Predator - A Stand Alone Suspense Romance

by Horst, Michelle

  “You or Henry?”

  He knows Henry? The information shocks through my body and I clasp my arms tighter around myself. I shake my head not even answering him.

  “You or Attridge?” he asks again.

  I start to hunch over and wish he would stop now. I don’t want to hear their names. I keep shaking my head.

  “You or Steven?”

  My body jerks and the old shivering returns. “Stop.” It’s a low growl from the back of my throat.

  “I clean up after people. It’s what I do. Your dad and uncle left a mess and I have to clean it up so you can live. You understand that?” He keeps going.

  “Stop … the car,” I wheeze the words out and reach for the door as bile pushes up my throat. Shit, I’m going to be sick. My torso convulses and I press my hand to my mouth.

  I jerk forward as he quickly brings the car to a stop. A moment later the door opens. It’s already building into my mouth by the time he gets my seatbelt off. I lurch forward and fall onto all fours, heaving over the road. Tears mix with a cold sweat dampening my face, while I heave until all that’s left are weak, dry croaks.

  “So much for no one noticing us,” I hear him sigh.

  I’m too drained to be embarrassed and his don’t-give-a-fuck attitude really makes it easier not to care what he thinks of my puking on the side of the highway.

  He presses a bottle to my lips. “Water.” A whisper, not meant to be kind. I rinse my mouth a couple of times but the burn of the bile remains in the back of my throat. I keep the rest of the water as I get back in the car. When he closes the door, I lean my forehead against the cold window.

  He takes hold of my chin and turns my head until I’m looking at him. Murderous eyes bore into mine. “You asked and I don’t lie. I kill but I don’t lie, Cara. Careful what you ask me because you will always get the truth.”

  I nod in his hand to show I understand. I don’t know if I’m scared shitless of him, or if I feel safer knowing what he does. All I know is I’m tired, and I feel old, so very old.

  When he finally stops in front of a house, I can’t see much of it in the dark. I can make out that it’s big and old, but that’s it.

  I follow Damian to the front door, but I make sure to keep a safe distance. He unlocks the door and then he disappears inside. I see a light go on somewhere inside and then I take a step closer. I peek inside and can only see a glimpse of what looks like a living room, a set of stairs going up and a small passage to the right.

  I glance over my shoulder and peer into the darkness.

  Can I trust this man not to hurt me? Should I rather make a run for it?

  For a moment the urge to run is overwhelming, and I panic. I turn away from the front door and move as quick as I can. I race down the porch steps and almost miss the last one.

  That’s about as far I make it. The quick movements and panic depletes my energy like starving leeches. I grab hold of the railing and take a few deep breaths, and then a hopeless sound escapes over my lips. I have no choice but to stay. I’m in too much pain to be on the run.

  I glance back at the open door and I’m shocked when I see Damian leaning against the wall right at the foot of the stairs. His eyes are on me, as if he’s patiently waiting for me to decide whether I’m staying or running.

  My shoulders slump wearily and I take the stairs slowly back up to the porch. I suck in another deep breath and then step into the house where I’ll either be able to lick my wounds, or where I’ll be killed.

  My heart starts to race at the thought and I keep my face down. I’m so fucking tired. My chin starts to tremble with tears as the hopeless feeling suffocates me.

  “Let me show you around and then you can go sleep,” Damian whispers.

  The living room is large. The kitchen looks normal, and then we head upstairs. He’s patient as I take one stair at a time. Sweat beads on my forehead and my body starts to tremble from all the effort it’s taking to just stay on my feet. When I reach the top of the stairs my head starts to spin and I feel nauseous. I want to sleep and never wake up.

  There are three bedrooms. Two have beds in them, nothing else. I don’t get to see the third room so I guess it’s his. There are also stairs leading up to an attic. He grumbles something about staying out of the attic.

  There’s a full bathroom upstairs and a toilet downstairs. We share the bathroom. The house has an old and empty feel about it, but I couldn’t care less.

  I use the last of my energy to walk to the bed and I sit down heavily. I could cry with relief.

  “Cara.” I look at the faded blue bedspread. It reminds me of water. “Cara!” Damian says louder. I flinch at the volume of his voice and look up at him.

  “Sorry,” I try to smile, but my lips feel weird.

  He looks at the bed and then at me. “There are other covers in the closet down the hall. Change it if you don’t like these. There are some clothes in that cupboard,” he points to the one taking up most of the wall right behind me, “they might be a bit big. You lost weight. We’ll fix that.” He turns around but stops. “I have a question.” He waits, as if he’s waiting for my permission.

  “Yeah?” I fold my hands together on my lap and interlace my fingers tightly.

  I wish he’d leave so I can sleep. I swallow hard on the desperate tears that are making my throat ache.

  “You’ve been hiding for seven years.” It’s not a question. I don’t understand where he’s going with this. “So, I’m a bit confused.” He frowns. “I’m confused about a lot of the things you did to get yourself into this mess.” I’m still waiting for the question with a heart that’s picking up speed real fast. “They found you in the middle of nowhere.” My breath hitches and I hear the accusation. I hear the same accusation from him that’s been taunting me in my own conscience. “Either you forgot that there were people after you and you got too comfortable, or you practically handed yourself over. Which is it?” There’s the question. Something bubbles up inside of me ... something horrible and desperate.

  “You bastard!” I hiss at him and the tears I’ve been fighting threaten to spill over my flaming cheeks. “You know …” My voice disappears as anger chokes me but I squeeze the word out, “nothing.”

  He lifts an eyebrow and it makes him look even more menacing. “I know every detail about you. I know every … single … thing,” he bites out the words.

  I shake my head as an overwhelming feeling of humiliation threatens to suffocate me.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into? I can’t stay here. But … shit, it’s either the death sentence hanging over my head – or this man’s mercy. I don’t know which is worse right now.

  “I didn’t …” I gasp and grind my teeth together as the tears press harder against the back of my eyelids. “I didn’t know,” I force the words out.

  A smile tugs at his lips and I almost choke on the anger that’s burning a hole in my chest. I’m disappointed in myself. I let him get to me.

  “I didn’t know … what?” he repeats my words and tears of hot anger scorch down my cheeks, finally breaking through my barriers.

  “I didn’t know who was after me!” I scream at him.

  “I didn’t know you could get angry but it’s good to know,” he says and I want to scream. I want to grab something and throw it at him. I want to hit him until he hurts the way I’m hurting. But I just stare as he leaves in his quiet manner. He leaves me with my anger and I realize that was the point of it all – he wants me to feel something … anything. If only he knew that with feeling comes unspeakable pain.

  I fall back onto the bed and I let the tears flow. I don’t move as the sun glides through the room. I just let the anger ebb away until all that remains is the empty shell.

  I hear the key rattle in the door and my insides turn to stone. I try to switch off. It’s hard to see, there’s no blinding light and I’m thankful for it. It only makes everything more real, and my swollen eyes water and burn.

 
I hear movement and I stiffen painfully. I press harder into the cold floor. I can’t take another beating. I can’t handle being raped again. I have nothing left to fight with.

  “Oh, Cara,” I hear Steven whisper resentfully and I squeeze myself harder against the floor. “Why do you have to be so damn fuckable?”

  I place a hand over my mouth to keep from breathing too loudly. I will my heartbeat to slow down, to not pound until he can hear it too.

  “Just remember,” he whispers darkly and then I hear him move closer, “this is all your fault.”

  My heart stops. My world stops.

  He’s suddenly on top of me and I start to fight with strength I didn’t know I had.

  I claw at him until I have his skin under my nails. When he tries to kiss me, I bite until I taste his blood.

  His hands are all over my torso and when he squeezes my breasts painfully, I can’t think as the fear I thought I’ve gotten to know so well thickens, blackens and oozes into me, until I stop trembling.

  As his hands move lower, I start to heave and bile pushes up my throat. He rolls me over as I start to vomit. I feel him press into my back and as he moves the filthy panties to the side, I start to choke. He rams into me and at the same time he grabs a fistful of hair and he presses my face into the vomit. I keep choking and start to fight for air until the familiar darkness sucks me under.

  I shoot up and roll away. I fall to the hard floor in the dark room and then kick at the tangled sheets around my legs. My breaths are ragged, short bursts of terror. The door slams open and light spills into the room.

  Damian just looks at me. Our eyes meet for an intense moment before he says, “I made coffee. You might want to come and have some.” It’s not a question. I nod and get up off the floor. My body aches from the fall, but I do my best to not let the pain show on my face. I don’t look back at the bed and brush by him as I hurry out of the room.

  I almost turn into the living room when Damian takes hold of my elbow.

  “Kitchen’s this way,” he says and tugs lightly for me to change direction. He lets go immediately. He never touches me unless he really has to and I’m so thankful for that. He’s the coldest person on the face of the planet, but for some reason it feels comforting.

  The kitchen light is bright and it brings me to a dead stop. My heart skips a beat before it continues pounding heavily. I take a few deep breaths as Damian walks by me.

  It feels as if the walls are closing in on me.

  Damian gives me a dark look before pouring coffee into a green mug. I watch him add one sugar and milk. I watch his wrist work as he stirs and then he leaves the green mug on the counter.

  My eyes follow him across the kitchen as he puts the milk back in the fridge. He takes a bottle of water and as he unscrews the cap, he leans against the counter. Casually, his body exudes comfort with his legs stretched out in front of him. I watch his throat work the water down until I see the black ink.

  “Your coffee’s getting cold, Cara,” he says, yanking me out of my fear-induced stupor.

  “You’re not having any?” I ask, my voice sounding raspy. I clear my throat and with a trembling hand I brush some hair from my face.

  He takes another sip of water and it doesn’t look like he’s going to answer me. Slowly, I walk over to the cup while keeping one eye on him. I pick up the mug and savor the warmth seeping into my fingers.

  “I don’t drink coffee.” It’s the first normal thing I learn about him. He drinks water, no coffee.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” I swallow the lump down with a hot sip of coffee. “How did you find out about me?” I ask while staring at the caramel liquid in my hands.

  “Your uncle,” he says. “He gave me your basics. That you still have a lot to learn at twenty-five, I learned from how easily they found you.” My eyes snap up and anger starts to coil in my gut.

  “Let me get this straight.” He caps the bottle of water and places it on the counter. “Tom organizes a whole new identity for you, a shitty one may I add, and you manage to hide for seven years … and then you just let them take you.”

  I don’t think it’s a question. It doesn’t sound like one so I just stare at his chest. I try to breathe and exhale at the same time he does, but I need more air and my breathing speeds up.

  “You survive an attack in which your parents are killed,” his voice drops with warning and the hair on my body rises, “and yet you still put yourself out there for them to get you?”

  I put the cup down before I drop it and keep my body turned sideways, away from him. My anger at him fizzles away because he’s right. “I got careless,” I whisper wretchedly. “I forgot for one stupid moment that I wasn’t allowed to have a normal life.”

  “There is no such thing as normal,” he says icily. “People like us, like you and me,” he waves carelessly between us, “are far from normal. We blend in until we become nothing more than shadows. You have to make people look the other way.” As he takes a breath I realize this is my first lesson from him on how to survive without an identity. He’s going to show me how to become a shadow … like him.

  I have to depend on a killer, a cleaner, whatever he wants to call himself. He is standing here because of me, and if I choose to stay with him then he will still be here tomorrow. It’s guaranteed that he will be here. I haven’t had any guarantees except the death sentence hanging over my head for so long, but I’m still not sure about him or his agenda.

  “How long will I stay with you?” My voice is thick in my throat. I’ve never stayed with someone, not since my parents.

  “Unfortunately, life dealt you a shitty hand,” he begins. One thing about Damian is that he loves eye contact. It’s hard to keep eye contact with him but this time I force my eyes up to his. “You have one of two choices, Cara. You either stay here.” He doesn’t elaborate what that would entail. “I’m busy arranging a new identity for you. The papers will be here in two weeks. If you decide to do this, to stay here,” he adds quickly, “you’re not gonna bail on me one day. You can’t wake up and decide this is not the life you want.” I feel him move, as if even the air rushes to give way before him.

  I blink once when he gets close to me, and then I keep dead still. His eyes hold mine as he presses the air away between us until there is almost nothing but our clothes. My heart starts off with heavy beats. He wraps his fingers around the back of my neck, and the air rushes from my parted lips. For the first time fear for this man coils deadly inside of my stomach, waiting to be released.

  “It will be a life where you’re alive. I can only promise to keep you alive.” A muscle starts to jump on the side of his jaw, right above his beard. I hear him inhale. I hear a bird call somewhere. I hear ticking of a clock. I hear a lot, but I only see that ticking muscle. It looks like a bomb that’s ready to blow at any second.

  I nod and it makes me more aware of his fingers on the back of my neck. I have two choices; one, I stay with him, this killer, and only the Lord knows what will happen. Or two, I take my chances out there and I know they will find me again. I will die this time because he won’t come for me again. This is my only chance at staying alive.

  It sucks when your life depends on a total stranger. I drag in a deep breath and my lungs are instantly filled with his manly scent. I take hold of his arm to steady myself. My legs feel weak. When I pull his hand away from my neck, I try to smile, but I don’t think I’m very successful.

  “I guess you’re stuck with me then.” I don’t sound very convincing. I sound fucking petrified.

  As I walk back to the room, I grasp what happened in the kitchen … that was the closest Damian ever got to me, and it was only to warn me to not fuck with him. I wonder for the first time what happened to turn him into stone.

  Damian~

  I watch her leave the kitchen and then I finish my bottle of water. I take two frozen meals from the freezer so they can defrost.

  When I go upstairs I hear the shower running. That’s
a good sign. It’s one less thing I have to tell her to do. As I pass by the bathroom I notice the door’s not closed all the way. She doesn’t close any doors behind her. Must be because they kept her in the container. She’ll have to deal with her shit sometime, but that’s not my problem.

  I get the first aid kit and then go wait in her room for her. Soon she’ll be able to do this for herself too.

  I stand by the window when I hear the bathroom door creak. I hear her stop by the door and I can feel her eyes on me, but when I turn around they drop to the floor.

  “How do you feel?” I ask. I walk to her and look over her bruises. They’re starting to fade. The burn on her cheek might leave a scar, which is a pity.

  I watch her cheeks grow pink under my inspection.

  “Confused, miserable, frightened, ashamed … pretty much like a coward,” she rambles honestly to my surprise. Her shoulders slump and then she whispers, “Okay.” She clears her throat and then louder, “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” I take hold of her elbow, making sure my touch is light. I’ve noticed that she doesn’t like being touched, which suits me just fine. “How’s the pain?” I steer her to the bed and then wait for her to sit.

  She hesitates at first and then she lets the word out with a harsh breath, “Better.” She sits down but squirms uncomfortably, and I know it’s because of me. I’ll have to watch the memory cards we got from the house to see what happened to her, so I’ll know how to handle her.

  She’s so different from the other women I’ve saved. Usually they cling, and they need comfort, but she’s the total opposite. Maybe she has some fight left in her.

  “Remove the sweater.” I keep my voice neutral. It seems to put her at ease if I’m as cold as possible with her.

  I open the first aid kit. “From tomorrow I want you to do this yourself until your wounds are healed.”

  I watch as she takes hold of the sweater. Her fingers dig into the material and her knuckles go white.

  “I,” she clears her throat again and then she hugs herself, “I can manage. You don’t need to do it.”