“I remember,” she gasps and holds the book tighter. She tries to speak again, “the woods.” I wasn’t expecting that.
“What about 'em?” I ask.
“How we,” she swallows and keeps her eyes closed tight, “how you.” She breathes in deep trying to settles her breath, “took me in the woods.”
Oh, fuck that! Anger consumes me and adrenaline rushes through me.
“Took you?” I raise my voice. “As in, fucked you?” She visibly recoils at my anger, and she tries to get out of my arms again. “No, no, sweetheart, that shit did not happen.” This is not fucking happening. Her memory comes back and it’s some shit that makes me a god damned villain. Something I didn’t even do!
“I--” she tries to speak, and then finally meets my eyes. Hers are red-rimmed and filled with tears. “I think I remember.”
“Sweetheart, your memory is wrong. We screwed around a bit, but that’s not what happened in the woods.”
Her eyes look to the wall and then back to me. Her hand raises to her throat. “Did you hurt me?” As she asks, her eyes drift to the faint marks on her wrists, and her eyes widen.
“It’s not what you think.” I try to keep my voice even, but my skin is on fire and I can feel their eyes boring into me, thinking I hurt her.
“No, we didn’t. I know we didn’t. This morning was the first time.” Her voice is small as she stares at her wrists and then closes her eyes.
“That’s right we didn’t. I wouldn’t fuck you when you were like that.”
She raises her eyes to mine. “But you did hurt me. I remember. I remember you, and I remember them. You were angry with me.”
Her breath comes in shallow pants and then she looks behind me at Pops and Tommy. She hesitantly steps closer to me, but then looks at the door. “Please let me go. I won’t say anything.” Her small hand settles on my chest and her eyes plead with me. “Please.”
“I can’t let that happen, sweetheart.” It fucking kills me to say it. I see Tommy leave the room, but my father stays.
“I won’t say anything. I don’t know what to think. I’m not okay,” she says.
“No, you’re not okay,” I answer back. Truer words have never been said.
She swallows thickly and then looks back at the door again with tears running down her cheeks. “I’m scared, Vince.” She’s huddling next to me like I’m going to save her.
I tell her the only thing I can think of to say. “You should be.”
Elle
“I don't want to hurt you, sweetheart. I don't want to, but I will.” I hear Vince’s cold, hard voice in my head over and over again. A chill washes through my body. I push my body into his chest as though it will make it go away. I don’t know what’s real. My mind is fucking with me.
Flashes of scenes play before my eyes. His handsome smile as he introduces himself to me. “I’m Vince.” The heated look in his eyes as he looks up at me from between my legs. But then, there’s more. More that I didn’t remember this morning. Him choking me, pinning me against the wall. Then his cousin and another man. Smaller in size than Vince, but both with threatening looks on their faces. It makes my heart skip a beat.
“Vince, what happened?” I whisper into his chest, afraid to know the answer. But I need something. Something is very, very wrong.
“I can’t tell you, sweetheart.” His calm voice forces a sob up my throat.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg him. I know he will though. I can sense it in the thick air, in the way they all looked at me. I’m answered with silence. “I’m not supposed to remember, am I?”
“I’m sorry, Elle.” His words are more sad than anything else. He’s truly remorseful, and that makes me sick to my stomach. He doesn’t have to hurt me.
I push the words through my hollow chest. “I promise--”
He cuts me off. “That’s not good enough.”
“What can I do? Please,” I cry into his shirt and drop the book to the floor. I was just with him this morning. “Please, Vince. I swear.”
I feel a strong hand on my back and Vince turns his body, taking me with him and pushing my back against the wall.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growls above my head, looking over his shoulder.
My body stills with fear and I can’t breathe.
“No one touches her!” he screams above my head.
I grip onto his shirt tighter. He’ll save me. He has to save me.
He grips my hip and throws the front door open. “Vince, what are you doing?” It’s his father’s voice.
“I’m taking her to the cabin.” I nearly trip trying to keep up with him. Everything flies past me in a blur from the tears and from how quickly he moves my body outside to his car.
And then he opens the trunk. My feet dig into the ground, and I try to push away from him, but he picks me up and tosses me in like I weigh nothing. My head bangs against the floor of the trunk and I scream out. When I open my eyes, I see his hard gaze.
“None of that, sweetheart. Be a good girl and stay quiet.” I don’t dare disobey him. I know he’s my only hope.
Elle
The entire car ride, I’m silent. I close my eyes and try to remember. I think I remember being here before, being tied up. My fingers graze over the faint marks on my wrists. I’m quiet. I’ll do as he says for now, but I know that will only get me so far. How the fuck did this happen? I concentrate on breathing and then I remember about a secret latch in the trunk. Well, not secret. But there’s a latch in here somewhere. My hands run along every surface looking for it. But there’s nothing. I spend the entire ride looking for it, only to come up short.
My breathing hitches the longer the car stays still. My body jolts as the car door slams. A whimper escapes me and I cover my mouth. The light burns my eyes as he opens the trunk. It’s not that bright, but compared to the darkness in the trunk, it kills my sight. He reaches in and picks me up easily by my waist. I cower under his touch as he sets me down. My feet land softly, and that’s when I remember. Like deja vu.
I remember running.
My eyes follow the path I took. I remember his hard body knocking me to the ground. And then I have flashes of memories of him pounding into me, both of us naked as he ruts between my legs, pushing my body into the dirt.
As if reading my mind, Vince growls out, “I didn’t.” His tone is defensive and hard. I swallow the lump growing in my throat. I know he didn’t. I would have felt it this morning. But I remember it. Why do I remember it happening that way? More importantly, why did he want me to forget?
“I know.” The words catch in my throat and come out much higher than I intended. I clear my throat and cross my arms to grip my shoulders. “I don’t understand, Vince.”
He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “You need to go inside, Elle.”
I look at the house. It's the same country home I thought was so cute this morning, but as I look at it now, fear makes my legs collapse. We’re in the middle of nowhere. I can’t go in there. In the movies, a secluded place like this is where they kill you. No one will hear me scream. My body begs me to run.
Vince grips my elbow and leans into my neck. His hot breath sends chills down my shoulder and back as he warns, “Don’t you fucking dare run from me.”
A whimper escapes my lips. He pulls me toward the house and I move with him. This has happened before, and I was still alive this morning despite everything. Maybe it will happen again.
“Will I forget in the morning?” I can only hope I will.
“No.” He swings the front door open as the hope dies in my chest. “It didn’t work.”
“I don’t understand,” I plead.
“Stop whining!” he yells at me as I walk inside with him. His anger forces me to rip my arm from his grasp, but it's a clumsy, uncontrolled motion, and my back slams against the wall just inside the door. My hands cover my mouth and I try to stifle the need to cry.
“Fuck!” he screams into the
air, and kicks the door. I hear Rigs barking upstairs. His paws scratch against a door. I back away slowly and find myself cowering in the corner. Vince’s fists slam into the wall, leaving dents and a trail of blood on the white walls. His knuckles are bloodied but he keeps doing it over and over. Each time his fists pound against the wall my chest jumps and a scream threatens to escape. Rigs barks and growls and Vince yells at him to be quiet.
I’m fucked. I’m so fucked.
He finally stops and takes a deep breath. The only sounds in the room are the dog barking and Vince’s heavy breaths. His large shoulders rise and fall with power. He turns slowly towards me and stares at me for a long time. When he finally opens his mouth I let out a heavy breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m supposed to kill you,” he says.
My body turns weak and I fall to the floor. I want to plead, but I can’t. I can’t do anything. I’m paralyzed. I don’t want to die.
“I’m going to figure something out, sweetheart.” He walks slowly toward me and picks up my trembling body. Half of me wants to push him off of me and try to run, but the other half is too terrified to consider fighting. The terrified side is the side that is winning. He carries me up the stairs and I remain as still as possible in his arms.
He speaks calmly. “You need to be good for me. You need to make this easy.” I can’t respond. But if I could, I’d tell him to go fuck himself. I’m not going to make it easy for him to kill me. I can’t speak the words, but he must sense my disobedience. “Don’t you fuck with me, Elle.”
I shouldn’t make him angry, but I can’t answer. Fear has crippled me.
He kicks a door open, and I recognize the room. It’s where we were this morning. I look at the messy bed, still unmade, and see a pink stain on the sheets.
I hear him shushing me; I feel him trying to comfort me. It just makes me feel even worse.
My chest has never felt so hollow or painful before. I never knew I could feel this much physical pain from emotional damage.
Vince
What the fuck am I going to do? My phone keeps going off in my pocket. I know it’s the guys or Pops. I can’t answer it. I know what they’re going to say. I know their argument. I really believe her, I do. She’s not going to say shit. But I can hear them shooting back the next logical question. What if she remembers more? I still don't have an answer to that question.
Not only that, but she’s been seen with me now. Twice. If someone happened to be watching, which happens every now and then--if they’re watching and saw her, they can take her in. They can put pressure on her. And even the best of people collapse under that pressure. I look down at Elle and try rubbing her back again. She’s curled up on the bed. They’d get to her for sure. She couldn’t tell a lie to save her life.
Rigs barks again and I know my poor pup wants out of the spare bedroom. I left him in there so he wouldn’t chew up all the furniture while I was gone. He wants to make sure everything is alright. But it’s not. He’s gonna have to stay in there until I can calmly let him out. This is so fucked. It’s all just fucked.
I try pulling her back to me, closer to me. My hand is fucking killing me, but I need to comfort her. I shouldn’t have done that. I know I scared her. Now she won’t even look at me. I just want to hold her. But she’s scooting away. I don’t like it. I don’t want to let go of her, but I need to figure this shit out. And realistically, the only thing I can come up with, is that she has to go.
I knew it back at my parents' house. I could see it happening, one of them coming up from behind her with a syringe filled with a lethal injection cocktail trio. It would feel like a pinch, and then it’d be over with. She’d go quickly and painlessly. But the image of her dead and limp in my arms is something I can’t handle. I don’t want that. I want her to live. I want to see her happy.
I need to figure this shit out, but I haven’t got a clue how. We never let witnesses live. I’ve got nothing but our standard protocol to go on.
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her to me, forcing her into my lap. Her hand whips out and pushes violently against my chest.
“Don’t push me, sweetheart,” I grit through my teeth. You’d think she’d be doing whatever she could not to make me angry. I’m her only fucking hope.
“Fuck you!” she screams out, and I grab her mouth to silence her.
“Watch your mouth, sweetheart.”
“Don’t touch me!” She yells.
“Sweetheart, watch that mouth-”
“Fuck you!” she yells again.
“Oh yeah?” I pin her ass down on the bed. Both of her tiny wrists fit easily in one hand, and I shove them above her head and dig them into the mattress. My hip pins hers down. “You really think you should be talking to me like that, Elle?” I keep the threat in my voice. I have a soft spot for this broad. Everyone’s gonna know it. But not her. She can’t know that, not yet. She needs to be afraid until I can figure this shit out. And right now, fear is not the dominant emotion that I sense.
“Just kill me!” she screams in my face. Her words hit me like a bullet to the chest. Her face is red and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her eyes glassy with more unshed tears. Her voice lowers. “I know you're going to kill me, so just do it already.”
“I don’t want to kill you, Elle.” It’s true. I don’t want to. The fact that she’s telling me to kill her makes me sick to my stomach.
“So you’re going to let me go?” Her voice doesn’t hold any hope; she already knows the answer will be no.
“No.” She closes her eyes at my answer and turns on the bed to face away from me as best she can with me still pinning her down. I loosen my grip and let her go. I run a hand down my face and look around the room. It’s a safe house. So there’s no way she can get out of here. I need to go. I’ve got to get out of here for just a minute and figure out just how badly I’ve fucked up. And let my dog out before he tears the door down.
I open the door and check my key in the lock to make sure she can’t lock me out. She can’t. So that’s a plus, I guess. I look back at her lying limp and in the fetal position on the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I say it just loud enough for her to hear and take a step out into the hallway.
I shut the door and my fucking heart breaks as I barely make out her words. “You already have.”
Elle
I have no fucking clue where I am. Obviously this is Vince's house, but where this is located, I have no idea. I didn’t pay attention this morning either. I just know it was a long drive. But I’m getting out of here. There’s no way I’m staying here. I don’t know how long he’s going to keep me here. I know they want me dead. They can’t risk me remembering whatever the fuck it is that I saw. But I really need to get the fuck away from here as fast as I can.
I finally get my ass off the bed and wipe the tears from my face. I need to do something. I can’t just wait here to die. For all I know he’s going to come in the room with a gun or something and kill me, or however the fuck they do it. I can’t just wait around. I won’t. I don’t want to die.
I walk as quietly as I can to the curtains in the room and open them wide. The windows are large. Really fucking large. Like they were meant to be used to escape from the bedroom. Good. 'Cause that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I run my hand along the top of the sill, searching for a latch, but I don’t find one. My forehead wrinkles with consternation, and my heart beats faster. I push against the top. I try pushing it up with everything I have in me. But it doesn’t budge. Fuck! What the fuck is the point of this window being so damn big then? I want to pound my fists against it, but that would be stupid. He’d hear. I have to be quiet. I have to figure out something else.
I tiptoe to the door. My heart’s trying to leap up my throat, but I keep moving. I have to try. I push my ear to the door and I can hear his voice, but I can’t make out the words. He must be downstairs. I twist the knob, but it doesn’t budge. I try again with both hands and it doesn’t give. I look
at the knob and see it’s not locked, but then my eyes travel up. There’s a second lock. Motherfucker!
I want to scream at that asshole. He locked me in! I’m locked in here like a bird in its gilded cage. I huff in a staggered breath and walk backwards slowly until I’m against the wall. I lower myself to the floor. I have to wait. I raise my head and cast a glance around the room. I need to find a weapon. I’m quick to get up with this thought in mind.
I may not be able to run, but I’ll fight. I’ll do whatever I have to. I pull open the drawer of the nightstand. It’s empty except for a stack of papers. I go through his dresser, one drawer at a time. Nothing. Not a damn thing. I stare at the gun safe in the corner of the room. I can’t imagine he left it unlocked, but I have to try anyway. I pull the door, but it’s no use.
The bathroom. I race to the en suite, but keep my steps light. There has to be something in here. My eyes catch sight of a razor. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. I grab the plastic handle and tilt it on its side on the counter. I need to crack the plastic so I can get to the blade.
My eyes search for anything that’s hard and heavy enough to do the job. I finally see the tumbler by the sink. The bottom is stainless steel. I grab the towel from the hook and lay it on the counter to absorb some of the noise. I smash the tumbler on top of the razor, hard, but not hard enough to make much noise.
My heart stills and my blood rushes faster, waiting to hear anything from downstairs. Nothing. So I hit it again and again until the plastic cracks. I try pulling the plastic back, but I need more give. I tilt the razor and try to angle it so it’ll be more effective. I raise my arm up and smash it down.
Yes! The plastic cracks even more, and I’m able to wiggle the blade out carefully. I raise the blade up to my eyes to look at the shiny, metal weapon. It’s small. Really fucking small. But maybe if I can catch him by surprise, I'll be able to hurt him enough to escape.
Those Boys Are Trouble Page 26
