Drowning (Tears of Sin Series) (20 page)

“Are you just ready to accept your fate?”
I think of running until another man crowds in behind me.
“Let's go.”
They lead me to a black car, and I fiddle with my pack of money. Henchman one turns in the front seat. “Did you really think he'd let you go?”
I shrug. “I hoped.”
“Listen, if you want to make this easy on yourself, you need to just give him what he wants.”
I glance at the bruiser. He has dark hair, but it’s cut short, barely covering his ears. “I don't know what he wants.”
He turns back around, and they drive to the edge of town. My pulse races at the familiar scenery. I know where we're going. Harrison had taken me to his secluded cabin before. It’s in the forest that surrounds the lake. I try the door handle, but it won't open and there are no locks to open back here.
We arrive, and he's already here. He meets us at the door and hugs me. I shrink in his arms. “Alice, don't be that way. Give me a hug.”
Numb, I wrap my arms around him and squeeze—mostly out of fear of what he'll do if I don't. The light smoky pine smell surrounds me again. I’m sucked back to a time when he beat me and stuck me out back staked to a dog spoke through the early hours of the morning until I stopped crying. He’d wrapped his smoky jacket around me, covering my wounds and making excuses to Rowena that I’d been locked out back.
He tucks me under his arm and leads me into the one-room cabin. The table is there. Just like I remembered. I begin to shake. His mouth rubs against my temple. “No fear. We both know why we're here.”
“I don't understand. T-two years.” I lurch away from him, but he grips me tight beneath my biceps, digging his fingers in until I wince and settle. “You've left me alone. Why now?”
He takes me to the table and helps me lay down, gentler now that I’m following his lead, cherishing the movements as if he is tucking me into bed instead of an instrument of torture. “You have something of mine.”
I shake my head, tossing my hair across my face. “I don't.”
“You see,” Harrison leans down low, his nose tracing the side of my cheek, “I've recorded our sessions since the very beginning. The zip drives that I kept the film on have been stolen.”
I roll to the side and retch. The acid burns up and out of me and all over his expensive shoes.
He tsks and steps back. “So weak.” Most people would be disgusted, but Harrison would just get even.
“How could you?” It is bad enough that I remember, but to know that he sat back and watched these memories over and over and now someone else had them makes me dry heave again. A wet rag presses against my mouth, and I wipe away my tears and vomit. He presses me back and begins to secure me to the table. I'd heard once that some abused people found a safe place in their mind to go to when their attacker came at them. But I can't escape life like that.
He secures the belts across my waist and chains my hands above my head. After only a few moments, I’m bound and desperate. Under my breath, I whisper the Lord’s Prayer, my Catholic background coming into the forefront. I’m out of options.
He leaves me lying on the table, stepping outside—to make me wait. All part of his game. Henchman Two comes inside and sits on a stool. I can barely see his profile.
“Listen. I have some money in my pocket. If you'll just let me out of here, I'll give it to you. I can even rough you up so it looks like a struggle.”
He pulls out his phone. The tune of a familiar game filters through the room. “No.”
I close my eyes. I abandon the formal prayer of my upbringing and get real down and dirty with God. I pray that somehow Molly will begin to worry. Hope that Seth will come looking for me. But, how will they find me? I don't even know that Row knows of this place.
My father struts back inside with his little black bag of destruction. “You didn't think I left, did you?” He takes out a pair of scissors, laying the cold metal instrument against the skin on my stomach bared by my bunched up shirt. He wouldn’t cut me yet, but he’d let me know he could.
He molds his hands over my hips and drags his fingers up to my ribs. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that lets me know I was his. He has absolute power. The guy in the corner catches my eyes. I know he has to see my pleading, my eyes begging, but he drops his gaze to his lap and puts his phone away.
Harrison grabs the scissors and works them against the hem of my shirt, cutting in a steady snip to the collar, leaving my bra in place. The tip catches in several places up my sternum, scratching the skin into angry welps. He peels back the cotton and smiles at me. It’s a smile daughters should be able to trust. For me, it just warns that he’s gone to his happy place. My pants are next. He makes quick work of the black yoga sweats and yanks them from beneath me.
The guy beyond my dad perks up, scanning my body with both disgust and lust. The cool breeze from an open window chills my skin and adds to the goose bumps already racing over my body. Harrison traces a hand down the scar on my stomach, digging his nail into the sensitive tissue until I concaved my stomach to get away from the burn. “You are so much like her.” His hands splay over my stomach, and he lifts my waist, leaning close to run his nose along a deep scar that resembled an appendectomy wound. “Strong-willed and beautiful.” His head lifts, and he drops those steely gray eyes on mine, ripping me to shreds with the evil in their depths. “I bet your young man has been enjoying this body.”
“No. We broke up.” I don't want this to in any way involve Seth.
There’s a knowing grin on his face. “Did you?”
“Yes. This morning in fact.” He doesn’t flinch, break eye contact, or do anything else that warranted surprise. I’m not stupid. He got to Seth somehow.
He grabs my hand and twists until I scream. “Don't lie to me.”
“I promise.” Every bone kinks against their joints, tightening ligaments and tendons until the pain resonates up my arms and pools in my chest. A fine film of sweat breaks out across my skin. “Please. He doesn't want me anymore.”
“That seems to be the story of your life.” I nod, and he releases my hand. “I'm not sure how you got those drives, but you will tell me where you have them.” He uses the tip of the scissors to trace a ring around my neck. I have no idea if he’s breaking the skin, but the sting behind worries me that I’ll have one more bearable mark. “Are they at your bank? At the apartment?”
“No. I don't have anything. I swear.” I scream in sheer frustration. He is probably going to kill me, and I still don't have what he wants. “Come on you sick freak. Just get this over with.”
He clicks his tongue at me in that annoying way and pets the whip wrapped over his shoulder. “I think a few lashes should get you opened up.” I don't know if he means me talking or my skin. Either will probably please him equally.
He takes a few practice runs with the short whip, the leather screaming through the air and ending on a thwack, and steps back. My body begins to pant without my permission. I want to stay calm and find a happy spot, but he has me to conditioned to this. My reactions are his to mold.
The first lash lands on my stomach, just below my breasts. I hold back the scream that I know will give him the most pleasure. On the second lick of the leather, I'm panting and sweating. A thin layer of blood trails to my waist. The henchman walks outside. He can lead me to my doom, but isn't man enough to watch it. Another sharp smack lands across the sensitive skin on top of my thighs.
“Do I have your attention yet?” I glare at him, and tears seep from the corners of my eyes. I'll have new scars. I can feel the tickle of blood creep along my skin. His phone rings and he stops to answer. Any tension I may have caused him has eased from his voice. “Molly, what is it?”
I scream. “Molly! Molly, please come get me. He's hurting me!” His fist connects with my mouth, and I see stars. My lip is split and blood slides down my throat. The throbbing in my broken flesh is only a shadow of the pain he will cause me. Fucker is really going to kill me.
Harrison barks into the phone and closes it. “Why did you do that?” He storms from the room, and I'm left alone. All I could do now is hope for a quick death.
Henchman One comes back into the room, carrying a robe, and releases me from my bonds. “Your father wants to talk to you outside. Here.” He thrusts the robe into my trembling fingers and shakes his head. Every time I try to lift my arms, the skin across my upper abdomen burns, twisting my guts in agony. The guy guides first one arm, then the other, into the sleeves and pulls it tight across my body, careful not to touch any of the bleeding wounds. I cringe against the hands knotting the sash around my waist. “Hold still.”
I wobble onto the porch, teetering back and forth between passing out and fleeing. Each step forward ignites every nerve ending in my body. My hair brushes against my robe, and each follicle screams. The rake of my tongue across my teeth breaks open each taste bud in its path, and I taste the blood from earlier in sharp, metallic dribbles. My feet aren’t damaged, but the nerves there are hyper sensitive. The rotting boards of the porch tickle, scraping along my heels. I hiss with each step.
My dressing partner grabs my elbow and helps me down the first step. Behind me, in the darkness, somewhere by the small window balanced in the rough wood, my father warns, “You will tell your sister that you've been at the park running all day, and I haven't touched you.” I pivot on the step and look back in the general direction. He steps into the glimmer of light cast by the first rays of moonlight. “That she must have heard the TV in the background. If you do not, I'll kill you both.” His mouth twists into a snarl, and his eyes bleed fire. “I will not have some damn ungracious daughters fucking up all that I am.”
I nod. I'll do anything to get away from him. If he takes one more step, he’ll be in striking distance.
“Alice. I want my drives.” He relaxes back into the handsome politician, shoulders dropping, hands in the pockets of his slacks, and his eyes hooded, relaxed even. “I suggest you help me find them. I've already checked all of Rowena's belongings. That only leaves your mother or you.”
Molly isn't a suspect because of her condition, but I have no clue where to look. “I didn't find anything like that when I sold everything at my mom's.” It’s funny how comfortable we are with these sessions. We are holding on a conversation like he hasn't just tortured me.
“I don't care how you find them. Just do. I have to go out of town for two weeks. When I get back I want my zips.” He pats the goon that has been helping him all evening on the shoulder. “Jordan will be checking in with you daily. If you need anything to help you find them, ask him.”
“Let's go.” Jordan grabs my arm, yanking me down the steps and across the short span of dirt and grass to the car. I yank away from him and slap the hand coming at me again. I’d have like to smack him in the mouth, but raising my arms that far wouldn’t have been worth the effort.
He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, chattering my teeth with the jarring. “I wouldn’t try that again.” He shoves me against the back panel to the car and spreads a towel on the back seat. “We'll stop and get you a change of clothes.”
During the ride to town, I slip into an odd numbness that sucks all the fight out of me. Maybe it’s my fear for Molly. Maybe it is total resignation that this will be my life forever.
We stop near a market/department store combo, and Jordan turns in the seat, draping an arm over the passenger seat. “Wait here. I’m going to get you something to wear.” He’s only gone for a few minutes, just enough time for me to rest my eyes and take inventory of the aches cradling my body. I’m almost dozing off when he returns with a sack. “Here.”
Inside the bag, there is a first-aid kit, bottle of water, and a pair of sweats. I made use of them all as quickly as I could snort down the water, swallow an aspirin, and wiggle into the clothes. By the time I’m drenched with sweat and near passing out, we park out in front of my building. Jordan holds the back door open, while I groan my way out of the car. He walks me through the lobby and to the elevators. “Here.” He slips a cell phone into my hand. “I'm on speed dial, number one.”
I nod. The world is a daze around me. I’m sure it’s part shock, part fear, but both are making my brain mush.
“Day or night.”
“Okay.”
He nods and meets my eyes. His face pales, wincing when his eyes drop to the red stain on my shirt where the blood has seeped through. “I'm sorry.”
“Don't.” I brace a hand against the cold marble surround the elevators, pushing myself taller. “I'm not sure what he has on you, but don't. If you show weakness now, you'll never make it with him.”
He nods and steps away.
I prepare myself for the scene inside and step through the door. Molly rushes forward as fast as she can with her cane. “Alice?”
“Yeah.” I toss my keys on the table near the door just like I always do.
She throws her arms around me, and I hold back my whimpers. Her belt digs into my stomach, tearing open any healing that may have started. The burn spreads from the wounds out, eventually hitting my joints and making me buckle against her. “Easy.” I pat her back, giving her the comfort I so desperately needed. “What's wrong?”
“I called dad earlier and heard this horrible screaming in the background. Oh my God, I thought he had you and that something bad was happening.”
I laugh, a stuttered, uneasy cackle. “No, I was in the park running.”
She touches the side of my face. “Are you sure?”
I sit with her long enough to ease her mind and then complain that I need a shower. She's working on a new article, so I have at least an hour before she comes up for air again.
The shower is more torture, and it takes me careful maneuvering to clean, medicate, and wrap my open wounds. But I’m an old pro at this. I bundle up the bloody towels and carry them to the kitchen, throwing all of my clothes in a black trash bag to take out later.
We still need to eat, and I'm working on pushing the last five hours from my mind. I have spaghetti boiling when Molly sits at the table. “So, are you sure you are okay?”
“Yeah, just tired.”
Molly plants a hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side. “Alice, I'm blind. Not stupid. I know what I heard on that phone.”
“Molly, I have it under control.”
She tips her head back, and tears sink down her cheeks. “When you were little, I remember you telling mom that dad had hurt you during the night. I hated you for lying about my father. He'd never hit me. Never done any of the things you'd said. I wanted to kill you, but I was only nine. I hate myself for feeling that way.”