Held, Pushed, and 22918 (3 Complete Novels)

by Kimberly A Bettes

  By the time we hung up, I was smiling. Talking to Mason and Wade put me in a good mood, good enough to want to cook and eat a big breakfast.

  While I fried eggs and bacon, I made a promise to myself. It was a promise I planned to keep, even if meant I had to die trying.

  The goal had always been to deal with Ron and then move back home, back to Wade and Mason, but I didn’t want to return to them the haggard and broken woman that I had been when they’d last seen me. I wanted to return to them beautiful and healthy, the way I’d been before I was abducted. I didn’t want them to see any dark circles around my eyes from lack of sleep, or any protruding bones from not having eaten. I wanted to return to them very much alive.

  And that’s exactly what I was going to do.

  In order to reach this goal, I needed to start taking better care of myself. The first step was to eat more. Whether or not I had an appetite, I needed to eat regularly. I was too thin, and being too thin not only didn’t look good, but it was also unhealthy.

  The next step would be to get more sleep. And not just sleep, but rest. Two hours of sleep a night was simply not enough.

  As I ate breakfast and thought about the things I needed to do before returning to my family, I realized that during my short time in Ron’s house, I’d slept better than I had in all the months before. Not since I’d escaped from his kitchen had I slept through the night, and yet in the time I’d been in this house, I had. And it was a deep and restful sleep, which I also hadn’t had in a long time.

  Before, I would’ve thought Ron’s house to be the very last place on Earth I would ever be able to have a restful sleep, but here I was, sleeping soundly every night. It was probably because he was tied up in the basement, totally incapacitated. I knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. I knew he wasn’t coming after me, and I knew he wasn’t killing other innocent women. Knowing all of those things allowed me to rest easy.

  Dr. Loyd would be proud.

  After breakfast, I went out to my car. From the trunk, I lifted the four pound bag of dog food and carried it inside.

  On my way through the kitchen, I grabbed a spoon and stuffed it in my pocket. I then went directly to the basement, where Ron lay with his eyes closed.

  The bag of dog food hit the work table with a thud, mostly because I slammed it down pretty hard. My intent was to wake him up, but it didn’t work.

  I stared at him, waiting to see his eyes flutter, but they didn’t. My mouth went dry. What if he was dead? I mean, I’d be okay with it—after all, that was the plan, but it just seemed too good for him to die so soon. I wasn’t done with him yet.

  “Ron,” I said sternly. “Wake up.”

  Nothing.

  I stepped over to him and stood at the side of the table, looking down at his face. He didn’t look dead.

  Reluctantly, I reached my hand out and pressed the tips of my fingers to his neck, just under his jaw line. He had a pulse, a steady thump thump thump beneath his skin.

  “Ron. Wake up. It’s time to eat.”

  He still didn’t respond.

  By this time, I was starting to wonder what he was doing. If he was merely sleeping, surely he would’ve woken up when I plopped down the dog food, or when I touched his neck or said his name. But what if he was unconscious, either passed out or in a coma? I could easily imagine him passing out from the pain maybe, but that shouldn’t have put him in a coma.

  I walked around to the foot of the table and looked at the bottoms of his feet, which had stopped bleeding. A large scab had formed from heel to toe. It looked thick and painful.

  The amount of blood caked in the trough around the edge of the table wasn’t enough to suggest severe blood loss. I lost more blood than that on my period.

  I finally decided that the only logical conclusion was that Ron had simply passed out. To wake him up, I thought a little cold water might do the trick.

  With the hose in my hands, I sprayed his face first, which woke him immediately. But I didn’t stop spraying. I covered every inch of his body, paying special attention to his private area. He’d pissed himself more than once and was starting to smell like a urinal.

  When I was finished, I returned the hose to its rightful place and turned to face Ron with my hands on my hips.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” I gave him a broad smile.

  “Fuck you,” he spat.

  “Now, Ron. Is that any way to talk to the woman you love? I mean seriously. Vulgar language is so unbecoming of you.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “You’ll save me a seat, I suppose?”

  “I’ll drag you with me.”

  “Well look at that. You’re finally trying to take me somewhere with you. That’s nice. I prefer dinner and a movie though.”

  “You fucking bitch.”

  “Don’t call me your mom’s pet names, Ron.”

  I knew by the look on his face and the way he pulled at the restraints that if he could have, he would’ve killed me for saying that. It didn’t matter much what type of relationship a man had with his mother; if you insulted her, he became enraged. Ron was no exception.

  I almost laughed.

  “Talk about my mother again, and I’ll slit your throat.”

  “I really don’t see how you’re going to do that. I mean, I’m over here, and you’re, well, you’re over there. And you seem to be tied up at the moment. So…” I shrugged.

  He pulled harder on the restraints, but it was no use. He wasn’t getting off that table.

  “Besides, you should be nice to me. I brought you breakfast.”

  I grabbed the bag of dog food from the work table and held it up so he could see it.

  He glanced at the bag and then glared at me.

  “I’m not eating that.”

  “This is the way I see it. You’ve got two choices. You can either eat this or you can starve. There’s no third option here.”

  “I’ll starve then.”

  I tilted my head to the side, pretended to think, and then said, “No. I think you’ll eat the dog food.”

  After opening the bag, I used the spoon from the kitchen to scoop up a wad of kibble and carry it over to Ron, who clamped his mouth shut.

  “Open up,” I said as though I was talking to a child.

  He shook his head no.

  “There are two ways to go about this, Ron. One, you can open your mouth and eat this delicious and tasty dog food willingly. Or two, I can open your mouth for you and shove a fistful of it down your goddamn throat. Now which of those two do you prefer? Frankly, I’m happy with either one. But I’ll tell you this. No matter what, you will eat this dog food.”

  He shook his head again.

  I brought the spoon filled with round, brown pieces of smelly dog food to his mouth slowly, allowing him time to register the whole experience—both the god-awful aroma and the wave of nausea that came with it.

  I saw his eyes grow wider as he watched the spoon come closer to his mouth. When it touched his lips, he turned his head.

  The spoon followed.

  Realizing that I wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, he hit the spoon with the side of his face, knocking the dog food onto the table beside him.

  He stared up at me with determined eyes, ready for a fight.

  “Oh, Ron. Do you really think that’s going to stop me?”

  I turned around and searched the work table for something useful, anything that might help persuade him to eat his food. A knife with an eight-inch blade caught my eye, so I put down the spoon and grabbed it.

  I slid the blade of the knife in between Ron’s cold skin and his underwear. Then I ran it up his outer thighs, cutting through the white cotton fabric. When I was finished, I used the tip of the blade to lift the elastic waistband and pull the front flap down, exposing him.

  Looking at him now, lying there as if he was in the midst of having his diaper changed, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to, but I didn’t.

  Keeping a straight
face, I returned the knife to the work table and picked up a hammer. With the spoon filled once again with dog food, I hooked the claw end of the hammer under his testicles. As I touched the spoon to his mouth, I issued my warning.

  “If you don’t eat this food, I’ll rip your balls off your body. Now it may take me a couple of yanks because I’ve never done this before, but believe me, they’ll come off. Now open up.”

  Ron’s nostrils flared and his eyes appeared to darken. He was furious with me, and even though he was restrained, I was scared. What if the restraints didn’t hold and he got free? Even if he only freed one hand, he could grab my throat and choke me. That’s all it would take to end every hope I had of putting my life back together. Hell, it would probably end my life altogether.

  I quickly reminded myself that I wasn’t defenseless. I was holding the hammer. The feel of the handle in the palm of my hand was reassuring and gave me the confidence I needed to go on.

  “Come on, Ron. Eat up. It’s good for you.”

  To let him know just how serious I was, I gave the hammer a little jerk. His eyes widened and his muscles tensed.

  Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to jerk on the hammer again, he opened his mouth.

  “There you go,” I said. “See? Was that so difficult?”

  I dumped the dog food in his mouth and expected him to spit it in my face. To make sure he didn’t, I pulled on the hammer slightly, reminding him of the pain I could cause.

  He chewed reluctantly, his face scrunching up in disgust. His eyes never left mine.

  Ron was a control freak, and I knew that he was long before I began reading his latest novel. I knew that keeping his eyes locked on mine while he ate the dog food was his way of controlling the situation. Or at least trying to. The claw end of the hammer currently hooked underneath his balls was a testament to the fact that I was the one in control here.

  When he swallowed, I asked if he wanted some more.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I think you do.” I filled the spoon again and dumped it into his mouth.

  Watching as he chewed, I said, “You should be thankful.”

  After he swallowed, he said, “For what?”

  “Well when you shoved dog food down my throat—nearly choking me to death in the process, by the way—it contained maggots. Do you remember that? Because I sure do. Lots and lots of fat, wiggling maggots.”

  I fed him another spoonful.

  “So you should be thankful that there are no maggots in this because there could be, you know. I could’ve done it. I could’ve made you eat maggots. But I didn’t, and for that, you’re welcome.”

  After the fourth mouthful of food was down, Ron said, “Fuck you.”

  “What’s that? You want some more? Okay.”

  I fed him three more spoonfuls before becoming bored with him. I’d fed him enough to keep him alive, which was all I wanted. I didn’t want him to die until I said so.

  As I laid the hammer and spoon on the work table, Ron spoke.

  “That tasted like shit.” He spat, probably trying to get rid of the tiny, gritty pieces that lingered between his teeth.

  I turned to face him. “Really? You mean it didn’t taste like piss?”

  “No. Why would it taste like piss?”

  “Because I peed in the bag and shook it all up. Sort of the way you mix salt into a bag of popcorn.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “Really? You think my piss is worse than maggots?”

  He said nothing.

  “That’s what I thought.” I turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he said.

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. “What? Not full yet?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “Well that’s going to be a problem for you then, isn’t it?”

  I walked away, taking my time going up the steps so he could feel the effect of being left behind. After turning off the lights, I shut the door and left Ron alone in the dark basement o digest the piss-soaked dog food.

  20

  In the darkness, Ron laid thinking of all the things he’d like to do to Nicole. He wanted to hit her until the imprint of his hand was permanently embedded upon her flesh. He wanted to cut her throat and watch as the blood gushed from her in rhythmic spurts. He wanted to stomp on her neck until the bones crushed her trachea. He wanted to glue her eyelids open so she would be forced to watch as he stripped the skin from her bones, one layer at a time.

  She had a lot of nerve treating him this way. He could have overlooked her tying him up and keeping him in the basement. He could’ve even overlooked what she’d done to his feet. After all, with love comes pain. But there was no way in hell he was going to overlook her forcing him to eat dog food that had been saturated with piss. It was simply unforgivable.

  To pass the time and relieve his frustration, he pulled at his restraints, jerking with all the strength he could muster, which at this point wasn’t much.

  The only feeling he had in his hands was the prickly pins and needles sensation he got whenever he wiggled his fingers. The bitch had tightened the straps too much and they were cutting off his circulation.

  She would pay for this. For this and so much more.

  He’d been reduced to pissing himself, and if she didn’t let him go soon, he’d be forced to shit himself as well. Such things were suited for animals and filthy whores. Not him.

  She had cut away his underwear and left him exposed. She’d even threatened to mutilate his genitalia. He’d been nothing but nice to her and this was how she repaid him. She had one hell of a payback coming her way, and she was going to get it.

  Just as soon as he got off the table.

  Tired of tugging fruitlessly on the leather shackles that bound him, Ron relaxed and tried to think of another way off the table. There was little he could do as it were. Without the use of his hands or even his feet, his chance of escaping was virtually nonexistent.

  This left him with only his voice.

  Screaming for help would do nothing. If it was possible to summon the attention of a neighbor or passerby simply by screaming, he would’ve been arrested a long time ago, his fate sealed by the ceaseless screams of the many women who’d passed through his home. The basement was too well insulated and the house was too isolated for yelling to be of any use.

  No, he would have to use his voice to talk and reason with Nicole. She had recently proven herself to be an arrogant and selfish bitch, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t intelligent. She was a smart woman with good sense about her, and he felt confident that he could use his charm to control her and manipulate her into letting him go.

  For the next several hours, he thought of things he could say to her, things that might warm her to him.

  He spent another hour looking back on their relationship, searching for any moment during their time together that he’d treated her badly, trying to find any reason she might possibly have to turn against him.

  He could think of none, which was good. If she didn’t have a reason to turn against him, she couldn’t hate him, couldn’t loathe him and wish him harm. And that meant it was possible to get her to let him go.

  By the time Nicole came down the stairs, Ron was ready.

  He smiled at her as she approached the table, stopping at the side and folding her arms over her chest. Patiently, he waited for her to speak.

  “Miss me?” she asked.

  “Of course I did. I always miss you, Nicole.”

  She rolled her eyes, but he pretended not to notice.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” he continued. “I’m still quite parched and would love it if you could give me a drink. Preferably water, if that’s okay.”

  Without speaking, she walked around the embalming table and got the water hose. He’d hoped that by being so polite to her, she’d bring him a glass or bottle of water from the kitchen and hold it softly to his mouth while he drank. When he saw her pick up the hose, he thought perhaps s
he planned to allow a stream of water to gently wash over his mouth, giving him the opportunity to drink at his leisure. He would’ve been happy with either of those scenarios.

  Instead, she blasted it at his face, the forceful stream of the cold water stinging his skin and eyes, filling his nostrils and choking him.

  He spat and coughed, turned his head and jerked it back, waiting for the brutal stream to stop beating down on his face. When he realized it wasn’t going to stop and this was how she planned to give him water, he fought to find a position in which he could drink without drowning.

  Gulping down the water, which tasted far too much of rubber and chemicals, he stared at her. The water splashed against his face and rolled down it in streams, falling from his eyelashes onto his cheeks, but he continued to stare at her without blinking, showing her that he was tougher than she thought.

  She turned off the water before he’d had his fill, but he’d had enough. At least he wouldn’t die of dehydration.

  “Thank you,” he said, hiding the hate he felt for her at that moment.

  She didn’t respond to him, so he continued.

  “I just want you to know that I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

  With confusion written on her face, Nicole looked at Ron. She stood beside the table, arms folded across her chest. Adjusting her weight to her left leg, she cocked the right one out slightly, settling into this stance to listen to anything else he might have to say.

  “I’m serious. You’ve been more than kind to me. You’ve been a very gracious hostess.” He smiled. “Should I call you the hostess? I mean it’s my house, so I’m not sure how that would work. But anyway, before I digress too much, I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you and all that you’ve done.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Like feeding me. Giving me water when I asked.” He refrained from screaming at her and calling her a stupid cunt for not giving him water the first time he’d asked for it, and for making him drink from the hose like an animal when she finally did. “Cleaning the mess I made on myself.” A mess that wouldn’t have been made if not for her, but he didn’t say that aloud. “These are all things you didn’t have to do. But you did them, and for that I’m grateful.”