Toxicity

by Katie May

  I remember the rough arm—the decidedly masculine arm—grabbing me. Knocking me unconscious.

  But why?

  The list of people who would want to hurt me is staggering. Jared’s murderer, for one. Or someone who thinks I’m guilty of it. Maybe an acquaintance of Gerald?

  Fear wreaks havoc on my insides threatening to expel the meager contents of my stomach.

  What is he going to do to me?

  For a moment—a shameful, prolonged moment—I debate whether or not I should fight. This doubt only lasts for a second before a tornado touches down and wipes it away.

  I am no one’s victim.

  Not again.

  There’s a beast inside of me, an unmerciful, savage type of monster you only see reserved in predators. A decidedly beautiful creature. It wants to roam, to hunt, to attack.

  To escape.

  That thought is the most prevalent, pounding against my skull like a sledgehammer. I’m not deluded enough to believe I can physically take down the man who took me, but I will escape. Survive.

  I didn’t fucking go through life with a whip constantly breaking the skin on my back to die now. No, I took that whip and cut it in two. It won’t hurt me any longer.

  Escape.

  Escape.

  Escape.

  It’s all I can think about. All I can breathe.

  I refuse to let fear shrivel my lungs until what little air they’re holding diminishes.

  With newfound determination, I reassess my bindings. While there is rope around each ankle, there feels to be only duct tape securing my wrists together behind the back of the chair.

  Okay, think, Mallie. Think.

  My eyes immediately are drawn to the bed on the opposite side of the room. Four thick pillars are erected from each corner, sharpening to a keen point.

  Now, how am I going to get there?

  Staring at the doorway, ensuring there are no other noises except for the ones coming from the television, I hop. That’s the only word I can think of to encapsulate what I did. It isn’t a full jump—the chair barely moves an inch—but it’s all I’m capable of.

  Another glance at the door.

  Another confirmation nothing sinister is lurking on the other side.

  Another hop.

  My muscles ache; I know my face is taut with grim determination. Sweat beads my brows, cascading down my cheeks.

  Glance.

  Confirm.

  Hop.

  Glance.

  Confirm.

  Hop.

  I can feel something wet in my eyes. Tears.

  Glance.

  Confirm.

  Hop.

  Finally, I’m facing the four poster bed and the product of my numerous nightmares. It appears opposing, almost malevolent, with the moonlight from the open window casting striped shadows.

  Irrationally, I want to spit on the bed—as if every bad deed will dissipate from my mind the second I enact vengeance.

  But no. This is real life, and real life is much harder to understand. There’s no magical cure for trauma and depression, no secret word that will rid me of all my problems.

  After this is all over, I’m probably going to need therapy and medication. And orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms.

  Nat’s right. I fucking deserve a harem after all this shit.

  I eye the bedpost with derision before carefully, ever so carefully, turning the chair a full one-eighty, so my back is now facing the bedpost.

  I can feel the wood against my arms, but no matter how hard I strain, I can’t lift my wrists high enough to touch the sharp tip.

  Fuck.

  Refusing to give up, refusing to wallow in the seductive embrace of depression, I rub the tape against the outside of the wooden pole. Hopefully, the friction will wear down the tape until I’m able to snap it.

  It takes twenty minutes.

  Twenty fucking minutes of rubbing my aching arms against the wood. Twenty minutes of straining my ears to hear any impending footsteps. Twenty minutes of tears burning my retinas and soft, inarticulate cries escaping my parted lips.

  I need to get out of here. I need to get to my men.

  There’s a surprisingly generous amount of security in the knowledge Phillip and Roman are only next door. Have they realized I’m gone yet? Are they searching for me?

  When the tape finally loosens enough for me to rip free, I start crying for an entirely different reason: relief.

  It settles over me like thick honey until it’s all I can focus on.

  I’m getting out of here.

  With a desperate cry, I bend down and attempt to loosen the rope around my ankles. My fingers tremble, making the task even more impossible. Fortunately, the rope is loose enough for me to slowly unravel, allowing circulation back into my throbbing legs. When the final length of rope touches the ground and I’m free, I nearly sob with relief.

  But I can’t.

  Not yet.

  Moving slowly, cautiously, I press my ear to the door. I know this hallway only has two rooms: the master bedroom and the bathroom. The television must be coming from downstairs.

  I debate whether or not I can escape through the window before deciding against it. Each window is either locked or barred or both. Jared was a stickler about his privacy—though I often wondered if he feared me escaping more than he did someone breaking in. I was the monster he kept under lock and key. The villain hidden in the castle.

  With that option out, I slowly inch open the door, grateful when it doesn’t squeak. The hallway is silent. Empty. With the lights off, it’s easy to believe there are monsters lying in wake, preparing to strike.

  I take a few calming breaths to tame my out-of-control heart. The damn organ is threatening to burst any moment now. Ignoring it—and the fear settling in my bones—I venture into the hallway. One step. Two steps.

  My legs still tingle from being tied up for so long, my left more than my right. The limb drags awkwardly behind me.

  Mentally cursing, I head to the spiral staircase and begin my slow, cautious descent. My eyes flicker from side to side, searching for any monster hiding in the shadows. Fear continues to play me like an out-of-tune guitar. The seedling springs to life, taking root in the darkest abysses of my mind. Sprouting. Growing. I don’t want fear to consume me, but it’s hard to kill. Hard to shove underneath the proverbial rug.

  My hand shakes where it grips the railing for dear life.

  Downstairs.

  Through the living room.

  Out the front door.

  I have made this trip millions of times before. I can do it.

  I can do it.

  My foot touches the bottom step, and I wince when it creaks.

  Noise from the living room makes me pause, horror swamping me as ice cold fear migrates down my spine.

  Someone’s in the living room.

  Deciding quickly, I turn on my heel to escape through the back. I’ll climb the hedge separating my house from Susie’s. I’ll be safe.

  Another noise joins the first, and this time I pause for an entirely different reason.

  The sound is a feminine whimper. A cry.

  Is someone here with me? Am I not the only victim?

  My rapidly draining courage battles against my instinct for self-preservation. In the end, my courage wins. I can’t leave another girl in his clutches. I can’t. The mere thought sends spurts of terror to the soles of my feet, cementing me in place. It’s ugly, this terror, rapidly twisting and contorting until it begins to resemble anger.

  I’ve lived my life as nothing more than a toy, but I haven’t broken. I’ll be damned if they attempt to break another defenseless female. Whoever this monster is, whatever his reason is for kidnapping me, he’ll face my wrath.

  I don’t have a plan. Honestly, at this point I’m relying solely on instinct. All I know for certain is that I need to stop him and free the crying female.

  Footsteps nearly silent, I tiptoe to the living room, peeking
my head around the archway.

  Horror like no other leaves me breathless. It physically knocks the breath straight from my lungs until I see stars in my vision.

  What the hell?

  My eyes rapidly move to take in the macabre scene as my brain struggles to understand. It doesn’t know what it’s looking at. And frankly, neither do I.

  It’s…

  It’s Aurora.

  She’s naked, her eyes closed in blissful pleasure. Behind her, hand wrapped in her golden hair and cock entering her relentlessly, is the doctor. Her doctor. With each thrust of his hips, Aurora shakes, her large tits bouncing. Her pouty red lips are wrapped around a familiar man’s cock. Moder’s. His head is thrown back in pleasure, his large belly practically touching her forehead. And fucking his asshole is Griffin.

  Dozens of things fall into place.

  Aurora knows Griffin and Moder. And obviously her doctor as well. Intimately.

  And she’s not in a coma.

  The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place with a resounding snap. I can barely get breath back in my lungs.

  When Aurora glances up, spotting me cowering in the doorway, her face twists in satisfaction. She practically laughs around Moder’s cock like the twisted bitch I always knew her to be.

  Aurora murdered Jared, her own father.

  And now, if I don’t escape here, she’ll murder me as well.

  Chapter 24

  I don’t give myself a second to think.

  Spinning on my heel, I race towards the back door. My lungs burn and my still tingling leg drags behind me, but still I run. The dark door is all I can see, all I can focus on. My vision is funneled.

  Faster. Faster. Faster.

  A hard body collides with mine and pulls us both to the ground. I land on my stomach, my nose ricocheting off the linoleum tiles. There’s a crunching noise, and I automatically wince, warm liquid dripping from my now broken nose and staining the white floor.

  Fuck.

  The body over mine spins me onto my back, straddling my waist. Ice cold fear settles in my turbulent stomach.

  Officer Moder’s sneering face glares down at me. Disdain practically oozes from his pores like acid eroding rock.

  His still hard dick touches my stomach, and it takes everything within me not to cry out. Scream. Bawl. I grit my teeth and turn my head away, fear tightening its unrelenting grip around my poor, distressed, abused heart.

  A thousand scenarios of what he could do to me cascade through my mind.

  I buck my hips up with a ferocious cry, immediately turning my fingers into claws to scratch at his face.

  He easily grabs my wrists and holds them above my head. It suddenly occurs to me the predicament I have found myself in.

  I’m alone with a monster—four monsters—and I’m only wearing Phillip’s shirt. I’m not even wearing panties at the moment. The terror unfurling in my stomach, clouding my vision, is unlike anything I have ever felt before. It evokes memories of being helpless, of feeling used.

  Slut. Whore. Bitch.

  Those names were whispered in my ear for years, and I have come to accept them. Expect them, even.

  So when Moder spits in my face, eyes alive with fury, and calls me “slut,” I don’t react.

  “Get off the whore, baby,” Aurora snaps. Moder, after one long eloquent look down my body, staggers to his feet. Phillip’s shirt has ridden up to just under my chest, and I struggle to push it down and cover myself.

  Aurora and her…lovers stand in the doorway, still naked and half-hard. Griffin crosses his arms over his chest, anger—and a healthy amount of lust—lighting his eyes while the doctor just appears annoyed. Both men must be thirty or forty years older than Aurora.

  She stands in between them, unashamed of her bare perky tits or the cum still dripping from her pussy. Love bites cover her pale skin. If I hadn’t seen the grim smile on her face, hadn’t seen the amusement glimmering just beneath the surface, I would’ve thought her to be a victim.

  But the girl is no victim, no pawn.

  She’s the fucking game master.

  “Aurora,” I whisper, scrambling to my feet.

  Her eyes have the same keenness as a frosted over sword. There’s no light in them; only a darkness I must resist falling prey to.

  “Mommy dear, what a pleasure to see you!” The belligerent grin that crosses her face sends goosebumps down my spine. Every hair on my body is standing at attention, preparing for her inevitable strike. And strike she will. She's feral—a wild animal that has been locked in a cage for too long. There’s something unhinged about the girl, something not quite right.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask hoarsely, but a part of me already knows.

  Aurora’s slashing eyebrows pull low over glowering eyes. For a moment, there’s silence as she considers me.

  Considers what I’m wearing.

  The soft, albeit sinister, smile disappears from her face instantly replaced by a livid, soul-wrenching fury. The silence implodes.

  “Is that Phillip’s shirt?” she screeches, lunging towards me. Before I can take more than one step back, Moder is behind me, securing my body against his naked one. I whimper, full-body tremors coursing through me. Fear continues to destroy me from the inside out—I can’t breathe, I can’t think, can’t respond. “You stupid cunt!” Aurora continues, spit flying from her mouth. “You just had to steal him from me, didn’t you? You stole everyone from me. First my own father and then Phillip!”

  My brain struggles to catch up to my mouth. “So that’s why you killed him?” I ask, with an almost detached curiosity. Shut up, mouth! “Is that why you killed your father?”

  For the first time since we began this conversation, legit anguish crosses her pretty face.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says softly. She sniffles, and Griffin immediately wraps his arm around her frail shoulders. Just as quickly, the pain dissipates to be replaced once more with anger. “I meant to kill you.”

  No fucking surprise.

  Honestly, I wonder how long she spent practicing this evil villain speech. I imagine there were notecards involved. Maybe a PowerPoint presentation.

  Now that I’ve pieced everything together, it’s not that surprising.

  She hates me—loathes me.

  Enough to murder me.

  My guess? She poisoned my food that night after she saw me with Phillip. Only instead of me digesting the toxic substance, it was Jared who ate it.

  My second guess? One of the men hit her to put her in the hospital, to create the bruises I saw on her face. His twisted way of helping? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just a sick psycho...as sick as the girl herself.

  Between the two officers and the doctor, she had faked her coma.

  And faked my involvement in the murder.

  Deluca’s words about missing security footage, the officers withholding information, and crooked cops reverberate through me.

  He suspected Moder and Griffin were involved.

  Fear...fear I can deal with. But this new emotion seeping around the edges, cutting at my heart like a blunt knife, is infinitely more dangerous.

  Hope.

  Hope is so fucking dangerous to hang onto because when it fades, you’re left with nothing. Only numbness.

  But if Deluca suspects Griffin and Moder are involved…

  It’s only a matter of time until he finds them. Finds me.

  Aurora’s face twists once more, the loathing in her glare evident. Branding. It sears my very fucking soul. How have we gotten to this point? What have I done to make her hate me so much?

  “I have to get to work,” Griffin murmurs into her hair, and she smiles up at him dotingly. To anyone else, to anyone who doesn't know her as well as I do, they would think the smile to be real. Bright and warm and beautiful. Only I can see the disgust curling her thin lips, burning in her eyes like a banked fire.

  She doesn’t truly love him, not the way she loves Phillip.

 
; Well played, Aurora. Well played.

  When Griffin leans down to kiss her, fondling her tits, I turn my head away in disgust. The last thing I need imprinted in my mind is my step-daughter fucking a fifty year old cop.

  Oh wait.

  It’s already burned into my eyelids, a hideous horror movie I can’t unsee.

  Griffin, with one last dirty glance in my direction, stalks towards the living room and hopefully his clothes. I can just imagine him walking into the police station with his cock billowing in the breeze.

  Any other circumstance, any other place, I’d actually smile at the ridiculous image, but I’m too fucking terrified to even breathe.

  “So what happens now?” I ask Aurora darkly. Moder’s hand presses down onto my shoulder, no doubt bruising my skin through the ratty band shirt.

  “Take off Phillip’s shirt,” Aurora hisses, each word seemingly pulled from her mouth.

  “What?” I whisper, darkness encroaching the edges of my vision. The last thing I want to be is vulnerable, naked, in front of these monsters. My body shakes with trepidation.

  “It’s not yours!” she roars vehemently. “It’s mine!”

  The girl looks seconds away from tackling me to the ground and ripping the shirt off me herself.

  Wrapping one arm around my waist, I try to plead, “But I’ll have nothing to wear.”

  As if she fucking cares about that, dumbass.

  I quickly scramble to come up with an excuse. “And you don’t want your...your men to see me naked, do you?” It’s a dangerous game to play off her jealousy and possessiveness, but I’m out of options. I don’t want to be naked in front of these men.

  Aurora blanches as if I struck her. For a moment, I fear her hatred for me and jealousy over my relationship with Phillip will overrule her possessive nature. However, she steals a glance at first her ugly ass doctor and then her ugly ass cop. Whatever she sees in their expressions causes her own to tighten, but I don’t dare peel my gaze away from hers to look for myself.

  “Come,” she says shortly, sashaying the way we came from. Moder pushes my shoulder, sending me tumbling to the floor, but I manage to land on my knees. Scrambling to my feet, I hurry after Aurora. At the moment, she’s the safest option.