by J. E. Taylor
After the last horrifying image scrolled off the screen, the treadmill slowed enough for her to keep pace without the frenzied pounding in her chest leaving her breathless and terrified her heart was going to explode.
She closed her eyes and ran, thankful for the silence.
The door opened and he walked in. His steel blue eyes studied her and he approached the front of the treadmill, leaning on his crossed arms against the monitor displaying her speed. His gaze dropped to her bloody wrists and back up to her face and his lips twitched into a boyish grin.
“Bastard,” she said breathlessly. The son of a bitch was enjoying her pain.
He laughed and straightened. “Beg for me. Beg me to stop the treadmill.”
His reasonable smooth tone struck a match in Jessica and she jutted her chin out in defiance. “No.”
“Do you know how long you’ve been running?”
She had no idea, it seemed like forever and every muscle in her body screamed for her to give in, for her to beg him to turn off the treadmill. She shook her head.
“Over an hour,” he said. “You haven’t had any exercise in months. How much longer do you think you can last?”
Jessica shrugged, not daring to speak for fear of giving him what he wanted.
“When you fall, and you will, those shackles will tear the skin off those pretty hands and your lovely knees will be ripped to the bone by the tread.” His blue eyes sparkled and he tilted his head a little to the side. “I would really hate to see that.” He shook his head slowly, feigning pity and then his expression changed. “Now, let’s hear you beg.”
“No,” Jessica whispered willing herself not to cry. She turned away from him and ran on.
He grabbed her face and yanked it toward him, almost knocking her off balance on the treadmill. “You will,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Not in a million years!” Jessica thundered and yanked her face out of his grip.
Frustration turned his blue eyes dark and he stormed out of the room, leaving her running.
She stared at the treadmill shaking with rage, not daring to sound the sob building in her chest. Locking it down, she blinked and her tears splattered on the tread. Her heart skipped a beat. Metal lined either side of the continuously moving strip.
If she could jump and catch the edges, she could stop running. That would give her the break she desperately needed. It was a risk, but at the pace she was going, her legs would give out any minute. She didn’t have anything to lose at this point and without hesitation, she took a deep breath, jumped up and spread her legs the distance that she thought was correct. When she came down with both feet on the edges, she let out a yell of triumph and shuffled up until she could lean over on the front of the treadmill. She hit the off button with her chin. Her legs were wobbly but able to sustain balance on the small area while the tread slowed to a stop. She closed her eyes in relief.
* * * *
Ty, already infuriated with her defiance, went over the edge when she let out a yelp of triumph and clicked the treadmill off. He stormed back in to the room.
The brief flood of relief dimmed when he flew through the door. The fury in his eyes made her recoil away from the front of the treadmill. He slammed a button with his palm and the wrist shackles opened, freeing her. She took another wobbly step back but he grabbed her arm, tossing her onto the ground, towering over her while his chest rose and fell, the air audibly filtering through his flaring nostrils.
A burst of laughter escaped her lips.
“Bitch,” he hissed and climbed on top of her, sitting on her chest and pinning her to the floor. He fumbled with his belt buckle and unzipped his pants.
“You put that in my mouth and I will bite it off,” Jessica said.
His eyebrows rose and his lips parted in disbelief.
Jessica’s jaw clenched and she glared at him in silence.
He slowly zipped his pants and stood. Without a word, he stormed out of the room.
Chapter 5
Ty stormed into the control room and paced back and forth like a caged animal, watching Jessica lying motionless on the floor.
“I will get what I want!” He ran his shaking hands through his hair. “In here, I’m God,” he snarled at her image. Wildcat.
Not only was she a fighter, but she proved to be resourceful as well and she had the balls to laugh at him. No one had ever done that before. They all sniveled, whimpered, or begged, but not Jessica Connor, not the one woman who set his skin on fire and made his entire frame tingle with desire. Not the one woman he would give his left arm to hear whisper his name. The one woman that drove him absolutely mad, and he hadn’t even had her yet.
He needed to tame her and the sooner, the better; because he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to resist the feelings brewing below the surface of his skin.
He slumped in the seat and scanned the monitors. Four of the fifteen monitors had occupants, a man and three women including Jessica. The rest of the monitors displayed empty holding cells, hallways and the filming rooms for both the sex and snuff tapes they made.
A master at editing, Ty crafted some of the finest underground porn from the footage captured in the complex and with the public’s appetite for black market videos, they consistently sold out as fast as he could produce the twisted motion pictures under the Dark Dreams label.
The only camera free area besides the control room was the prisoner’s bathrooms and Ty fought long and hard for that right, finally winning out over his step-brother’s will on the basis of money. That crusade ended up biting him on the ass and neither Frank nor Marian let him live it down.
Money wasn’t his driving factor; he enjoyed the game. The perverse sense of power, of control he held over his victims, playing God with their lives. He found that unless someone else’s life was on the line, the prisoner could be stubborn and unyielding. But the moment he showed them the acquisition of someone they cared about, that was the catalyst to breaking their spirit. Guilt was a powerful leverage tool and once their will broke, they became puppets, doing anything he desired. And the sex was unbelievable, especially when they begged. That was the ultimate high for him, or had been until now.
His eyes snapped back to Jessica’s monitor.
Even with the devious vocation Frank threw him into, he had a strict list of rules he played by and there were many instances his stepbrother insisted he break them, but Ty refused. Until Jessica.
Until Jessica, he wouldn’t go a mile near anyone with kids, but the moment he saw her, he had to have her and that rule went by the wayside. Until Jessica, he always got rid of the significant other. If the prisoner had a relationship, girlfriend or boyfriend or husband or wife, that person was doomed when the kidnapping occurred, but not in her case. Ty refused to kill her family. Hurting children? No way in hell and he was not leaving them without parents either.
Frank had been livid but he got over it when the news reports died down into obscurity.
He watched her on the floor and began to wonder if bringing her in had really been a wise decision, especially in light of the tornado sweeping through him every time he looked at her. He shook the thought out of his head and swiveled his gaze to Mike’s monitor.
If she knew he was here, would that be enough to break her?
That could make the game interesting.
Ty’s gaze kept returning to her asleep on the floor.
Frank wanted to start filming tomorrow. He said she’d be hot in the black market, whether she wanted to perform or not and Ty had no doubt about that. Yet the thought of her with his brothers made him shift in the seat and he shifted his gaze again.
Mike.
The thought of making him more uncomfortable than he already was brought a smile to Ty’s face and certainly, any video of Jessica would do that.
That would drive Mike further over the edge.
The moment Mike saw her he crumbled. She definitely was his weakness. Mike had cried and screamed pitiful
ly when they electrocuted Jessica. He begged them not to hurt her again and said he would do anything they asked, anything.
Frank took him up on the offer.
One of the other women in the complex bored Frank so his stepbrother concocted a particularly brutal way to get rid of her, borrowing one of the scenes from the movie Se7en and insisting Ty create a masterpiece from the footage.
Ty watched them beg that day, for a multitude of reasons and the video was priceless. It had become one of their hottest black market sellers.
He stared at the master library and shook his head; there were some sick folks out there and Frank topped the list.
Ty controlled the different cameras for long shots and close ups in the editing suite, his teeth clenched against the bile that seemed to line his throat any time they killed one of the prisoners. He didn’t have the same issue masterminding an explosion or a car accident that took lives, killing from a distance where it was less personal, less hands on.
But Frank, Frank liked to carve his victims. He liked to hear them screaming in pain, gasping, begging him to stop and eventually begging for death.
When it was over, it was his job to clean up the mess and create a video that would sell.
He closed his eyes, remembering how Mike collapsed to the floor when he unchained him. The poor bastard was still semi-catatonic from that episode.
He rubbed his face with his hands, the images still playing in his mind. He shook his head and pulled out a video to wipe the memory from the forefront of his mind, this one steamy and hot, the way he liked it, he and two girls, and oh, how they begged for him. Aroused, he scanned the different screens and a smile found his lips.
Who was going to satisfy him tonight?
His eyes drifted to Jessica, her chest rising and falling in sleep, her sweat-dried skin glistening under the dim lights, her peacefully slack face sparked his libido and when he turned to act on his longing, he stopped at the door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
Not yet.
However, he knew if he did not get some sort of sexual release, he would give in to his desire. What he needed was a blow job and headed toward Angela’s cell. She was stellar at sucking the juice out of him and she didn’t disappoint.
Chapter 6
Jessica woke and dragged herself into the bathroom. It took every ounce of energy she had to haul her tired body into the bathtub. She turned on the spout and sighed when hot water actually came out, filling the tub and soaking with her eyes closed.
Bright blue bedroom eyes. Where the hell have I seen them before?
The question ate at her, gnawing, percolating, unanswered. She sat up, frustrated, and snatched the shampoo bottle from the small shelf, lathering and rinsing before the water cooled down completely. When she pulled herself out of the tub, she reached for a towel and hesitated. Laid out on the closed toilet lid were clean clothes, a nightgown and underwear, both of which were her size.
She dried off and dressed, brushed her hair and teeth and stumbled on wobbly legs back into the room. Sitting next to the mattress was a little tray of fresh fruit with some bottled water. Jessica sighed in gratitude. She had no idea how long it had been since she last ate and she devoured every last bite. After she was through, she crawled to the bed, pulled the sheet up to her neck and curled up in a ball. The lights went out and for a while Jessica stared into the darkness sure he was going to come and do unspeakable things to her.
Slowly, she relaxed into a state of meditation and the room dissolved around her, once again replaced by her son’s room.
“Are you okay?” Eric inquired, his eyes squinting with concern.
“Yes,” Jessica responded.
“Did the bad man come?” His eyes widened making his whisper ominous.
Jessica didn’t know how to respond, she inhaled thinking of her captor’s blue eyes.
Eric shook his head. “The bad man’s eyes are black.”
Before she could ask what he was talking about, he took her hands, studying the cuts and bruises surrounding both wrists.
“You’re hurt.” He leaned over and pressed his lips to her palms. “That should make them better.”
Jessica’s eyebrows arched. Tingling overtook her hands and the bruises faded, the cuts healed, leaving her skin perfect again. She couldn’t believe it.
“See.”
“How?”
“Be careful, he’s watching!” Eric looked over her shoulder.
Jessica turned her head and her reflection stared back.
Chapter 7
Eric was talking in his sleep again and Daniel walked into the room to find him sitting up with his hands in front of him as if holding hands with someone he couldn’t see.
Fear filled Eric’s face and Daniel stepped toward the bed.
“Be careful, he’s watching,” Eric said and looked at the wall near where he stood.
“Eric?” Daniel sat on the bed.
Eric focused on his father. “Mommy got hurt,” he said and tears welled up in his eyes. “I made her better, but he was watching.”
Daniel looked at the floor, inhaling, he chewed on the inside of his lip before meeting his son’s gaze. “Honey, your mother died in a car crash.”
Eric looked straight in his father’s eyes. “No, Daddy, she didn’t.”
Daniel took a deep breath, the weight of his son’s denial pressing on his chest and he nodded, not knowing what else to say to the boy. “Good night, Eric.” He leaned forward and kissed his forehead, tucking him into bed before heading to his own room.
Sitting on the edge of his own bed, he studied his room. Jessica’s things still occupied the space they always had. Her clothes, her jewelry, her knickknacks, her books, all still where she had left them. He reached under her pillow and pulled her nightgown out and put it to his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling the remnants of her scent like he did every night since she died.
He pulled the silk away, realizing he shared some semblance of Eric’s denial.
“Damn it, Jess, why’d you have to go and die?”
The ceiling had no answer for him, neither did her knickknacks.
They needed some help, Eric for his complete denial, Emily for her anger issues and he, he just needed someone to talk to. He remembered the priest gave him a card and he dug through the nightstand drawer and pulled it out, setting it next to the phone for the morning.
With a deep breath, he scrounged through the storage closet finding a couple empty paper boxes and began the tedious job of packing her things. He held each item in his hands, turning it over and over before slipping it into the box. Jewelry was placed in two piles, one for Emily and the other in the storage box. The knickknacks were the easiest items. The clothing was infinitely harder to put away. Each item carried with it a hint of her scent, just like the nightgown and with each item stored away; another piece of his heart broke. Tears no longer came, just an all-encompassing emptiness that he never thought he’d fill again.
When all the closets and drawers and counters were clear, he sat and stared at the collection of boxes representing her life. His jaw tightened and he blinked back tears. “Damn you for leaving us.”
The boxes disappeared into the basement storage space. He couldn’t bring them to the Salvation Army. Not yet. He stripped and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, sliding the silk nightgown through his fingers as the clock ticked off the hours.
The next morning, after Daniel put the children on their busses for school, he grabbed the card off his nightstand and studied it. LeAnn Sheehan, Grief Counselor. He dialed the number and when a soft sweet voice picked up, he closed his eyes.
“Hi, my name is Dan Connor. My pastor gave me your card after my wife died.”
“When did she pass away?”
“Three months ago. I’m calling for my kids. They aren’t adjusting very well,” he sighed.
“And you?” the voice asked.
“I’m surviving,” Daniel said. “Barely,”
he added thinking of the nightgown stashed under his pillow.
“Would you like to come to my office, or would you like me to come to the house to see them?”
Daniel thought about this for a moment and looked around the tidy kitchen and family room. “I think the house would be better, the kids are comfortable here.”
“I can fit you in either tonight or tomorrow, which is better for you?”
“Tonight would be good. My son hasn’t accepted my wife’s death at all. He is in complete denial. My daughter is just angry and I think it would be good for her to talk to someone,” he paused. “To a woman.”
“And what do you need, Dan?”
Daniel looked out the window of his house. “I need my wife,” he whispered and the bitter taste of tears filled his throat. He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose fighting for control of his emotions.
The line was silent for a moment. “Where do you live?”
* * * *
“Someone is stopping by tonight to help us.” Daniel sat at the dinner table.
“Help us with what?” Emily snipped and pushed the food on her plate around with a fork.
“With dealing with your mother’s death.” He looked from his daughter to his son.
“Mommy’s not dead,” Eric said and took a bite of food.
“Shut up you stupid jackass!”
“Emily, don’t talk to your brother like that!”
“You always take his side!” She stormed away from the table.
Dan sighed and hung his head for a moment. This had been a recurring theme at the dinner table for the last three months.
The bell rang just as Eric finished his homework. Daniel opened the door unprepared for his reaction to the woman standing on the doorstep. Blonde and curvy in the right places with smoky green eyes that mimicked the smile on her lips, the combination caught his voice in his throat and the muscles in his stomach fluttered.
“Um, hi. You must be LeAnn?” He stumbled over his words and waved her inside.
