by K. Webster
His gaze becomes soft and he strokes my hair. “Of course, angel.”
I swallow down the bile in my throat and let him drag me into the small cabin. A faint scent of bacon lingers in the air and the mere whiff of it makes me queasy again. But I have to get it together. The thought of Gabe suspecting even for one moment that I’m pregnant with War’s baby is a horrifying one. I shudder to imagine what terrible things he’d be capable of doing with that information.
He guides me through the bedroom that still gives me nightmares and into the tiny bathroom. Once there, he finally releases the death grip he had my arm locked in. “Make it quick and don’t try anything stupid. I don’t think I have to remind you of the rules, do I? Every step, baby. Every step.”
I shudder and nod, rubbing some circulation back into by arm. He smiles and leaves me alone in the bathroom. The shower is quick, even though I want to stay there for hours, and soon I’m dried off. My toothbrush is still here so I brush my teeth quickly and redress, pulling the same T-shirt I had on over my head. War’s T-shirt.
Sounds from the kitchen alert me to the fact that Gabe must be preparing food. I creep over to the doorway and cast a glance down the hall to the front door. If I could manage to steal his keys, I could make a run for it. I’ve been training every day for two months on the beach. Some days, I would even run barefoot. I never want to be helpless again like I was in those woods not long ago. It is possible for me to make it. Especially if he were incapacitated.
But if I don’t?
There are easily over seventy-five steps between where I’m standing and the car.
Seventy-five lashings would be brutal.
I shiver and turn toward the kitchen, resolving to devise a better plan later when I have some time to think. A plan that includes making a run for it while he’s asleep or in the shower. Anytime other than now when I can barely stand on two legs. Right now I need my strength.
“Smells good,” I tell him and slide into a kitchen chair that wasn’t here the last time I’d been here. My eyes graze over the familiar open cellar door in the floor, in the middle of the kitchen. A shudder passes through me remembering the time I spent tossed down there and I force myself to stop looking at it. Why is it open? Had he planned on putting me in there had I not been compliant?
“You smell clean now,” he says with a smile and puts a plate down in front of me. “But the shirt has to go. You know better, baby.”
I nod and attempt to hide my reluctance at having to take off the only piece of War I have. He must sense my moment of hesitation, though, and grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me out of the chair. I cry out when he passes the cellar. Thankfully, he drags me over to the counter. When he picks up a sharp knife, I start to cry.
“No! Please!”
He doesn’t cut me, but instead saws down the front of the shirt until he slices it right off. Once he rips it from my shivering body, he tosses it into the dark cellar hole.
His fingers curl around my hair and he yanks me until I’m staring into his almost black eyes that seem to pulsate with rage. “That was your only warning,” he hisses, spittle raining down on my face. “Next time, it’ll be you that goes down there.”
I swallow back a sob. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
His hand releases my hair and both palms find my now bare ass. With incredible strength, he easily hauls my weakened body against him, nearly stabbing me with his erection, which I couldn’t help but feel digging in my stomach through his jeans. “Hurry up and eat. We have plans.”
“I’m so cold.”
He’s tied my arms to the bed and I can’t stop shivering. My legs are free and I wonder if I can somehow choke him with them.
“I know, Baylee. I’m about to warm you up.” His smile is predatory as he sets to removing all of his clothes. I cringe when he starts my way but he hesitates, a scowl immediately taking over his face. “Where’s my willing girl? Where’d she go? Don’t tell me that fucker polluted your mind. You’re mine, baby. You’re home.”
Images of War flood my mind and my lip quivers with unshed emotion. “I’ll never be yours.” My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.
He sits down on the bed beside me and grips my jaw in his brutal grasp, turning my gaze to meet his. “This was all part of the plan, Baylee. Remember? I promised you I’d be back for you and I delivered. I’m going to take care of you now. I love you.”
This delusional bastard thinks he loves me.
Love doesn’t make you kidnap someone.
Love doesn’t make you violate someone.
Love doesn’t make you murder someone.
No, psychopathy does. And Gabe is a complete psychopath.
Screw him!
I spit in his face. “I fucking hate you.”
He assesses me silently, his only movement coming from his free hand, which reaches up to wipe the saliva from his face. A slow smile lifts one side of his mouth. Oh God. In an instant, his hand slips from my jaw and seizes my throat, squeezing me until I’m choking.
His nostrils flare as he leans forward and practically spits his words at me. “Do that again and things will go very bad for you, Baylee. I’m not against punishing you into submission. This will work between us. And if it doesn’t, I will cut your broken heart out because if I don’t get to have you, nobody else can. Do you understand, baby?”
Stars glitter before me, but I manage a small nod that immediately rewards me relief. His grasp is gone and his large palm slides down my throat and between my breasts. He fondles my nipple between his thumb and finger while I suck in air with greedy gulps.
A violent shiver courses through me—the chill of the air, the frightening man before me, and the painful loss of my lover, all taking their toll on my body.
“Look at me,” he says in a deceivingly soft tone, and sits up on his haunches. His dark hair is wild and unruly on his head. A pair of demented eyes snare me and my gaze locks with his. “Good girl.” His praise doesn’t comfort me, only haunts me, causing me to shudder again. “You’ve been through so much. I’m sorry about that. But I promise I’ll make it better.”
He slides his hands to my knees and parts them. My resistance is futile as he easily settles himself on top of me, his hardened cock pressed into my belly. I expect him to enter me, but instead, he pulls the covers up over us, and then buries his face against my neck. His scent envelops me and I feel as though I might choke on it. Thick. Heady. Wicked.
Silent tears roll down my cheeks as he presses soft kisses against my neck just under my ear. It would be preferable for him to just fuck me to death rather than whatever the hell he’s doing. I don’t want his comfort or solace.
I want War.
A sob pierces the air and he coos in response, his hot breath tickling my ear. “Shhh, baby. Let me fix you.”
The world around me tilts and I’m nauseated. I don’t want him touching me—invading me—in all the places I’d given to War. I’d willingly given every part of myself to War and belong only to him.
Gabe cradles my cheek with his palm and regards me with tender eyes. “I don’t know what all went on with that asshole, but you have to know we belong together. I promise, it won’t always be so hard, Baylee. One day you’ll be the mother of my children and my wife. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Ever since the moment I moved in next-door to you, and laid eyes on my wise, sweet little neighbor. I knew you belonged to me in that moment.”
I’m too stunned to speak and his mouth covers mine, further silencing me. He sucks on my quivering bottom lip before biting it gently. When his tongue shoves its way into my mouth, I close my eyes and mentally retreat.
I can’t do this.
I can’t be his prisoner for life.
I refuse to be his kept woman.
When he starts sliding his cock against my clit, I jolt my eyes open. He breaks from our one-sided kiss and looks between us as he thrusts.
“Gabe,” I manage to choke out, “I don’t want to do this.”
>
He flashes me a warm smile. “Not yet, but you will. Just like last time, sweetheart.”
I shake my head as he continues to slide back and forth between the lips of my pussy. He doesn’t enter me, just continues to rub against me. Unwanted sensations—my body being manipulated into responding to his touch—begin to ripple through me. I clamp my eyes closed and focus on anything other than what he’s doing to me.
I won’t let him win this time.
I’ve grown up a lot since the first time he took me.
I have control over my body, not him.
A jolt slices through me and I cry out. It’s a quiver of pleasure, of want, and I hate it. Absolutely hate the way his familiar touch once again steals the rein of control from me.
“You love it when I do this,” he tells me smugly as he continues his gentle bucking against me. “I bet your pussy is getting wet.”
I shake my head at him and the tears continue to roll out. “I hate you.”
He groans when the tip of his cock slides against my opening. I attempt to clench my thighs together, but with him between them, there’s no stopping him. I’m granted a momentary reprieve when he pulls away just a bit.
“Let’s see, baby.”
His finger pushes into me and I cry out. He doesn’t do anything except for sticking it inside me, only to pull it right back out. I refuse to look at him and the disgusting look of triumph that I know I’ll find. I keep my eyes snapped shut.
“Ahhh,” he says with a pleased laugh, “I was right. Your body does still belong to me.”
He drags his wet finger around one of my nipples and teases the hardened peak. I wiggle to no avail.
“I won’t let you rest until you come for me. We can do this all day, Baylee. I’ve waited for you while you were gone. I didn’t share myself with anyone knowing I’d have you back where you belong eventually.”
I sob when he goes back to sliding his cock against my throbbing, betraying bundle of nerves.
Think of War.
Think of War.
I’m trying to block him out when I feel his hot mouth on my sex. Jerking my eyes back open, I glare down at him. His tongue takes over and my squirming only serves to make him more ravenous.
Licking and slurping.
Biting and sucking.
There’s no possible escape for me from his pleasure assault and it’s making me crazy. If my body gives in, I’ll not only betray myself, I’ll betray War.
“Mmm,” he moans against me, his hot breath only making my struggle to remain strong harder on me.
His finger is back inside of me in an instant as he continues to taste me. I roll my eyes back into my head and attempt to ignore the curling of the impending release twisting its way through my lower body like a sharp knife.
The craving to climax is strong.
Sickening.
Torturous.
I hate the way my body begs for it. How it quakes and quivers in need.
My mind pleads for another way but I know it’s hopeless. I’m once again prisoner to the villain who plays my body as if it were an instrument only he knows how to play. Each muscle in my body aches and burns as I do everything in my power not to let him win.
But he does win.
His fingers know parts of me inside that surrender to his demands. Parts that aren’t connected to my heart or mind.
A shudder, hard enough to rattle the earth beneath us, overtakes me. It’s pain and hate and fury all rolled into one exhausting release. My pussy clenches around his fingers and my own duplicitous juices run from my body along the crack of my ass, wetting the bed beneath me.
What have I done?
With reluctance, I reopen my eyes and take responsibility for what I allowed to happen.
I loathe him.
But who I loathe more is myself.
I’m no longer the Baylee I once knew. He’s found a way to sever the last thread of connection to who I was. The last thread to my life with War. I am nothing, floating and black. My soul wails in hopeless defeat.
“There, there.” He kisses the inside of my thigh once I’ve come down from my unwanted orgasm. “That was perfect. You’re perfect, Baylee.”
I lie there, unmoving like a child’s doll long forgotten in the yard. Discarded and used. Broken and useless. My thoughts are blank and my heart doesn’t beat. I just stare and stare and stare into nothingness. His next words don’t frighten me or upset me. I don’t recoil in disgust or beg for him not to.
“I’m going to make love to you now.”
I simply stare.
I am no longer War’s peace. I am nothing. I am Gabe’s vacant little doll.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.
I SHOULDER MY duffle bag and start toward the door when a thought occurs to me.
She doesn’t have any clue. Not one single clue.
My girl has been stolen, most likely raped and beaten, been someone’s prisoner for nearly four months now. Her spirit is probably broken. She’ll miss her parents. I’m sure she’ll be scared out of her damn wits.
I run my fingers through my overgrown dark hair. The boyish spikes are a thing of the past and I’ve embraced the wildness of what it’s come to be. Much like myself. No longer stiff and in place, behaving for everyone to see. No, it’s unruly. Unmanageable. Rogue. Like me. I’ve spent months searching for her. Months dealing with more questions than answers. Months missing her so badly, my heart physically aches in my chest.
And while I don’t understand, and quite frankly, am furious about the correspondence she had made, I’d been smart enough to know it was probably under duress.
My Baylee loves me. She always has.
I can’t wait to take her from that motherfucker and hold all of the broken pieces of her. I’ll mend her and heal her. Take the pain away from her. Provide the shoulder she needs to lean on. It’s what we do. Baylee and I are made to weather any storm. If we can get past all of this bullshit, we can do anything.
I stride through her home and make my way into her parents’ room to find what I’m looking for. On her father’s bedside table sits a picture. A picture of her family. The frame long since replaced after having been broken not so long ago.
Baylee—recently turned seventeen in the picture—sits between her parents on the bleachers. It had been baseball season, and she’d forced them to come to one of my games. Tony, for once, was actually smiling. Almost as if he’d grown used to seeing me around and could perhaps stomach the idea of her and I being a couple. Lynn wore a smile of beauty and grace as she side hugged her daughter. It was one of the last times Baylee’s mother had been well enough to leave the house.
I swallow down a thick ball of emotion and grit my teeth. Lynn had always been good to me. When Tony and Gabe would mess with me, like they often liked to do, she’d always shoo them off and mollify me with motherly smiles my own mother could never give. It was like she, too, knew Baylee and I weren’t just some passing fling, but instead true love. That we were meant to be.
I loved Lynn as if she were my own mother.
Baylee is going to be devastated.
Giving her the news via email seemed impersonal and wrong. I always knew I’d be the one to hold her through what would inevitably be the worst time of her life. I just didn’t realize that it would be so in more ways than one.
With a sigh, I set down the duffle bag and unzip it. I stuff the picture into it and on a whim decide to grab Lynn’s white sweater which she always kept on the chair near her bed. I look around the room, pondering whether or not I should take anything else. She’ll need memories. I don’t want her to be denied of any of them.
I snatch a few more things and toss them in the bag. After zipping it back up, I stride back through the house to leave. A loud, sudden bang on the front door nearly stops my heart.
My blood runs cold in my veins, nearly turning to ice, as I freeze in my tracks. I’ve been staying in this ho
use for a while now and nobody has come over. Hoping it’s just a neighbor I can easily get rid of, I prowl over to the front door and peek through the small window. I lock eyes with the shrewd brown ones of Detective Stark.
Fuck.
Another pound startles me. “We can see you in there,” her partner’s deep voice booms through the door. “Open up. We’d like to ask a few questions.”
I grit my teeth and reluctantly pull open the door. Stark widens her eyes in surprise before she schools her expression.
“Brandon Thompson? Funny seeing you here,” she says carefully, her eyes darting behind me into the house. “Do your parents know where you’ve been?”
I shrug my shoulders and drag my gaze to her badge on her belt to avoid her scrutinizing stare. “I’m eighteen. I wasn’t missing, just needed my space. She knows I’m alive and well.”
She makes a cluck with her tongue and our eyes meet again. “I see. We actually came to pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Winston. May Detective Shilling and I come inside and ask a few questions?”
Glancing at Shilling, who chews on a toothpick like it’s a piece of gum beside her, and then back at Stark, I shake my head no. “Uh, didn’t you hear about Mrs. Winston? She’s dead.”
Stark’s partner slides his hand over his gun, the movement almost unnoticeable. But I see and cringe.
“Her liver finally shut down and she passed on,” I add quickly before they start getting the wrong idea.
Stark waves her hand at her partner, trying to calm him, I guess. “Yes, we knew she was very ill,” she says solemnly.
Shilling nods and relaxes. Slightly.
“Where’s Mr. Winston?” Stark questions, her eyes flitting behind me again as if she’s cataloguing everything in the house.
“He’s not here—went into San Francisco to see a friend,” I say and wave behind me. “But you’re welcome to come inside and have a look around. I can tell you want to. But if you’ll excuse me, I was on my way out.”
