BLYSS (Blyss Trilogy #1)

by J. C. Cliff

  Nick’s brows furrow, not taking his eyes off mine. “What’s the holdup?” He doesn’t like waiting, and it seems like it’s taking forever to get his hands on this type of technology.

  “Apparently, the company has run into a few technical difficulties. The main problem is in order for the chip to be embedded, their power source needs to remain small, yet they still have to be sensitive enough to receive signals from thousands of miles out in space. Their designers are still working on them.”

  “How big would that sucker need to be?” Nick asks, grabbing a pen. He begins to jot down a few notes.

  “About the size of a quarter. The chip is intended to be embedded in the hip.”

  Nick scratches at his chin with one hand, and rolls the pen between his fingers of the other in deep thought.

  Leaning forward in my chair, I tell him, “We will need to invest in new detectors and readers. Each is going to cost about five grand, but it’s worth it; this technology is profound.”

  “Did the company have a target release date?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, outwardly excited about the thought.

  “No, they didn’t say.”

  He rests back into his chair, tapping his finger on the desk. “Interesting.” Suddenly, he changes the subject, his demeanor immediately tense as he sits up straight. “She’s scheduled to be in the clinic this morning. I want the full work-up.”

  “Who?” Jared asks confusedly, as his eyes shift between the both of us, but I know who Nick is talking about.

  “Room seven,” he answers.

  I shake my head in disagreement. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. She had a shit-ton of anger yesterday. I think she needs more time, more meds, sedation, or all of the above.”

  Jared breaks in with his expert advice. “Nah, Trav, with the amount she’s had for the past thirty-six hours, she really should be at peak level.”

  “It’s two against one, Travis,” Nick says, cocking one eyebrow at me.

  Placing my empty coffee cup on the end of his desk, I mumble, “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.” I’m not happy about the decision. “What time is she scheduled?”

  “In about fifteen minutes,” Nick informs me.

  I look at my watch and get up to leave. “Well, no time like the present. I’ll get the party started then.”

  As I reach the door, Jared calls out behind me, “I’ll be in there soon. I just have some lab work to filter through first.”

  “No problem, man,” I say, pausing in the doorway.

  I’m not looking forward to this morning. I’ve been doing this long enough to know when someone is ready to be pushed or not, and right now, she’s not ready. Maybe the reality is I’m not ready to face her. I get this unexplainable feeling when I’m around her, and I need to shut it down. Every time I create a new barrier, she seems to find a way to break through it, and I go soft every damn time. Plus, I’m on the acting stage as it is, since there are hidden cameras every-fucking-where; I have to be careful just how warmhearted I get. I shake my head at the thought of me growing tenderhearted. I have enough nightmares haunting me from my past as a result of having been too softhearted. Being benevolent only serves to cause me weakness, chaos, and pain; that bullshit’s not going to happen. Leaving Nick’s office, I turn down the long hallway, making my way to Julianna’s room. It’s show time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ~Jules~

  The alarm went off this morning, just as Travis said it would, and I let a groan escape from my battered body. I’m tired, and every bone in my body aches, especially my skull. I nervously find myself glancing around the room, expecting something like the boogieman to appear if I don’t start moving.

  I begrudgingly slip out of bed and take a much-needed shower, still half-asleep. I take an extra-long time standing under the hot spray, enjoying the pounding stream of water beating against my tired and aching muscles.

  I didn’t sleep well last night, despite the sleep medicine. My mind had raced with the unknown, and I dreamt crazy dreams of the things that lay behind the set of red curtains. I pull myself from my tired haze and grab the shampoo bottle resting on the shower’s shelf. My eyes squint in disbelief; it’s the very shampoo and conditioner I use at home. Coincidence? I shake my head; I don’t think so. I don’t have a good feeling about any of this, but I tell myself it could always be worse. Nick is right; despite my captivity, he’s made sure to provide me with quite a few comforting items.

  What I really want to do, instead of getting ready, is fall to the shower floor and cry. If I allow myself to think about Adam, and the things I can’t control right now, I will collapse and fall apart. I want to allow myself the luxury so bad it hurts, but knowing myself, I know I won’t be able to recover. I feel a tiny tear prick at the corner of my eye, and it stings. Using the heels of my hands, I rub my irritated eyes, forcing myself to keep my emotions in check. I shake my head, and keep mumbling out loud to myself, how I need to keep my wits, and stay alert for an escape opportunity.

  Once I feel the massaging hot spray has loosened my sore muscles, I turn off the shower water and dry myself with a big, fluffy towel. When I make my way out of the steamy bathroom, I feel as if I’m going to faint. I fumble for the sink’s countertop, and grab onto it for dear life. I’m really dizzy, and white spots begin to form before my eyes. My hands grip at the edge of the countertop a little tighter while I try to keep myself steady; maybe it’s a lag effect from all the drugs I’ve been given. It’s an odd sensation, like I’ve been spinning around in circles, then immediately stopped. After the light-headedness subsides, I notice through my peripheral vision I’m standing in front of a mirror, but I’m afraid to look at myself. I wonder how much black and blue will be painting my neck and face today. I let out a sigh and murmur to myself, “C’mon, Jules, just get it over with.”

  I hesitate for a beat then slowly look up into the mirror and cringe. I bite my lower lip with worry, seeing the bruising on my neck from strangulation; it looks worse today, if that’s possible. My fingertips trail lightly over my sore jaw, taking stock of the damage. I really don’t see any bruising there, thank God, but it’s still sore as hell.

  Once I decide I’ve had enough of looking at my pitiful self, I suddenly remember I’m on a time crunch, and I don’t know how much time was lost in the shower. I could’ve spent the entire day under the hot stream of water, balling my eyes out. I close my eyes tightly, refusing to revisit my inner turmoils, and focus on what I’m supposed to be doing.

  I need to get dressed. Travis said my clothes would be laid out for me. I turn around and look at the end of the bed. Yep, someone must’ve come in while I slept and placed my outfit there. I walk over to inspect what it is I’m supposed to be wearing today and am somewhat surprised at what I see. Everything looks brand new and neatly-pressed. Light blue panties and a matching bra sit on top of a light blue, silky, button-up, sleeveless blouse and a pair of black dress pants. Black sandals sitting on the floor complement the ensemble.

  I guess I could spend all day trying to figure this one out, but instead, I go ahead and quickly get dressed. I run my fingers through my damp hair and let it air dry. I turn around to find a breakfast tray sitting on the small kitchen table. I know I’m probably going to need every ounce of energy I can muster today, so I sit down, uncover my morning meal, and begin to eat. I’m glad it’s oatmeal and soft fruits, something my jaw muscles don’t have to work overtime chewing. I just hope the oatmeal was processed in a wheat-free facility.

  By the time I finish my breakfast and brush my teeth and hair, I hear the door to my room click open. There is no noise, and nobody comes from around the corner, so I peek around the corner of the bathroom to find Travis leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He doesn’t look happy, and I hesitate to step out into the open.

  He holds out his hand in a gesture that tells me I’m to follow him. “Come,” is all he says. Yes, Travis is definitely acting distant
this morning, and my face falls into a frown. Something had to have put him in a bad mood this morning, because when he left me last night, I thought he was in a decent mood. I feel the tension rolling off his body, and in turn, his scary mood sends prickles of trepidation down the back of my spine while a sense of uneasiness and foreboding fills the air around me.

  I reluctantly follow his orders and make my way across the room, stopping in front of him. He wraps his hand around the crook of my elbow, and a shiver of fear glides over me. He guides me out the door and into the hallway, where I try to take inventory should I have the good fortune of escaping. I quickly scan my surroundings, looking for escape routes along the way, but Travis’ stride is so fast I find myself stumbling just to keep up. I swear it looks as if I’m at the Sheraton, but I know I’m not; that just wouldn’t make sense. Thick-patterned carpet covers the hallway’s floor, and art deco lines the walls. I feel like I’m at an art gallery; understated elegance is everywhere I look.

  I glance at Travis and ask, “Are we in a hotel?” but I’m met with silence. I’m shocked when I see Travis wave his hand over a sensor and a door automatically clicks open. I peer through the door, and no one has opened it for us; it’s like he spoke a silent “Open Sesame” command. What the hell? What kind of security runs through this place?

  Taken aback by the technology, I trip over my own two feet, forgetting we are still supposed to be in motion. Travis pulls me into the room—no, not a room…that would be like comparing a dollhouse to a mansion. My jaw drops as my eyes scan over what appears to be a full wing of a hospital. My brow furrows as I try to absorb the monstrosity of the space laid out before me. There are no windows, which leads me to believe I am underground. My heart speeds up, I’m trying to keep my composure, but honestly, I’m a nervous wreck.

  It’s like Grand Central Station in here. Computers and lab equipment line countertops located throughout the room. I can’t help but think I’m standing in the middle of a highly-operational crime syndicate hub.

  I can only hear bits and pieces of conversations as we walk past people, and I strain my ears to hopefully pick up on some information that would be helpful in getting me out of here. This facility is too overwhelming; it has to be more than just a human trafficking compound. The scientific technology before me is too complex to describe, and the extensive types of security required to get in and out of these doors has me baffled.

  My nerves spike upward in an instant when I’m suddenly steered toward one of the closed doors. Travis waves his hand over the sensor beside the doorframe, and the door clicks open. I begin to wonder, if they have this much newfangled technology on the inside, what do they have on the outside? I can’t imagine what security they have in place to stop people like my father and his men from getting in. I’m trying desperately not to panic, but my body isn’t getting the memo. I can feel the blood pulsing through my veins at a breakneck speed. I swallow hard, hoping beyond hope my rescuers won’t be too late, praying they’ll get here before these men truly break me down and squelch my free will. I shudder at the thought of becoming a mindless robot, being used for my body, them violating me in ways that would surely crush my spirit.

  Travis casually enters the room, pulling me in beside him, and immediately my mouth goes dry. The door automatically closes behind me with a final sound of doom. It doesn’t take a genius to realize the next thing to come won’t be something I’ll like. Immediately, I smell disinfectant, and my gut coils as if a gallon of milk is sloshing around in my lactose intolerant stomach. God, I hate that smell; it reminds me of a dentist’s office. The smell only serves to increase my anxiety, and my nerves are already shot. The room is cold to me, but maybe it’s the heebie-jeebies. I feel the chills race down my bare arms, followed by raised goose bumps, and I physically shiver.

  I jump a mile high when Travis suddenly places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward an exam table against one of the walls. The treatment room looks like any other in a doctor’s office. At least the room looks sterile; it sure as hell smells like it. It has beautifully-framed landscape pictures on the walls, and I wonder again why these people even remotely care about decor here. I scold myself for gazing a tad too long at a particular piece of art hanging on the wall. Why can’t I focus? I need to be agile and ready to run at any given opportunity, and I sure as hell can’t do that by being enamored by a piece of art. This must be one hell of a high-class sex traffic club.

  Travis’ voice jolts me from my thoughts, breaking through the silence of the small exam room. I’m strung so tightly right now, any little noise or movement sends my heart racing. “Have a seat on the table.” His tone brooks no argument, so I cautiously slip onto the table, swallow hard, and decide to sit on my hands to keep them from visibly shaking. It’s only the second thing he’s said to me all morning. He’s been short and abrupt, and his behavior has my nervous system wrought with tension. I wonder what happened to the sweet, caring man from last night. I chastise myself for thinking there was anything human and compassionate about these men, especially Travis. I feel tricked.

  “You need to get undressed.”

  Licking my lips nervously, I shake my head, not wanting to believe this is happening. I want to go back to my prison cell, be anywhere but here. He closes his eyes, obviously searching for the patience to deal with me. He lets out a deep breath, and when he opens them, he has a determined look on his face. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Shit, he means business.

  “Either you can do it, or I can do it. The choice is yours.”

  I arch my brow to portray a boldness I don’t have. “No,” I say firmly, lifting my chin bravely. I have every reason to expect I will be violated here against my will, and that thought has me stiffening my backbone. I’ve never had a gynecological exam before, and I’m not going to have my goods invaded here under duress, especially for strange men to see.

  He lets out a slightly exasperated sigh, and says, “Have it your way.” He then moves toward me, and I immediately jump from the table, sprinting for the door. With my hand on the doorknob, I twist and pull at the same time, but nothing happens. Shit, it’s locked! The knob won’t turn, and my gut ties itself in a knot. I try again, just in case I was imagining things, but it still won’t open. Looking back over my shoulder, I see Travis has his arms crossed, and one eyebrow raised, looking half-bored.

  “Are you done?”

  “I’ll never be done trying to escape. You have no right to do this to me,” I hiss.

  He begins stalking toward me, and I find myself shrinking away from his advancing form; so much for renewed determination. With my back pressed into the wall, I try my damnedest to meld into it, to disappear, but it doesn’t work. I start sliding my body along the wall to try to escape him, until he has me caught in the corner. My heart begins to pound loudly against my breast bone. He’s taunting me with his dominating power as he slowly trails me; his eyes portray a hungry wolf getting ready to devour his trapped prey.

  “Even if you thought you could escape, which you can’t, we have cameras in every place imaginable,” he states matter-of-factly. “We’re so good; we can hear you devising a plan before you can even act on it.”

  I blink hard, shaking myself from the shock, and start running scenarios through my mind of where they would hide cameras. I gasp, horrified to think...no...I shake my head and whisper with incredulity, “You guys watch me use the bathroom?”

  Travis chuckles, finding my mortification amusing, and lifts a brow. “I did say everywhere, sweetheart.” He then takes another step towards me, and I can do nothing at this point. Being pinned in the corner, with my back to the wall, I’m a helpless victim. My heart sinks to my toes as I slide my body down the wall and curl myself into a tiny ball, trying to feel safe. The fear I feel has me losing my breath, and the moment my bottom comes into contact with the cold tile floor, I hug my knees to my chest. It’s my only defense at this point.

  He steps into my per
sonal space, squatting down in front of me on his haunches, his fingers laced together, his elbows resting on his thighs. His thick, muscular thighs are outlined perfectly in his form-fitting jeans; he looks breathtakingly handsome. Everything about him is perfect, right down to the way his biceps bulge from underneath the short sleeves of his tight-fitting t-shirt. The desire to touch him is overwhelming. He’s freshly-showered, and I smell his unique scent of leather and soap again. He has an unspeakable amount of control over me, and I hate him for it. I despise the effect he has on me, and I find myself glaring at him. I will him to touch me so I can scratch his eyes out.

  “Sometimes,” he says softly, “I can almost feel you trusting me, and it bothers me during the times when I don’t think you do.”

  I scoff in his face. “Trust? Yes, let’s talk about that. It’s rather difficult to trust criminals,” my voice raises an octave throughout my last words, “who steal young women right out from under their father’s nose, right from their own home!” I narrow my eyes on him and seethe in a heated voice, “You men are despicable.” I know I wouldn’t get away with this rant if it were Nick here in front of me. He seems ruthless, and the thought makes me shudder.

  Travis bites his lower lip and leaves it there between his teeth, visibly contemplating how he’s going to proceed with me. It would be a sexy look if I wasn’t preoccupied with getting the hell out of here. Hell, who am I kidding? It is a sexy look, no matter the circumstances. I briefly wonder if this is the point when things get physically rough, and I wind up hurt again.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he says carefully and calmly. “For the second and last time, the choice is yours.” He pins me down with his emerald eyes, which are sparkling with confidence. “It doesn’t matter to me; either way, you will wind up on that exam table with no clothes on.”