by Jamie Canosa
“I would, Mr. Willingston. It’s just that—”
I shut my eyes, said a silent prayer that I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life, and sank my teeth into Frank’s hand.
Dirt and the faint tang of oil coated my tongue. He grunted and tore his flesh from my mouth. I sucked air, prepared to scream bloody murder . . . And then I hit the ground. I hadn’t even felt myself falling before the wind was knocked out of me and Frank’s substantial weight was pressing me into the floorboards.
“Oh my. What was—?”
“You know what?” Sawyer spoke loudly, concealing the slight sounds we made as Frank and I scrabbled. It didn’t last long. Before I could say a word, he trapped my wrists, pinning them to the floor above my head, and covered my mouth again. “I’ve got some time right now before Frank gets back. Why don’t you show me what the problem is and we’ll see if we can get it fixed up?”
“Well, that would be wonderful. You always were such a kind boy . . .” The old man’s voice faded away as Sawyer led him from the building.
Straw stabbed at my cheeks and tugged at my hair. I could barely breathe with Frank on top of me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. It reeked of mildew and sweat.
Outside an engine turned over and I heard gravel crunching under tires.
“Stupid bitch.” Sour breath washed over the side of my face. “You stupid, pain in the ass, good for nothing . . .”
Frank’s weight disappeared and before I knew what was happening, I’d been hauled to my feet right along with him.
“You are completely useless!” With his hand fisted in the front of my shirt, he shook me like a ragdoll. “What are you gonna do, huh? Where are you gonna go? Run home to daddy? Your own father doesn’t even give a damn about you. Reed Tanzen doesn’t give a damn about anyone. He certainly doesn’t give a damn about Sylvie. He doesn’t even know her name.” Venom spewed from his lips. “He’ll never accept responsibility for his actions. I can’t make him, Sawyer can’t make him, you can’t make him. But if it’s the last thing I do, I swear I will make him feel the pain he’s caused. I’ll make sure he feels the horror and the loss and the emptiness . . . even if it means sending the thing he loves most back to him in itty-bitty pieces.”
A quiet snick filled the air. My feet itched to run at the pace of my galloping heart, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I was paralyzed by fear. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“I think I’ll start small.” The blade of his pocketknife scraped down my arm and my blood ran cold. I didn’t like knives. I’d never liked knives. Frank grabbed my hand and ran the flat slide of the blade across my knuckles. “Maybe just your fingers and toes.
“Then . . .” Cold steel caressed my cheek and I didn’t dare move a muscle. “. . . your ears and . . .” The tip of the blade indented, but wasn’t sharp enough to pierce my skin as he traced my lower lip. “. . . your tongue. And then . . .” Frank smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. It was cold and calculating and malicious. “. . . your eyes. That way you won’t be able to see what’s coming next. And you won’t be able to scream when it does.”
He withdrew and I felt dizzy with relief. Or maybe it was lack of oxygen. Or pure terror.
“Don’t worry.” He snapped the blade closed and stuffed it back into his pocket. “I have a sharper knife than this if it comes to it.”
Frank strolled back to his corner of the stall and the trembling started in my fingers, traveling all the way to my toes. My ears, my tongue, my eyes . . . I sank onto the cot, no longer capable of remaining upright. I didn’t even realize I was crying until a tear splattered on my leg. Then another. And another.
Sawyer said no one here wanted to hurt me. He promised. But what did Sawyer know? Maybe he was lying. Maybe he’d meant it. But he wasn’t here. He wasn’t hearing what I was hearing, seeing what I was seeing. Sawyer didn’t know shit.
Chapter 8
~Ophelia~
The time for playing make-believe was over. It was clear I’d lived in a fantasy world for far too long. One where Sawyer wasn’t who he appeared to be. Where my father would ride in on a white horse like a knight in shining armor to rescue me. I thought I’d put that starry-eyed daydreamer to bed years ago, but I guess part of me still wanted to believe.
All I could believe now was that I only had myself to rely on. My father had shot Plan A all to hell and Plan B . . . Well, now I knew what Frank’s version of Plan B looked like. Now I knew that all of Sawyer’s pretty words were just that. I wasn’t safe. I’d been putting my trust in all the wrong people my whole life. It was time to stop playing the damsel in distress, waiting around to be rescued, and do a little rescuing of my own.
The steady pinging of rain against the roof was the perfect cover. The sounds of water gushing over the sides and splattering to the ground below hid every creak and groan the cot made as I carefully rolled over. The constant rumble of thunder was punctuated by the occasional deafening crack. How anyone managed to sleep through it was beyond me, but there he was. Sawyer, stretched out beside me on his back, one hand dangling over the head of the cot. Frank snored loudly in the corner. I’d watched him carefully for the past two hours and he hadn’t moved a muscle.
A bitter wind howled between the gaps in the walls, sprouting goosebumps up and down my arms. I didn’t know how Sawyer wasn’t freezing with the blanket pushed down around his knees, exposing a strip of hard, tanned flesh along his waistline. And the pocket of his shorts where I’d seen him tuck the key to my cuffs away earlier.
Adrenaline felt like a million ants running over my skin as I stretched my arm across his body. Sawyer’s breaths came in steady huffs. Inhale-hold-huff. Each hitch sent my blood pressure skyrocketing and every huff brought it crashing back down. I was a shaky mess by the time my fingers brushed the opening to his pocket.
But that was as far as I could reach. Dammit.
Barely breathing, I shifted the cuff attached to the cot over, watching his face closely for any sign that he was waking. My gaze traveled over his lips slack with sleep, his golden lashes fanned against his cheeks, and I found myself momentarily hypnotized by how innocent he managed to look in sleep.
He didn’t move. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
I bit my lip as I strained against the cuff digging into my wrist. The fingers of my free hand slipped inside the mesh pocket of Sawyer’s shorts and stretched as far as they were able. His breath hitched and I froze solid. Then it puffed against the side of my face. The very tips of my fingers brushed against cool metal. So close. Just . . . a . . . little . . .
I shifted my hips closer and ignored the warmth oozing from my restrained wrist. My fingers wrapped around the small key and I eased it oh so slowly from his pocket, having to clamp down on the urge to giggle when it fit into the cuff and I heard the tiny click before the shackle fell away.
I was free.
Stinging pain flared from the tattered skin braceleting my wrist. I pushed it aside. It was bleeding, but it didn’t look bad and I could seek medical attention if I needed it after I got the hell out of here. A flash of lightening illuminated the stall and I caught a glimpse of Frank’s large form still curled up in his bed of hay. He, too, looked far less threatening in sleep. Beneath the anger and the muscles, it was easy to forget that he wasn’t much older than me. But I couldn’t let myself be deceived. He was dangerous.
Rolling, I eased my weight evenly toward the edge of the cot, catching myself on hands and knees when I went over the edge. Despite every last one of my survival instincts tell me to flee as far and as fast as possible, I forced myself to still. If either of them woke before I got out of the stall it wouldn’t matter how fast I ran. When neither moved, I climbed to my feet and tip-toed toward the stall door.
If there was one thing I knew for sure it was that those hinges hadn’t been oiled in years. The damn thing squealed like a stuck pig every time it opened or closed. Splinters dug into my palms as I hoisted myself up and
swung my leg over the top.
When I landed on the other side, there was no stopping me. My need to escape took over and I ran.
Rain pelted my face and arms, stinging every square inch of bare skin and soaking me to the bone within seconds of stepping outside. The crack of thunder overhead made my teeth snap and my insides vibrate. I reached the fence line and vaulted over it. In the distance, I could make out what looked like a building. A house maybe a mile or so away? But there weren’t any lights on. There weren’t any lights anywhere. Not a streetlamp, not a headlight, not so much as a freaking star in the sky. Only the sporadic flashes of lightning to illuminate the uneven, overgrown landscape between here and there. We were in the country. No doubt there were snakes and all sorts of other creepy crawlers just waiting for me to go traipsing by, but none of that mattered. Distance was all that mattered. Not where I went or why. Just how far.
The branches of a lone oak bent and twisted, the entire trunk swaying in the vicious wind. Strands of wet hair lashed at my cheeks. The t-shirt Sawyer had given me was saturated, a bitter cocoon plastered to my skin. Millions of blades of grass sliced my bare legs as I forced them to push harder, cold air stinging my throat with every breath and burning deep in my lungs.
Along the horizon, a pair of twin stars blinked into view, traveling steadily towards me. Light reflected in the billions of raindrops falling to Earth as a swath of illumination cut across the open field. Help was coming. My escape was on its way. My ticket back to reality. All I had to do was not miss the ride.
I changed directions, tearing across the field as I swiped blindly at the rain in my eyes. Mud squelched between my toes, splatting up against my calves. My muscles burned and my skin froze as I sprinted with everything I had in me. If I could just make it—
Slimy, wet grass flattened underfoot and the next thing I knew my ass met the ground with a hard thud. Light from the car flashed less than a quarter mile from where I sat. I couldn’t give up. Couldn’t stop. Not now.
Scrambling to reclaim my footing on the slippery surface, I glanced behind me and that’s where I saw him. A dark silhouette highlighted against a flash of lightning. He was too far away to tell who chased me, but not far enough. He plowed across the field, leaning into the wind and rain as though the weather had no effect on him whatsoever.
Pain bolted up my leg when I put weight on my right foot, surprising a wounded cry from my lips, but I wouldn’t let that stop me. I hobbled along, moving as fast as I could, as though my life depended on it because I thought it just might. That could have been the moment . . . the one that decided if I lived or died.
The whir of tires over wet pavement rose above the storm. I was close. So close.
Gasping for breath, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he was devouring the space between us faster than seemed possible.
My arms felt like a pair of lead weights as I lifted them overhead, waving frantically in the hopes that the driver might somehow see me through the darkness and the downpour. Please. Please see me. Please just look—
Ooph.
A body slammed into me from behind, tackling me to the ground in a tangle of limbs and wet grass. I struggled to break free, but solid arms clamped around me. Removing the possibility of flight. Leaving me only one option.
To fight.
Chapter 9
~Sawyer~
*8 years ago*
“I told you to clean this shit up, Sylvie. You know better than to leave it lying around. What happens when Dad sees it?”
I kicked my foot up on the scarred coffee table and drained the last dregs of my beer. Frank snipped at his sister a little more before doing the same and tossing his empty bottle amongst the others littered around his living room. Technically, we were still six years from doing this legally, but no one would notice. Or give a damn.
“Jesus. Chill out, Frank. I’m getting to it.” Sylvie plucked a hair tie from the rug and snapped it around the braid hanging over her shoulder.
“Chill out? You’re telling me to chill out? Are you trying to start a fight?” Frank shoved out of the armchair and stomped across the room, getting all up in his sister’s personal space. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Does it make you feel powerful watching me take a beating for you? Is that it?”
What. The. Hell? My feet hit the floor with a muted thud.
Sylvie sucked in a sharp breath, her lips compressed in a tight line. “Screw you!”
The crack of a slap was so unexpected it took me a moment to place it. I still couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched Sylvie reel sideways into the wall.
“Shit.” I stepped between them, angling myself to check on Sylvie, while keeping a watch on Frank from the corner of my eye. “Syl? You alright?”
Her hand hovered over a bright red patch on her cheek and tears shimmered in her eyes.
“What the fuck, man?” I wheeled around on Frank to find him staring at his hands like he didn’t recognize them.
“I . . . I didn’t . . .” His troubled gaze lifted to me and slid over my shoulder. “Sylvie . . . I didn’t mean . . . I’m sor—”
She didn’t give him the chance to organize his scattered thoughts, retreating down the hall and slamming her bedroom door behind her.
“I . . . hit her?” He looked about as confused as I felt.
“Yeah, man, you just hit your sister. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t . . . I didn’t . . . I have to get out of here. I gotta go.” Frank started backpedaling toward the front door and my eyes shot to the clock.
“Go? Your father’s gonna be home any minute.”
“Stay.” His gaze snapped to mine. “You have to stay with her, Sawyer. He never comes home from Unemployment not in a shit mood. You have to stay. You have to keep her safe.”
“Me? But you—”
“I have to go. Please, Sawyer. You have to protect Sylvie. Promise me. Promise me you’ll protect her.” He was pleading. Desperate. Years of abuse and I’d never seen Frank look desperate before. Not like this.
“Yeah. Of course, I’ll stay.”
Frank nodded, and kept nodding all the way to the door, leaving without another word.
I watched through the dusty bay window as he jogged down the sidewalk and out of sight.
“Did he really leave?” Sylvie huddled in the doorway.
“Yeah, but it’s okay.” I wandered over to the sofa and sat, trying to appear more casual than the situation warranted. “You know he’ll be back soon. And hey . . . I’m here.”
I grinned her way and got a small smile in return. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Listen, Syl.” I drew her down beside me and sighed. I was about to sound like the world’s biggest hypocrite. “I’m not making excuses for what Frank did. There is never an excuse for someone hurting you. But . . . you know your brother. You know what you mean to him. You know he’d never—”
“I know.” Sylvie ducked her head. A defensive maneuver she’d used for years to hide, but with her hair tied back I could still see the tears pooling in her eyes. “He’s been really stressed out lately. And I didn’t listen. I never listen. He’s only trying to keep me safe and I . . .” She sniffled and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
“Hey. It’s okay.” Sliding an arm around her back, I tugged her into my side. Dammit. It made me sick listening to her blame herself. If she excused this kind of behavior now, what would that mean for her in the future? What kind of sick bastard would take advantage of her for the rest of her life? “Nothing you do or don’t do can ever excuse someone hurting—”
“What the fuck is this?” I’d been so focused on Sylvie that I hadn’t even heard the front door open or Mr. Varis come inside. “I leave for one goddamn hour and you think you can bring your boyfriend over here to trash the place?”
“No, Daddy. I didn’t . . . He’s not . . .” Sylvie tried to scramble away—put a little more distance between her and her father—bu
t I held her close. If something was going down, I intended to be in the middle of it.
I scanned the array of colorful hair clips and plastic jewelry scattered across the rug. The same shit Frank had been on her to clean up earlier. “Sir, we’ll clean it up right—”
“Was I talking to you, boy?” The large man swayed slightly and I uttered a silent curse.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Sylvie pried my arm from around her and dropped to her knees on the carpet, frantically picking up the offending items.
“You will be.” He took one step toward her and I was on my feet without processing the thought to do so.
“Leave her—” A straight shot to the gut had me doubled over and sucking air before I knew what hit me.
I could hear her screaming the whole way down the hall, but when I tried to right myself it felt like my lungs closed up. I couldn’t get enough air into them. The edges of my vision went dark and I toppled over onto the sofa.
“Sylvie,” I wheezed her name as a door slammed shut. “No.”
It was a struggle to regain control of my body. A battle against time and pain.
As soon as I was on my feet again, I plowed down the hall. “Sylvie!”
Hysterical crying made her words inaudible from behind her bedroom door, but I knew she was begging for mercy—a concept men like her father—and mine—didn’t understand.
“Sylvie!” I pounded on the locked door. “Leave her alone! Sylvie!”
There was a whistle, a sound I recognized all too well. The sound of leather slicing through air. The loud crack was nearly drowned out by an ear-splitting scream.
Sylvie. No. This wasn’t happening. Not to her. Not to Sylvie.
There was another crack. And another. Screams piled on top of one another, creating a deafening buzz in my brain as I kicked, punched and body slammed that damn door. It didn’t budge.
“Sawyer!”
Christ, she was calling for me. Screaming my name. Asking me to save her.
I raced to the end of the hall. Ducking my head, I dug my feet into the carpet to build up speed. This was going to hurt like hell. Footsteps bounced from the narrow walls and I threw myself full-force into the door ahead. It blasted open with the sound of a cannon and I took two more steps before crashing into her dresser. Books, paper, and a small porcelain figurine toppled to the floor.
