Come on, let’s get you taken care of. I don’t have an x-ray, but I can manually reset the break in your arm. It’s going to hurt like hell.” She looked me square in the eyes.

  I nodded.

  Over the next hour, I screamed into a pillow, as she sewed the worst of the injuries. She reset the broken radius in my left arm, and slathered copious amounts of a foul smelling gel over the multiple bruises and lacerations. I throbbed everywhere.

  “Can I have a bath?” I whispered, wondering if it would ever end.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced around the room. In a whisper so low I almost missed it, “I heard Rupert say he wanted you healed to handle the stallion, plans to transport the horse to another location. Don’t fight him. Survival is your top priority.” She squeezed my good hand, gathered the supplies and left.

  I lay on the bed, trying to think past the pain. Spade Farms was in the middle of nowhere, but surely Jerry would be missed on the show circuit by now. Five was due to be in three competitions over the next two weeks, and for a breeding stallion, he had to continue showing talent. A no show could take breeding appointments off the table, and in this business, the cancellations meant major monetary losses.

  For me it was an entirely different situation. Only Jake would miss me, but he would think I was at auctions and head on the road with Maverick. I cursed the hermit lifestyle.

  The door opened, and the woman walked in with a handful of towels and scrubs. Behind her, Rupert smiled and stood in the door.

  “Come, Karen, we’ll allow you a bath. Beth will help you. The bathroom door must remain open at all times.” He gave a gentlemanly, sweeping gesture to the hallway.

  Beth helped me stand, and with an arm slung over her shoulder, I hobbled to the bathroom. Rupert watched every move, the benign smile never leaving his expression.

  Beth stood nearby, as I showered, scrubbing my back. I could feel her shaking hands, the horror of our situation sending light shocks down my skin. I peeked over a shoulder, gave her a small smile. A tear slipped down her che
ek, and she let it fall. Her hand held my shoulder as I tried to lean over, and in a moment of understanding, I put my hand over hers and pressed. She returned the gesture.

  Scrubbed of the dried blood and stink, Beth helped dress me in a pair of lavender scrubs and a pair of Crocs. I frowned, but when she looked at me, I barely held a gasp, her face a mask of terror.

  We returned to the bedroom, cleaned while I bathed. I sat on the new linen and looked at the door, where Beth and Rupert remained.

  “You will have three days to heal, and then you’ll load Five Alarm so we can be off. I have plans for the horse, and you’ll help me.” He put a hand on Beth’s shoulder, the other behind his back.

  “Why would I help you steal him?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot the horse and kill you.” He showed his hand, flashing a wicked looking hunting knife. “Just so you know I’m not kidding.” In a fast movement, he slashed Beth’s throat.

  I took a step forward, reaching out, an immediate, and futile reaction to stop him. It was too late.

  He opened her jugular and blood spurted in grotesque arcs across the carpet. She clawed at her throat, and time slowed. It rained crimson, filling the air with the smell of copper pennies, every heartbeat forcing her life into the bedroom. The light in her eyes dimmed, and she fell. I counted ten heartbeats, and the spark of life disappeared.

  I gaped, wanting to scream, but unable to. I shook so hard my teeth clattered, heart pounding.

  “As I said, Karen, I am not playing games. You will handle Five Alarm and do exactly as I ask you. Do you understand me?” He gave a wide smile.

  I nodded.

  Rupert left, and the man from earlier walked into the bedroom, carrying a rug. He rolled Beth’s body into it, wrapping a rope around the middle, and tying the ends of the rug closed. Dragging the body into the hallway, he returned with a shop vac and several bottles of carpet cleaners. In twenty minutes, the beige carpet was cleaned, with only a darkened area of wet fibers.