Binding Choice: A Romantic Thriller

by Jessica Dale

  Confused, I tilted my head back to look at my hands, above me on either side of my head. My wrists were wrapped in red leather, and they were chained to the bedstead.

  I shivered and looked down at myself. I was naked, on top of the bedding. My ankles were cuffed as well, with legs spread wide.

  My first thought was that I should’ve listened to that frisson of fear that ran down my spine last night, when we first came into the bedroom.

  It’ll be okay, I told my clenched muscles. He would have his little thrills and then take me home, and I would never, ever see him again.

  My stomach churned as I braced myself.

  He moved to the end of the bed. He was stark naked, his erection stabbing out in front of him. “Are you ready, sweet Ricki?”

  Panic shot through me. Why is he calling me Ricki?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Drew

  The car ahead of me slowed to a crawl as it went around a curve. I blasted my horn.

  This is why I hate relying on others. It gives them delusions of equality.

  The asshole was going five miles under the speed limit, and I was quite sure he was doing it on purpose—just to mess with me by keeping me from the cabin, and sweet Ricki spread-eagled on my bed.

  A cold front had come through last night, dumping some rain and dropping the air temperature fifteen degrees. I’d forgotten to build up the fire before I’d left. By now, her milky skin would be pebbled with goose bumps, her nipples puckered from the chill air.

  My own skin flushed with excitement. On the next straightaway, I floored it. Her piece-of-shit Mazda didn’t have much power, but there’s something to be said for the element of surprise.

  As I pulled up beside him, he grinned over at me and flipped me off. Try to race me fuckhead, and I’ll run you off the road.

  I edged past his front fender and zipped in front of him, then looked up in the rearview mirror.

  Still grinning, he gave me a small salute.

  “You’re such an ass, bro,” I muttered, as I made the turn onto the dirt road leading to the cabin, gravel spewing from under the little car’s wheels.

  <<>>

  Jules

  At dawn on Sunday, I woke with a crick in my neck, sitting in the front seat of my car. Light shone from Ricki’s front window, but her parking space was still empty.

  When she hadn’t returned my call or text by yesterday evening, I’d driven back to her house. Her car, which had been in its space that morning, was gone.

  I’d settled in to wait for her. She had to come home sometime. Eventually, despite the tension in my body and the worry gnawing at my brain, I’d fallen asleep.

  I got out of my car and stretched in the early morning light. The cool air helped clear my head.

  I knocked on her front door. No answer. I circled the house, as I’d done several times yesterday, peering in the windows.

  It crossed my mind that a neighbor might see me. I could end up arrested as a prowler, but I had trouble making myself care about that.

  The view from each window was the same as it had been yesterday.

  She was with Drew. I knew in my gut I’d lost her.

  Nevertheless, I tried her phone again. Same result. Several rings, then it clicked over to voicemail. Only this time a tinny voice informed me that the party I was trying to reach had a full mailbox.

  I drove home slowly, my chest heaving and eyes stinging.

  But I wasn’t ready to give up yet. I would call her at work tomorrow. It would be harder for her to duck me there.

  In the meantime, I had to survive this evening. I was in for a long, lonely Sunday night.

  <<>>

  Erica

  Drew finally left me alone Sunday night.

  He’d taken me, stumbling and sore, to the bathroom earlier. Then he’d fed me some soup and left me chained to the bed, a down comforter thrown over my nakedness.

  I trembled as the enormity of my situation hit me. Every muscle in my body clenched. My stomach heaved. How could I have been so stupid?

  I pulled on the leather cuffs, lined with something soft. The chains rattled against the metal of the bedstead. Maybe if I pulled hard enough something would give.

  I thrashed and yanked against the restraints until I was exhausted. I’d made a lot of noise but the chains felt as strong as ever.

  I twisted around to get a better look at where they were attached.

  My heart sank. This was no flimsy modern imitation of a brass bed. It was a true antique with thick, solid bars and crosspieces, soldered together.

  I shuddered violently, and not just because I’d partially knocked the covers off of me in my flailing around. Reality was sinking in. This was more than bondage games. He wasn’t going to take me home.

  Despite my terror, my eyelids drifted shut. My muscles felt like lead. My last thought was that he’d probably drugged the soup.

  <<>>

  Jules

  First thing Monday morning, I called Ricki’s office number. The voice that answered sounded vaguely familiar.

  “May I speak to Erica Burke?” I said.

  “She’s not here today. May I help you?”

  “Uh, is she on vacation?”

  “No, she called in sick.”

  My mind had finally dredged up the connection to the voice. “Brandi?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Jules Herndon. I’m worried about Erica. I’ve been trying to reach her all weekend.”

  “No need to worry. Her father said she has a bad cold.”

  “Her father?”

  “Yeah. He was the one who called. Said she had laryngitis.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks. Take care.” I disconnected.

  I wanted to feel relieved. She’d gotten sick and gone home to her dad’s. But my gut said something wasn’t right here.

  Where did her father live?

  Virginia. Southern Virginia actually.

  If she wasn’t feeling well, how likely was it that she’d travel that far, and for what? To have her dad or her stepmother take care of her? She’d said that she and her father rarely even spoke.

  Blowing off my own work obligations, I called up my favorite search engine on my computer and plugged in the last name Burke and the state of Virginia.

  There were over a thousand hits. Okay, I needed a way to narrow this down. I tried Richmond. Still over three hundred.

  I blew out air and called her phone again. Same deal. Four rings, a click and then the tinny voice telling me that the mailbox was full.

  I had a strong suspicion where her phone was.

  Grabbing my car keys, I headed out the door.

  <<>>

  Erica

  I wished that whining dog would shut up and let me sleep. The sound was quite irritating, a soft but intense keening.

  I roused a bit more but resisted opening my eyes. Then I realized I’d been dreaming.

  My living room had been full of people, dressed in dark colors. They balanced plates of food in their hands and some were talking or even laughing. But most were quiet and solemn.

  A funeral. I’d wondered who died.

  Then I’d found my mother in a corner, all in black, rocking back and forth and saying, “My baby, my baby,” over and over again. The keening sound had been coming from her.

  In reality, she was already dead, and fortunately would never know my fate. But dreams were at liberty to resurrect anyone they wanted to.

  I still kept my eyelids clamped shut, delaying having to face my own reality. Wetness on my cheeks told me my tear ducts were not cooperating with the charade.

  “It’s Monday morning,” I said out loud.

  I didn’t want to lose track of the days. Somehow that would make the ‘he’ll never let me go’ more real.

  Adrenaline coursed through my veins despite my efforts at denial. Fear made my bladder weak. I couldn’t hold it any longer.

  I felt the hot liquid spread under my butt, along the botto
m of my thighs, soaking into the bed sheet. Slowly it turned cold and clammy.

  I wondered how he would make me pay for this.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jules

  I hesitated outside her kitchen door. What if I was wrong and she really was just sick?

  I stared down at the clump of bushes along her back wall. She’d mulched around them with small rocks and what appeared to be oyster shells. It looked nice.

  I fished some tissue paper out of her trash can, doubled it over several layers thick, and wrapped a few rocks and shells in it.

  Taking a deep breath, I smacked the bundle against the window in her kitchen door. It bounced back with no effect.

  Wrapping both hands around the twisted-together ends of the paper, I reared back and swung the weighted bundle hard against the glass.

  The paper tore, the rocks and shells scattering on the ground. But two cracks had appeared in the window.

  Impatient, I took off my jacket and wrapped it around my hand, then punched the window hard. The glass shattered.

  I reached in and twisted the deadbolt, felt down lower for the knob. I was inside in less than a minute.

  I made a mental note to tell Ricki she needed better locks.

  It took ten seconds to find her phone, lying on the kitchen counter, plugged into a wall socket.

  I scrolled through her contacts and stabbed the listing for Dad. I punched the number into my own phone.

  Two rings. “Hello?”

  “Is Ric... I mean, Erica there?”

  “Who?”

  “Your daughter.”

  “My daughter’s asleep up in the nursery.”

  Relief washed through me. “So Erica’s there?”

  “Erica? No.”

  “What do you mean, no? You just said your daughter was in the nursery.”

  “Who the hell is this?” The voice was angry now.

  I took a deep breath. “Sir, I’m a friend of Erica’s. I’m trying to locate her.”

  “Well, shit. I haven’t heard from her in months. Hmm, Christmas it was, last time we talked.”

  “So why did you say she was asleep in your nursery?”

  “Hunh? Oh, not her. My newborn daughter, Lindsey. She’s asleep upstairs.”

  I gripped the phone, swallowed hard. “Congratulations, sir.”

  I disconnected.

  Staring at Ricki’s phone, I tried to figure out what to do next. I checked recent calls.

  Most of the numbers filling the screen were my own cell and home landline. But another number showed up twice, that of Prudence Parker.

  Without thinking it through, I tapped the number. The phone redialed the number.

  One ring, barely. “Erica! Thank God.”

  “Um, it’s me, Pru. Jules. I’ve been looking for Erica.” I took a deep breath, knowing what the answer to my question would be. “Do you know where she is?”

  “No, and I’ve been trying to reach her for a couple of days. She’s not with Drew Thompson, is she?”

  “What makes you think she might be?”

  A low groan. “No, it’s happening again.” Pru’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “What’s happening again?” I knew Pru had some kind of history with Drew—that’s why I’d asked her to talk to Ricki—but I didn’t know the details.

  “I had, uh, have a friend. She hooked up with him and he did something to her. I don’t know what, but she left town and she’s barely speaking to me now.”

  Baffled I said, “Why’s that?”

  A beat of silence. “I remind her of him. Everything here reminds her of him. Last time I talked to her... Well, not talked exactly. I got a text, shortly after Valentine’s Day.” Pru’s voice became strained. “She said she wasn’t coming back to Maryland and I should...” A funny noise, a sob maybe? “I should forget that she ever existed.”

  The sound of air being sucked in through a clogged nose. “I texted back that I’d come to visit her. But she said no, it wasn’t a good time.”

  “She’d fallen for him that hard,” I said, a bit astonished, “that she ended your friendship over it?”

  “No, she wasn’t in love with him. I think he hurt her physically. Look I gotta go.” Her voice was suddenly nervous. “But let me know right away if you hear from Erica, okay?”

  “Yeah, I will. You too.”

  I disconnected, then wondered why Pru hadn’t asked how I happened to have Ricki’s phone.

  Just as well, since I didn’t have a good explanation. I wasn’t willing to admit to breaking and entering.

  I set the phone back on the counter and began to search the rest of Ricki’s house.

  The rooms looked lived in, with things scattered about, not as neat as when I had picked her up for dates. It felt like she would walk around a corner at any moment, smile and say, “Jules, where’d you come from?”

  But she didn’t, and I found no clues.

  I did find a spare key, in a kitchen drawer. I pocketed it.

  I went to the hardware store, bought plywood, a cheap power drill, screws and a screwdriver.

  I returned to Ricki’s house and covered the damaged window. I’d have to hire someone to replace the pane of glass. That was beyond my skill set.

  By the time I’d finished, my hands, not used to manual labor, were rubbed raw in several places. I savored the mild pain, penance for having let down yet another woman I loved.

  I sat at the kitchen table and pulled Ricki’s laptop over in front of me. It was on, which seemed odd. But it was plugged in. Maybe she left it on all the time when she was home.

  When she was home.

  The whole house looked like she was home, but she wasn’t. Either she had left in a hurry or...

  Would Drew have taken her by force?

  Okay, don’t let your imagination run away here.

  I’d call him, act casual, suggest we get together for lunch, and ask, by the way, have you heard from Erica lately?

  His phone rang three times, then went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.

  I jumped up and went to the counter, retrieved her phone. I scanned her contacts again. They were pathetically scant. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d complained of not having many friends.

  Besides the ones that were obviously doctors’ offices, her car mechanic, and the rental office of the townhouse complex, there were a half dozen names that might be friends. Wary of questions about why I had her cell, I called them from my own phone.

  Beth’s number turned out to be a counseling center in Blacksburg. Jan was away from her desk at Hopkins Hall—Ricki’s boss, I surmised.

  One name rang a bell. Ricki had talked about a good friend from childhood. I was pretty sure that friend was Amanda. When I called her number it went straight to voicemail. Did she work somewhere that required she turn off her cell phone?

  “Hi, this is Jules Herndon. Um, Erica might have talked about me. Could you call me as soon as possible.” I gave my number and disconnected, unwilling to express my fears in a voicemail message to a stranger.

  The other three women were acquaintances from college. They hadn’t heard from Ricki in months. Two didn’t even know she’d moved to Maryland.

  I slumped down onto a chair at the table and stared at her laptop. The screen had gone dark.

  I tapped a key to wake it up, then called up my favorite search engine. After all, computer research was what I did for a living, and I was a halfway decent hacker, something few people knew.

  I needed to know more about Drew Thompson. I was pretty damn sure he would lead me to Ricki.

  <<>>

  Erica

  “Ricki, oh Ricki, wake u-up.”

  That damn singsong voice. Drew grinning down at me.

  Groggy and temporarily forgetting my status, I growled, “Stop calling me that.”

  Drew’s grin grew wider. And then he slapped me. Hard.

  My head snapped to one side, my vision blurred. A second later the st
inging hit me. My cheek was on fire.

  “You need to remember your place, young lady,” Drew said, mimicking a stern father’s voice.

  That creeped me out.

  “Oh, my, and it seems that you’ve wet the bed. Bad girl!”

  The dampness was mostly dried under my butt, but the stale urine smell was strong.

  He sauntered over to a dresser against the bedroom wall and opened a drawer.

  I swallowed hard when I saw what he had in his hand.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jules

  By five that evening, Ricki still hadn’t come home. I’d been staring at her laptop screen for hours and probably now knew more about Drew Thompson than he knew about himself.

  He’d had a dozen DUIs in college and a couple drunk and disorderly charges. No big surprise. I remembered how he drank back then, but so did the rest of us. It was a frat house after all. But most of us didn’t drive when we were plastered.

  His family had connections, which was probably the only reason he still had a driver’s license. His father was Andrew Thompson, Sr., a local real estate hotshot.

  Thompson Realty, Inc. dealt in commercial and investment properties. Andrew, Sr. and/or his company owned or managed twenty-one properties in the area, not counting the properties they had listed for sale.

  “Crap,” I muttered as I leaned back.

  Most of those properties were apartment complexes or office buildings. Many of them probably had basements and/or attics. A few were houses that the Thompson Realty Company rented out.

  Far too many places where a kidnap victim could be hidden.

  I shuddered at the admission that I thought she’d been kidnapped. How could this be happening?

  I ran fingers through my hair and blew out a sigh. Should I call the police, file a missing person’s report? How would I explain the broken window? And my fingerprints were all over that door. They might arrest me for breaking and entering, and then I wouldn’t be able to search for Ricki.

  I had a list of Drew’s friends and acquaintances, four of them mutual fraternity brothers. I methodically worked my way through it, calling each of them. Most of them reported little contact with Drew in recent times.

  Bill Watson, one of the fraternity brothers, seemed utterly confused by my questions. He worked for Thompson Realty but could shed no light on Drew’s present whereabouts. “We don’t socialize outside the office.”