by E. K. Blair
“Then you need to find a way to make him care,” he sneers before backhanding me so hard I fall out of the chair and onto the floor.
My vision fades for a moment when my head hits the concrete, and my urge to attack fumes inside, but I’m bound and useless.
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my family,” he tells me and then steps away.
Staring up at him, my frustration multiplies, and since I can’t knock the shit out of him, I attack with my words.
“Even with Bennett’s dick inside your wife? Would you have done anything for her in that moment?”
“Your lies are humorous.”
I don’t acknowledge his denial as I continue antagonizing him, spitting my words, “Did you enjoy fucking her when my husband’s cum was still inside her filthy pussy?”
He stomps back over to me, and I laugh to just piss him off even more. He grabs my hair, and immediately shuts me up when he balls his fist and punches the side of my face. Everything turns bright white, and my mouth fills with blood from where my teeth puncture the inside of my cheek.
Writhing in agony, I groan in exploding pain from my head. My skull thumps hard, and I can’t open my eyes because it hurts too much. And the next thing I know, he covers my mouth again with tape.
The pain in my head increases as time passes. I’ve got my body pressed against the wall as I continue to lie here, and I wish he would just knock me unconscious to put me out of my misery.
When Richard walks out of the room and into the corridor, I make an attempt to break the tape as I twist my wrists, but it’s not budging. I roll off my side and onto my stomach before I start grazing the side of my face along the floor. When I start to feel the corner of the tape pull away from my mouth, I press my face down harder, rolling it to try and catch more of the tape to pull it off. Once I feel the tape peel off the corner of my lips, I use my tongue to push it off, and when I can move my mouth and speak, I wait for Richard to return.
I can hear him talking to someone on the phone, but I can’t make out what’s being said. After a while, he returns, and I keep my voice as free from hostility as I can when I say, “It’s true.”
His eyes meet mine, and I add, “They did a DNA test that Bennett kept in his safety deposit box. Bennett left him everything. I couldn’t believe it when I found out, but it’s true.”
“Tit for tat?” he says, confusing me.
“What does that mean?”
He then pulls his chair around to me and sits as I lie here, staring up at him.
“You hurt me, I hurt you.”
My brows pinch together, not understanding his riddled words.
He continues, “I’ve got nothing to lose, and unless I get my money, you’re not walking out of here alive. And from what I remember of your father, he wasn’t much of a fighter, so I have a feeling your days are numbered as his were.”
“Fuck you!” I snarl at him for speaking shit about my dad. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughs at me, revealing, “I know more than you think, little girl. You see, I knew your father.”
My chest palpitates anxiously when he says this, and a thousand questions flood.
“Steve and I go way back.”
I don’t want to believe Richard had anything to do with my dad, or that my dad had anything to do with him. But . . . if he were still alive, he’d be right around Richard’s age, so there’s possibility in what he claims. But how?
“When Bennett had me following you, I started digging into your past. When all the pieces came together, I couldn’t believe the Archer girl had been right in front of my face for years. I should’ve known you’d turn to pulling cons. At first, I thought I was your target when I was convinced you knew who I was. But when I started thinking back, I realized you didn’t. I knew then it was Bennett you were after. But I still don’t know why.”
“Why would I be after you?” I question in terror, wondering who this guy really is.
“Maybe you blamed me for what happened.”
“Tell me how you knew my dad.”
“There’s a lot I can teach you, you know? You were pretty good at fooling Bennett for all those years, but whatever it was you were trying to do, you moved too slowly and didn’t properly assess the people you were surrounding yourself with.”
“Tell me,” I demand as I struggle to keep my tears back because just talking about my dad has me falling apart. He’s my weakness, my softest part, and now I fear Richard has something to do with me losing him. “Tell me!”
“Call Declan.”
“What? I don’t have his number.”
“Then we wait,” he says. “I know he’s in London and will be returning tomorrow. You’ll call his landline then.”
“Tell me how you know my father, Richard. You want to hurt me? Is that what you want? Then just tell me, because anything you have to say about him will surely be a dagger.”
“That’s too easy.”
Richard then leaves me to be as he moves to the other side of the room and sits. I struggle to get comfortable with my hands still taped together. I lie on the cold concrete and rest my cut cheek to the ground to help soothe the ache that pulses through the gash. My head weighs heavy in an excruciating headache, and I close my eyes to drown out the cheap fluorescent lighting, but the buzzing from the bulbs keeps me agitated.
Hours pass as I drift in and out, and when the fog from all the high-strung emotions begins to clear, I’m finally able to focus. I run through everything Richard has told me, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on, when I remember his claim.
Guns.
MY MEETINGS HAVE been long, sitting around and listening to several architectural firms make their presentations and going over the bids for the job. This will be another boutique hotel that will cater to wealth, and above all, privacy. Lotus was my first solo venture, and it has proven to be a success in the few months it’s been open. We maintain an exclusive clientele, which the city of Chicago was in desperate need of. It’s full service in every luxury accommodation, selective on who’s approved to book a room, and the London property will be the same.
I ring the house as I head back to the hotel for some much needed sleep. It’s late, and I’m at my end.
It feels strange to have Elizabeth in my home, as if she’s more than just a houseguest. She has me on mental overload. There are times I see her and I want to smash her face against a wall because my anger is too much to contain. And then there are times I look at her and I wish it could be like before with us. In those moments, I want to touch her and inhale her soft scent. I want to feel her, lick her, taste her, fuck her. I want it all, but my heart refuses to get too close to her.
She’s the devil’s angel.
The moment I start crossing lines, I shut down. It’s not even something I consciously realize I’m doing, it just happens. One moment, I want my tongue tasting her sweet mouth, and the next, I want to rip more of her hair out.
Fucking her outside against my house yesterday was a twisted delight I selfishly indulged in. When I saw her from my office window, sitting on the ground, I saw someone so broken that I doubted her malice. In that moment, I let my guard down and got tangled up in the moment. And nothing can deny the solace that consumed me when I sunk my cock inside of her sweet pussy. Having her snug around me, Jesus, no woman has ever felt as good as her. But her warmth and comfort are merely an illusion. She’s a magician’s ruse that I stupidly fall for repeatedly.
She’s evil and duplicitous, and yet a part of me wants her—a very disturbed part of me. Because no one in their right mind would want anything to do with the widow who injects her poison with self-serving motivations. For some reason, in knowing what a con she is, I don’t want her to leave. A part of me feels sorry for her. I pity her. I’ve never seen a person at a lower point than she is at right now. This has to be her rock bottom because I’d hate to see what would happen if she got any lower.
; Her body is branded in self-inflicted abuse. She craves the moment that she can hurt herself. I know Elizabeth is a sick woman who needs help, and the dark part of my soul wants to be the one to offer it. It’s screwed up, because I also want to punish her.
When I told her to strip down last night, my plan was to humiliate her by having her perched on the ground as I had instructed. I left her to grab some rope because I had every intention of punishing her. I was walking around the house with a hard-on just thinking about it. My mind was consumed with visions of her tied up while I slapped her pussy and tits until they welted up red, picturing my cock shoved down her throat, gagging her, just so I could see tears fall down her rosy cheeks.
Even now that I know about all that she endured as a little girl at the hands of her foster dad, I still wanted to debase her like that. It’s wrong; I know it, which is why I didn’t return to her. I couldn’t allow myself the pleasure that would just solidify the savage I fear I am—the savage she groomed me to be. But I hurt her anyway, and when I went to her room and saw the mortified look on her face, I hated myself in that moment.
There’s no answer when I call, so I hang up and dial my home again.
Nothing.
She’s probably outside.
I pull up the security app on my phone to log into my home system. Once it’s connected, I tap on each camera to view the rooms in the house. From the kitchen to the library, atrium, bedrooms, dining room, office, roof . . . nothing. I then flip over to the outdoor cameras and check the grotto, backyard, and various cameras that overlook most of the grounds. No sign of anyone. When I tap to view the garage, I notice my Mercedes roadster is missing, which explains why she’s nowhere to be seen. Irritation scathes me, not knowing what she’s up to or where she is.
I hate not knowing details, especially when it comes to her. I know I’m controlling and overbearing, but it’s the only way I know how to function without losing my shit.
She no longer has her old cell phone, and I haven’t seen a new one, so I don’t have a way of contacting her.
I decide to call Lachlan. I told him to stop following her because I didn’t like how involved he was getting in her life, but I swallow my pride, and call him anyway.
“McKinnon, how did the meetings go?” he says when he answers.
“Good,” I snip. “Look, I’m trying to get ahold of Elizabeth, but she isn’t at home and I don’t have a cell number for her.”
As soon as I have her number, I hang up and dial it.
A SUBTLE VIBRATION is all it takes to rouse me from my restless exhaustion. My mouth tastes metallic from the blood I consumed when Richard punched my face. I shift off my side and onto my back. The arm I’ve been lying on tingles and aches painfully. Looking across the room, I see Richard slumped back in a chair with his eyes closed and a hand on his gun.
My body alerts when the vibrations return. My thoughts are hard to grab on to with the multiple strikes to my head and the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on since Richard appeared in front of Declan’s home. I focus on the faint buzzing sound, and my stomach clenches when I remember my cell phone. My body went numb a while ago, so it’s hard to pinpoint, but I know I shoved the phone in the pocket of my pants.
I look back to Richard; his eyes are still closed. My heart begins to race as I shimmy to try and move my arms as quietly as I can. With my eyes locked on Richard, I make attempt after attempt, but it’s no use. I can’t get my hands to my pocket. I know it’s Lachlan calling me because he’s the only one I ever gave that number to.
“Richard,” I call out to wake him up when I get an idea. “Richard.”
“What the hell do you want?” he says on a groggy voice when he opens his eyes.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Hold it,” he snaps and closes his eyes again.
“I can’t, but I have no issues peeing myself if you don’t have any issues smelling it,” I lash back.
He breathes out in frustration and walks over to me, grabbing my arm and picking me up off the floor. Walking me down one of the corridors, we stop in front of a door.
“Hurry,” he demands, and I look at him, reminding, “My wrists.”
With a long, distrusting glare, he then says, “Turn around,” and I do.
He takes his knife out, and when he slices through the tape, finally releasing my hands, the phone begins to vibrate, and fear crashes inside of me, locking my body up. When I turn to look at Richard, I can tell he hears the phone by the look on his face.
He knowingly cocks his head to the side, and in a moment of fright, I lurch forward and bolt. I’m not even allowed one second of attempted freedom as he immediately catches his arm around my waist, pulling me back.
I fight against him, but the moment his fingers latch around my neck, I freeze. His hand pats my pockets, and he pulls out the cheap disposable phone I’ve been using since I arrived here in Scotland. He flips it open and holds it out in front of my face while he has me in his chokehold with my back pinned against his chest. He then selects the last number that called and clicks it.
Putting it on speakerphone, he threatens, “Say one word and I’ll make you regret feeling like you ever had a chance of one-upping me.”
And then the ringing stops when the call is connected. I hold my breath, and Richard remains quiet as we both wait for the contact to reveal themselves.
A few seconds pass, and then my heart pumps hope when I hear the worried voice of the man I never gave this number to.
“Elizabeth?”
His accent wraps around my name, and it feels as if it’s wrapping around my body in a soothing hug. I want to speak, to defy Richard and yell out all the details of my surroundings so that Declan can find me, but instead, I hold tightly to my breath.
“Elizabeth, are you there?”
“She’s here,” Richard answers.
“Who’s this?”
“A man that has no conscience or limits,” he responds before letting me go and handing me the phone.
In an instant, after taking a couple steps away from Richard, he has his knife to my face as I slowly bring the phone to my ear. Richard then takes my trembling hand as I listen to the gravel in Declan’s voice, assuming Richard still has the phone, threatening, “My word is my mark, and if you lay a hand on her, I’ll—“
“AHHHHH!” I cry out in white, blistering pain, dropping the phone to the ground, and stumbling back on my feet. Gripping my wrist, I wail and stare in horror at the palm of my hand that Richard just dug his knife into, slicing it wide open. Blood is everywhere, oozing out as I hunch over and cry. Looking up, Richard now has the phone, but my body is in shock so that I can’t hear anything he’s saying to Declan.
I fall to my knees, forcing myself to calm down by taking in slow, staggering breaths, but all I’m doing is choking in shallow pants. I ball my hand into a tight fist, wincing through the burning sting as I hold my hand against my chest.
“Let that be a lesson,” Richard says as he walks over to me, no longer on the phone. “Don’t cross me again.”
He then reaches down and starts tugging at my clothes and shoving his hands in my pockets.
“You hiding anything else?”
“No.”
“Stand up,” he orders, and once I’m up on wobbly legs, he grabs the neckline of my top and slashes his knife through the fabric, cutting it right down the center.
Shoving the fabric away, he runs the flat of the blade over the swell of my left breast, and when he reaches my nipple, he flips the knife to its razor edge. I’ve lost all control of my body as it shakes violently.
My eyes are closed while he taunts, “Defy me now; I dare you.”
His words are an echo of Carl’s. He would provoke me the same way, daring me to push his limits, as if it was giving him my consent to hurt me even more.
“What are you doing?”
Flicking my eyes over Richard’s shoulder, I see Pike standing behind him.
; “You’re forgetting everything I ever taught you,” he tells me. “You’re so much stronger than this pussy in front of you. Stop letting him think you’re weak.”
Shifting my eyes back to Richard, I take Pike’s lingering voice and inhale his words in a steady breath and release it slowly from my nose. I let my walls down with Declan, something I felt was right to do, but I forgot to bring them back up the moment Richard showed up. So with calculated intent, I mend the chink in my armor and steel myself to take whatever comes my way.
The knife continues to roam over my tits as I pull my strength together, and once I feel confident in my shield, I move my eyes to meet his.
“Can I take a piss now?”
“That’s my Elizabeth,” Pike encourages before Richard gives me a snide nod, and I turn to open the door.
THE CALL DISCONNECTED but not before I heard her blood-curdling screams. Focusing on the threats coming from the unidentified man on the phone was almost impossible when my only concern lay within the girl whose shrieking cries could be heard in the background. I demanded to know what he had done to her, but his priorities were in the instructions he was giving me.
And now, I fly around my hotel suite, shoving my clothes into my suitcase at the same time I wait impatiently for Lachlan to answer my call.
“Where the fuck is Elizabeth?” I bark when he answers.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“She’s gone. I need a plane. Now!”
“Slow down, McKinnon,” he says. “What’s going on?”
Blood courses erratically, like a raging stampede inside of me. Zipping up the luggage, I answer, “Someone’s taken her.”
“Are you sure?” he says in surprise.
“Yes, I’m fucking sure! I need a plane five minutes ago. Make it happen and call me back.”
I don’t waste time arranging for a driver, instead rushing down to the lobby and grabbing the first cab I see.
