You Own Me (Owned Book 1)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  Information overload.

  I was going to overheat like a computer.

  Opening my mouth to speak—to protest, to do anything to get control of the situation—only a small sound escaped me. Dean punched me in the head and I had about two seconds to register the pain before everything went black.

  “Whore.”

  I groaned. Everything hurt. Even after falling off the rocks at the cabin, I hadn’t felt this much pain. It was like my body was short-circuiting, because even it couldn’t register the degree of pain I was in. I would numb and feel nothing, and then a spark of intense pain would shoot through me.

  “Wake up, whore!”

  Where was I? What was going on? I couldn’t focus on anything other than the excruciating pain I was in. I blinked rapidly, trying to get my vision under control. Colors started rushing back into my eyes like shoppers on Black Friday.

  I felt a sharp yet dull pain in my side, and my vision began to blacken again.

  “Wake up, bitch! Time to talk!”

  I grimaced at the loud voice. Who was that? As if on cue, everything came flooding back. Dean. Zoe. My apartment. The punch.

  I felt a series of pains in my side and realized Dean was kicking me. I tried to protect myself from the next impact, but it was too late: he’d already bruised my ribs and, judging by the pain, he’d cracked at least one. If I wasn’t so busy being brutalized, I’d have the breath to yell out, call him a bastard, or do something to defend myself.

  “Pay attention to me, whore,” Dean said.

  His name calling didn’t faze me. I stared at him through the spots dancing across my vision, daggers shooting from my eyes.

  “You’re going to come home with me and never leave again.”

  I barked a laugh, clutching my ribs. “And then are we going to get pet unicorns?”

  Dean bent down and slapped me. I knew it was coming; I should have kept my mouth shut. Instead of engaging in Dean’s delusions, I should be thinking of a way to get myself out of this mess. I should be thinking of a way to get Zoe some help.

  Oh shit, Zoe. Was she still unconscious in the hall? What if she had a brain bleed from Dean slamming her into the wall?

  Dean grabbed my chin and I could feel his fingers bruise my bone. “Lennox, you are mine.”

  No I’m not. My vision was cloudy, but that thought was clear. I belonged to another. The flag had already been planted by someone else. Too late, Dean-a-reenoo.

  Instead of signing my death warrant with those words, I said, “Yes.”

  Dean seemed pleased with my response and let go of my chin. I exhaled in relief. If I was going to get out of this, I needed to play his game. I don’t give a shit about my pride, I just want to survive.

  Dean sauntered over to my wingback chair and sat down. He slowly swung his head back and forth, surveying my apartment. “I always wondered what it looked like from the inside. I’ve been on the outside for so long.”

  I stared at him, pushing myself up into a sitting position. He was acting like a villain in a Sherlock Holmes novel. Even his lexicon and speech pattern were different.

  “You see, Lennox, my pet . . .”

  Pet? Did he really just call me pet? He really has gone insane.

  Dean sat in my armchair like a king passing judgment on one of his peasants. He droned nonsense about my place in society and how badly I’ve put him out these past months.

  I stopped listening to him, but kept an eye on his body language—it was more telling than his words. He wasn’t paying attention to me to see if I was hearing him; he was too busy with his diatribe.

  I think what he’s doing has a name, it’s called the serial killer’s prerogative or something. They can’t help it, they have to tell their plan. Of course, Dean isn’t a serial killer (that I know of) but the principle still applies.

  I inched away from him, toward the window. It was my only escape option, because he was too close to the door and I was too far away from it. Dean still seemed oblivious of the real me; he was focused on his illusion of me.

  I took another quick peek at him. He must have said something he considered humorous, because he was slapping his knee. I know his brand of humor: it’s dangerous and leads to violence. I continued slowly moving away from him, pushing myself along the floor with my heels. Was there anything close by I could use as a weapon?

  For a girl being stalked, I have a shitty selection of self-defense items. Note to self: invest in katana.

  “What are you doing, Lennox?”

  I snapped my head back toward Dean. No longer dangerously humorous, he was just dangerous. He’d seen me creeping away.

  It was now or never.

  Adrenaline was screaming through my body. Letting loose a howl of rage, I jumped to my feet and shoved a solid oak nightstand right into Dean. (It took two full-fledged testosterone monkeys to wrestle that nightstand into my apartment—go me!) He stumbled and fell over. I spun around, frantic to find something to throw at him, when my eyes fell on my new porcelain lamp.

  Too many of my porcelain lamps have suffered because of Dean.

  I don’t have superb aim, so when I let loose with the lamp, it hit the wall next to him. Luckily, the porcelain shards became shrapnel and pierced his skin. Dean howled, grabbed his face, and rolled over.

  Remember how I said I was going to take all those classes? Yeah, well, I did take a class. One class. At the gym: kickboxing. I’m not even sure if that counts, because right now that kickboxing class isn’t giving me much advantage over Dean.

  I made a beeline for the fire escape, slapping the light switch into the off position as I passed it. The glow from the streetlights seeped into the apartment, but it was better than nothing.

  I knew I didn’t have much time to escape him. Blood and pain would only hold off Dean for so long.

  I shoved the window open and dove through, landing on the fire escape. It was old and rickety, and was probably the original one built with the building. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the first rung above my head. I started climbing up.

  Old locks, old fire escape . . . Vic was a shitty landlord.

  “You bitch!” Dean screamed into the night, his voice like the death howl of a tortured prisoner. My mind stopped wandering and I came back to the present with a vengeance.

  Climbing faster, I ignored the ominous groans of the fire escape. At least if I fell and died on the shitty fire escape, Dean wouldn’t get his chance with me.

  I think. But then again, who knows if Dean is into necrophilia. Ugh. I shuddered and kept climbing.

  Fuck, it was a long climb, but I refused to glance down. Not because I was afraid of heights, but because I was petrified I would see Dean chasing up the fire escape like an escaped mental patient from old movies.

  About the time I reached the tenth floor, I was wishing to God I had worked on my upper arms more. They were killing me. Did I already mention it was a shitty, old-timey fire escape? It was only a series of bars. To go up, you did pull-ups; to go down, you used it like a ladder. Apparently, a modern fire escape with actual stairs was too good for us tenants. I was basically scaling the side of my building.

  My upper body muscles burned and my thighs and calves were twitching like those of a hard-run horse. I couldn’t rest my feet because the rungs were too slippery. So, it was either climb through the pain or return to my ex-boyfriend who was intent on raping me to death.

  Choices, choices.

  I finally reached my destination after what felt like climbing Everest.

  “Please don’t be locked,” I prayed. I’m not sure I’d have had the strength to break it, even if my energy reserves weren’t wiped out.

  I pushed on the sash, and the window slid open. “Yes, thank you lord Jesus!” I praised a deity I didn't necessarily have faith in. Funny how deities exist only when you need them.

  I slammed the window shut behind me, locked it, and slid down the wall. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief, and let my body seep onto the fl
oor.

  It felt like a good five minutes before I felt rejuventated enough to take in my new surroundings. When I did, I gasped.

  Vic was standing before me, half naked, with only a sheet draped around his waist. He was a god: chiseled abs and sweat glistening on his olive skin. Clearly, I had interrupted something.

  I looked away, my cheeks flushed. My arms felt like lead pipes, otherwise I would have lifted my hands and buried my face in them.

  Vic knelt down, bringing his face parallel to mine. He grabbed my chin with a firm but gentle hand, and turned my face toward him. Unlike Dean, his touch was soft. “What is going on?” Vic asked.

  I sighed. How could I possibly explain all of this? Oh, you know, just your typical day. I was playing bingo with the girls when my stalker showed up to rape and murder me. I pulled a SpiderMan on his ass, though, so it’s all good.

  I opened my mouth to try to explain it without any smartassery, but the female voice I heard wasn’t my own.

  “What the hell?” An annoyed woman yelled from atop the stairs. “Who is she?”

  Wearing nothing but a robe, the woman looked down at me with utter disdain. Shit. It was Mia Farrow, otherwise known as the woman from the elevator a few weeks ago. Under any other circumstance, I would have returned her distain with gusto, but right now I was too beat to do anything save roll my eyes. Having a psycho ex come after you would do that, I suppose. I felt like J Lo in Enough, before she got all cool and kick-boxy.

  “Go back to bed,” Vic said, his tone firm. His eyes never strayed from mine. They looked like they had the morning he stayed with me, before everything got all fucked up.

  I’ve missed Vic.

  “Yeah, right,” Mia Farrow replied.

  Anger flickered across Vic’s eyes, but only for a moment. He blinked, and, once again, his eyes shone the soft, hypnotic, dark light that pierced my soul.

  I shook my head and tried to shake Vic out. I didn’t want to go down this road again. I wished like hell I had someplace else safe to go, but I didn’t. Instinctually, I knew I would be safe with Vic. Not just safe, but that he could handle himself if faced with Dean. As I wrestled with my thoughts, I felt two hands gently tugging, coaxing me to stand.

  I swayed a bit on my feet, my muscles still trembling from the exertion of the fire escape climb. Vic steadied me by my elbows; we were less than an arm’s length apart. He smelled clean, dark, earthy, and, most importantly, safe. I wanted to bury my face into his chest, but my self-restraint was intact enough to not do it.

  I don’t know how long we stood like that, me inhaling him and him just letting me, but eventually he spoke.

  “You should sit down while I get into something more comfortable.”

  More comfortable than just a sheet? I couldn’t help but smile to myself, hoping he didn’t see. Fat chance, he saw everything. He gently let go of my elbows and steered me toward the couch. I walked over like a zombie and plopped down.

  “I need a drink,” I mumbled, mostly to myself.

  I was in shock and not thinking clearly, I stared at the window wondering if Dean was going to crawl through the window like Samara climbed through the TV in The Ring. I imagined his eye pits boring into mine, his freakish grimace pulled taunt across his face, scuttling across the floor toward me, oozing malevolent intent. I shuddered violently and tore my eyes away from the window.

  Mia Farrow traipsed down the stairs. She eyed me like I was a stubborn fungus, and then disappeared out the door.

  “I definitely need a drink.” I said, placing my head in my hands.

  “What were you saying about a drink?” Vic reappeared with two drinks in hand.

  He’d put on a robe. Boo.

  I hesitated as I took the drink from him. I did need a drink, but after one fateful night in college, my stomach could only handle certain drinks.

  Non of that Mad Men crap for me anymore.

  Fuck it. I inhaled the liquid, expecting an immediate need to hurl . . . nothing. I was pleasantly surprised. The drink tasted like lemonade. I looked up at Vic and smiled: this man was full of surprises. As the liquid settled in my stomach, a soothing warmth spread through my limbs. I smiled and thanked Vic.

  “I thought you’d enjoy it.” Vic gave me the wicked and wry grin that still made my knees buckle. It was a good thing I was sitting down.

  With Vic and my drink, I was enjoying a brief stint of amnesia. That is until he asked, “So, what’s going on, Lennox?”

  I had given the headline version of my story to Bethany, but only so she’d give me a job. I’d told some of the gory details to Zoe, but only so she could help me try to block Dean’s emails. I hadn’t told anyone the whole story because it was too surreal, too movie-like. Until now, that is.

  If I was going to use Vic’s place as a safe house, he had the right to know what was going on.

  I took a big gulp of my drink.

  “First things first, Zoe is in my hallway. She’s hurt, and I don’t know what he’s doing to her . . .” I choked on my words and then took a sip of my drink. “I can’t go to her because he will get me, and I’m a fucking coward.”

  I hadn’t stopped thinking about Zoe since I saw her crumble to the ground. It was a slow-motion clip that wouldn’t stop playing in my head.

  What could I do? What should I do? I picked at the almost inexistent polish covering my nails, trying to talk myself out of this moral dilemma: Zoe was my friend, arguably my best friend. She was my family here. The fact that I was sitting on my ass in a comfortable couch while Dean did unthinkable things to her was utterly inexcusable. I ripped the last bit of polish off my nails and stood up.

  “What are you doing?” Vic asked.

  “I have to go help Zoe,” I responded, already making my way toward the door. I had no plan, but I still had to try. “She’s down there, alone, because of me.”

  I reached the door, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal of the knob. Despite all my posturing, I was terrified. It was one thing for Dean to be thrust upon me; it was another for me to go to him. I was walking into the eye of the storm without so much as an umbrella.

  This sucked.

  “I’ve taken care of it, Lenny.” Vic said.

  I was already turning the knob, mentally preparing for the darkness beyond the door to wash over me like a deadly wave. The salt would fill my lungs making me cough up blood. I was getting ready for what lie beyond this safe haven, because Zoe was out there in the terrible storm. So, when Vic said he’d “taken care of it,” it took me more than a few seconds to register what he’d said.

  “You’ve taken care of it?” I said to the door. What the hell did he mean? I spun around, looking for anything in his body language that would tell me what he meant. Nothing. Nada. Vic never gave anything away without volunteering it.

  “Zoe is safe.” Vic said.

  I get what he’s saying, I just don’t understand it.

  Relief washed over me, causing me to stumble like a drunk on cobblestone as I walked back toward him. “How?”

  “That’s not important now,” he said. Vic put his arm around my waist and guided me back to the couch.

  That’s not important? It’s all that’s important!

  “Who is he?” Vic asked, sliding his phone into the pocket of his robe. I eyed the pocket. I hadn’t realized his phone had been out until now. Who could be so important that a text couldn’t wait? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t—I couldn’t handle anything else right now.

  Zoe was safe. At least, Zoe was safe according to Vic. I’m not sure I believed him, but I had to accept his statement on face value. Accepting it meant I didn’t have to go out into the storm. It meant I could stay in his home, safe and sound; it meant I could relinquish my mantle of responsibility.

  “Lenny,” Vic pressed, “who is the man you are running from?”

  There was no more polish to remove from my nails, no Zoe to save, nothing to use as an excuse to stall any longer. I downed the rest of my drink and b
egan.

  “I had this boyfriend, Dean. Our relationship started out like everyone’s does. Sweet and caring and blah, blah, blah. Well, a year went by and everything was going well, so we decided to move in together. That’s what couples do, right? That was all fine and dandy, until Dean started acting weird.” I looked up from my empty glass and saw Vic staring at me rapt in my story.. I continued.

  “I did what anyone would do and asked him what was up. He denied anything was wrong. Well, it got worse, so I did what any worried girlfriend would do: I read his texts and emails. Maybe that was wrong of me, maybe not. Regardless, I came to the conclusion that he was cheating on me. I confronted him, and he denied it. I want to say I pushed the issue, but I didn’t. I wanted to believe the man I moved in with wasn’t a total prick, so I dropped it. The following two weeks, I tried really hard to believe everything was okay between us.

  “Then, one night I came home from a late event and found Dean and some girl in our bed. Our bed! The girl ran out with her tail between her legs before I started in on Dean: ‘You bastard! How could you have done this to me? To us? I was right the whole fucking time, you can’t deny it anymore!’”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Except he did. He kept denying anything happened. He said she was just a friend. Right, he’d had a ‘friend’ in our bed and ‘nothing had happened.’ Bullshit.

  “I told him it was over, and I was moving out right now. Dean went ape-shit. Literally. He threw me against the wall, told me he’d kill me if I left, and stormed out. That’s how I fractured my elbow. You can still kind of see the indent it made.” I pointed at my elbow. “I called a cab and went to the hospital. The doctor put a splint on my arm, and, stupid me, I went back to the apartment. Dean hit me a couple of times over the next couple of days. I knew he was going out to cheat on me at night. I don’t know why I stayed those few days—I think I was in shock, not believing it was really happening to me.”