by Hart, Alexa
“And let Harris walk you in this time! I mean it Sophia!”
I nod at him, and with that, the elevator door closes, and I am left grinning to myself like an idiot.
The car comes to a smooth stop just in front of my door, and I mentally prepare to argue with Harris. Michael chastised me about the need for extra security since we’ve been seen in public together, but I can’t help but think he’s being ridiculous. I don’t want to feel like an overprotected teenager – that phase had run its course when I relocated across the country for school.
Before Harris can get out of the car, I speak.
“Harris really, it’s okay. You don’t have to walk me in.” He doesn’t budge, the muscles in his throat contracting as he swallows hard.
“Boss’ orders Miss Williams.”
“I have locks on my doors; my home is perfectly safe. I don't need a babysitter Harris. What Michael doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” I say with finality, climbing out of the car and ignoring Harris as he chases behind me. I know I’m wrong – Michael will know, and he’ll be angry. My stomach flips with excitement, thinking about whatever consequences I’d face for ignoring his orders.
“Miss Williams,” Harris chastises me, his voice just shy of a yell as he places a hand on the door just as I catch the handle. I stare at him sternly, not willing to give up this one freedom. My voice softens with a plea as I stand my ground.
“Harris, I appreciate you trying to keep me safe, but I’m not a child. I’ll make sure Michael knows that it wasn’t your fault.”
“It’s not about— “
“I know, but you’re not coming in. I’m sorry.”
With that, I open the door, confident that he will not try to force his way in. He doesn’t. I smile at him sweetly as I say goodbye, closing the door, and waiting by the window until I see him drive off.
Shrugging my coat from my shoulders, I leave it haphazardly strewn over the couch, marring the pristinely clean atmosphere of my home. I roll my neck, rejoicing in the satisfying cracks and subsequent release of pressure I didn’t even know I was holding. I haven’t been home in practically a week, and I definitely need to do some light housekeeping, but first, a shower.
I climb the stairs with a small groan, wincing as my body screams at me, a product of overuse. I’ll have to remember to thank Michael for that later. Plucking a plush cream-colored towel from the linen closet, I shed my constricting jeans, enjoying the free feeling of the cool air on my bare legs. The house is utterly soundless, ceding an eerie contrast to the sun flooded atmosphere. I don’t bother flipping the light switch in the windowed bathroom, walking straight to shower handle and turning it all the way to red in the hopes that the heat will give some small measure of relief to my sore muscles.
The thundering sound of a hundred thick droplets hitting the ground fills my ears, overwhelming me in the best way. I reach down gripping the hem of my t-shirt to pull it over my head and step into the spray, but pause for a moment, an unsure feeling settling deep into my stomach. Just as I spin to check behind me, thick arms wrap around my body, a sweaty palm clasping over my mouth securely muting the scream that escapes from my lips instinctively. I jerk in the unfamiliar arms, struggling to get away, before something horrifying stops me, freezing my muscles and catching my breath. The unmistakable feeling of cool steel against my windpipe.
Nausea threatens to take me as my mind sweeps with a million different possible scenarios for what is about to happen. Tears forcibly spill over my bottom lashes, trailing down my cheeks to wet the assailant’s hand. With a harsh tug he pulls me backwards into his body, and I am met with the mirror, staring down my worst nightmare. A shudder travels down my spine as Joe Kelly’s breath warms the nape of my neck.
“Did you miss me, princess?” He chuckles, a revolting sound. I want to struggle, to headbutt him, to elbow him in his gut, but the looming threat of the sharp knife edge against my throat paralyzes me. What if he slips? What if I do? I am careful not to swallow, trying to suppress the trembles wracking my body, silently cursing myself for being so fucking stupid. Why didn’t I just listen to Michael and let Harris clear the house?
Kelly brushes his moist lips against the back of my ear, forcing my eyes to scrunch shut at the unbearable vulnerability tingling in the nape of my neck, begging me to squirm out of his grasp. He snorts, anger resounding in the spiteful sound.
“I’ve been looking forward to this, you know. Ever since that first day in that swanky conference room. You pretended you didn’t even see me, stuck up little bitch. Like I couldn't see your tits through that teasing shirt. You wanted to entice me.” Tears build stronger in my eyes, blurring my vision as I try to block out his voice. “But I’m going to enjoy this even more now. You’re going to pay for what you and that asshole did to my brother.”
The venom in his words is thick and intruding, washing my veins in ice as I try to contemplate any way at all to escape his grasp unscathed, coming up with nothing.
“Please don’t,” my voice is barely above a whisper, and I can’t force myself to meet his eyes in the reflection. Kelly chuckles once more, pressing his lips to the curve of my neck, suppressing a smile as I shudder.
“Oh but darling, I’m going to.” I flinch in his arms as a sharp pinch draws my attention downwards. I was so focused on the knife; I’d forgotten to pay attention to his other hand. His free hand. The hand that is now emptying a syringe of something into my upper arm. I sway in his grip, my throat pressing threateningly against the knife with my uneasiness. Trying to speak, I open my mouth, but no matter how much I try to force, nothing is coming out. I can see in the reflection Kelly has released his grip, but my whole body is numb.
The room tilts, and Kelly’s smug, disgusting smile is the last thing I register before the darkness envelops me.
Chapter 19
Sophia
The first thing I register is the familiar sound of fire eating away at wood, crackling and soft. It invades my dreamless sleep, coaxing me awake with the accompanying musky fireplace scent. Next is the light. Soft and golden – natural light, not fluorescent. It seeps through my closed lids just barely, burning my tired corneas. I force my eyes open, blinded immediately by rays of strong sunlight trespassing through the gap between two thick columns of flannel curtains on a window I don’t recognize. Where am I?
My head throbs like I’ve been slamming tequila shots for days, and my stomach feels like it could betray me at any second and empty its contents onto the floor. What happened?
“Well good morning Sleeping Beauty. Shame, I was just about to start kissing you awake.” The terrifyingly familiar voice slams into me like a ton of bricks, forcing reality to click in my brain and sending newfound waves of nausea and horror to rack my body. Joe Kelly. This must be his house. Groaning, I strain to sit up from my place on the floor, my muscles screaming at me from under their drug-induced lethargy. I flip, my knees and hands planted squarely on the stained wood cabin floor in my effort to force my body to a standing position. No, to a run. Before I can move another inch, Kelly’s foot savagely connects with my ribcage, sending me several feet away from him as I crash into a coffee table, spilling a can of beer off its coaster, its contents showering me.
The pain is sharp and aching, shooting the air from my lungs and choking me from the inside out. I gasp, trying to retreat, but in my drugged state he is faster than me. His thick arms lift my body with ease, gripping my upper arms.
“You know? I was gonna have my way with you first, wait til’ after to rough you up. You know, so I still have somethin’ pretty to look at. But I think this’ll be more fun. I’ll just leave your pretty face alone for now.” He informs me with a sneer, throwing me down onto the glass coffee table as effortlessly as discarding a piece of trash. The surface shatters beneath my weight and momentum, sending a thousand tiny pieces of glass across the entire back of my body, burying them in deep as I hit the ground. I scream reflexively. The horrifying sound surprises me as
it assaults my ears, but I barely notice it compared to the pain. It is unbearable. My vision blurs with tears, but I can still see my clothes begin to seep red as he lifts me once more, out of the metal frame only to slam me down again, inflicting more cuts. His hand comes around my throat as he climbs on top of me, straddling me.
He is choking me now. His weight fully pressed into his hands, both wrapped tight around my throat. I close my eyes, trying to block out my fear and remember the things I learned in the self-defense class my mother forced me to take in college. Pushing my injured back further into the ground for leverage, I swing my legs up towards me, wrapping my shins around Joe Kelly’s unprotected throat and slamming him backwards, gulping at the gratifying oxygen. Scrambling on the blood-covered floor, I stand unsteady, swaying on my feet. My whole body is screaming at me, as I rush the front door without a glance backwards.
Throwing it open, I am blinded as I run. There is gravel beneath my feet, surrounding the cabin, the driveway extending far past what I can see, and surrounded on all sides by thick and forest. I resolve to take the driveway, pivoting my steps towards the asphalt path, but I never reach it. Footfalls behind me thunder in my ears, startling me as an unforgiving grasp yanks my hair backwards, pulling me to the ground. I groan as my head collides hard with the asphalt sending my vision blurry.
I am disoriented. Everything hurts, and my vision has left me. I think he’s hitting me. I am vaguely aware of a dull creeping pain on the side of my face, but I can’t bring myself to awareness. It’s like I’m in the world’s worst nightmare, and I know I am, but I can't wake up. The sound of tires screeching on road stops the assault, the clammy feeling of hands on my body leaves me. I think I hear his voice. Thoughts begin to melt from my brain as darkness takes me.
“Sophia!” Michael?
Chapter 20
Michael
Throwing the car door open, my vision goes red.
“Sophia!” I roar. She is laying on the gravel, her face already swollen and bruised, and her clothes drenched in red. Her eyes are shut.
Then, I see him. He is standing between me and her, like a predator protecting its freshly slaughtered food from other predators. I growl, lunging to attack. Joe Kelly is at least a foot shorter than me; he has the bulk of a man who eats a lot and doesn't work out enough. He doesn’t stand a chance. The first blow lands on his jaw, sending an ache up my wrist that I revel in. I feel the bone dislocate under my touch. The second hits his chest, winding him and sending him to his knees. Climbing on top of him, I continue to land savage and bone-breaking punches. I vaguely register the sound of cars approaching behind me, but I don’t allow the intruding hands on my shoulders to pull me from the man until his face is so swollen and bloody his own mother couldn’t recognize him.
When I finally grip him by the throat and shove him to Harris to deal with, I turn back to my girl, dropping to my knees in front of her.
“Soph, come back to me.” My voice breaks in my plead, shaking her limp body to no avail, “open your eyes Sophia! No—” Harris grips me from behind, pulling me from her. I protest, shoving the touch from my skin, refusing to leave her. Open your eyes. I still need you.
Tears slip unashamedly over my bottom lashes as I bend, pressing my forehead to hers, willing her to open her eyes. The most beautiful god damn eyes I’ve ever seen. My heart clenches with the flicker of a thought that they could never open again. The cut on her head is dripping blood, seeping her almond hair into a deep brick colored mess.
“Sir,” Harris’ voice is uncharacteristically small and intruding as he tries to pull my attention, signaling me to the arriving ambulance whose siren I hadn’t even noticed in the background. The various members of my security team disperse, making room for the EMTs to rush us, lifting Sophia’s lifeless body onto the stretcher, barely even glancing at the pathetic heap of a man I’d discarded in front of Harris, his lungs rattling so loud with each strained breath I can hear him over the sirens.
“I’m coming with you.” I don’t leave room for discussion as I climb into the ambulance with them, gripping Sophia’s cold hand. I’d give everything in the world to feel her return the pressure of my grip.
“She has a pulse,” one of them states loudly, pressing a bright yellow stethoscope against Sophia’s chest. I exhale, my grip tightening with the tiny sliver of hope.
“Call the hospital, tell them we’ll need a CT available upon arrival for apparent head injury.” The other one says, his gloved fingers pressing gauze to the wound at her hairline. The ambulance jerks to a stop as we arrive at the emergency room of some hospital. I don’t even bother looking which one as I rush behind them into the building.
A nurse intercepts me, her hand on my chest. “I’m sorry sir but this is as far as you can go.”
I stop, exasperated and trying like hell to keep my temper in check. “Listen lady, if you think— “
“Michael?” A familiar voice stops my insult, my head whipping to the side to see him. Phil Brantley. We must be at Brantley Hill – Phil is the CEO of the for-profit hospital on the edge of the city.
“Phil.” I breathe, thankful to see a friendly face, suddenly at a loss for words as the day fully hits me.
“Let him past.” He instructs the nurse succinctly, patting my back as she scurries away.
“What happened?”
“It’s Sophia,” I start.
“The girl in the bunny costume?” His tone is genuinely concerned, despite the hilarity of his words.
“Yes,” I chuckle despite myself, “the girl in the bunny costume. She’s… Well she was—” My voice breaks before I can finish my explanation, and his expression morphs with bewilderment. He’s probably never even seen me show an ounce of emotion, let alone cry.
“Well come on then.” He scans a card, allowing us through the door the stretcher carrying Sophia disappeared through.
She’s already been taken to CT, but we stand in the busy hallways waiting to see her, and hear the results of the scan. While we wait, I recount the whole horrifying story to Phil. He or Harris must have called Aaron, because while I’m finishing the part about finding her unconscious on the gravel while Kelly beats her half to death, he and Maya run through the hospital doors, rushing me.
I hold my hands up, silencing their already peppering questions with exhaustion.
“I don’t know anything yet.” I can’t hold it anymore. Brushing past them, I burst around the corner into an empty waiting room. It is small and dark, and more importantly, secluded. Leaning my forehead against the orange-painted wall, I force myself to take deep breaths. She will not die. She will not die. Tears slip silently over my cheeks, accompanying the intruding lump in my throat. I hear the door open and close behind me, and somehow I know it’s Aaron. He doesn’t comment, simply clasping one hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly before sitting, quietly supporting me in my agony.
Chapter 21
Sophia
Everything hurts. The pain isn’t overwhelming, but it’s definitely there. My limbs feel heavy, my head throbs, and the whole back of my body burns. What the hell happened to me?
“Soph? Are you awake?” A gloriously familiar velvety voice addresses me with a hopeful edge. I groan, trying to force my brain to connect to my eyelids, willing them to open so I can see him.
“It’s okay baby take your time, you’re okay, I’m right here.” His fingers are brushing my wrist. I want so badly to reach out to him. Blinking, finally I struggle to keep my eyes open under the haze of what I assume to be very heavy pain medication.
“Michael?” My bruised throat screams at me as I whisper the words, tears spilling down my still-bruised cheeks. I must look horrifying. I don’t care, though. Meeting his eyes, I see that they are brimming and tired, how long have I been asleep?
“Don’t try to speak yet, okay? Your throat has been pretty badly bruised.” Michael informs me softly, rising to beckon the nurse standing just outside the door of my secluded hospital room. Sh
e scurries in, greeting me warmly and assuring us she’ll find a doctor. After checking my vitals, she leaves to do her task, her eyes having not met Michael’s once. I wonder what he did to make the nurses afraid of him?
“May I please have water?” My voice is coarse and dry, burning with each syllable.
Michael holds a straw to my cracked lips and I drink greedily, despite the ache that comes with sucking the gratifying liquid from the plastic straw. The coolness of it soothes my sore throat, lending some strength to my voice as the memories of what landed me in here come back to me.
“You saved me,” I grip his hand, crying again, “Michael, thank you I— “
“Shush,” pressing a kiss to my forehead he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Don’t thank me. It’s over now, okay? You’re safe, and you’re with me, and no one’s ever going to touch you again.” There is a steel venom to his voice that makes me worry about the consequences for those who try. It’s comforting. Despite what happened, here, right now in his arms, I feel like the safest person in the world.
“How did you find me?” I ask, interrupting his embrace. Michael falters for a moment before motioning down to the gold bracelet on my wrist. He gifted it to me the day we won the trial, after dinner. It screws onto your wrist, so you can’t take it off without a special screwdriver, that he has. Studying the simple band for a moment, it hits me.
“There’s a GPS tracker in the bracelet?”
“Please don’t be angry. I know it's a bit extreme, but I was worried about your safety after we’ve been so public and—“
“It’s okay,” I interrupt him, “you were obviously right to worry. I’m glad you did it.”
