Uncovering You 10: The Finale (18 page)

I drop down. I falter, a little bit, and nearly fall. A weakness pervades my body. Why? From what source? How come?

And then I see Jeremy again, and I have my answer:
I am love-drunk.

I smile in a silly way.

I run to him and throw my arms around his shoulders. He touches me in a strange way, one hand grabbing my ass, the other pressing right into my pussy. But somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong, but
right
. And oh so wonderful.

“Lilly,” he says. “We’re going to fuck now.”

I bite my lip, almost bursting with excitement. So what if there was no build up? This is what I want.

“Lie down,” he tells me.

“What, here?” I ask. “Right in the forest? Why don’t we go back to our room—“

“Yes,
here
,” he interrupts cruelly. “You’re going to lie down and fuck me right here, Lilly.”

“Well, if you’re going to be like that,” I say, crossing my arms. “Then no. I’m not going to do it.”

“Lilly…” he looks at me with menacing eyes. “You’ve got no choice.”

And then he surges forward and grabs me. I scream and struggle as he knocks me down and pins me to the ground.

His breathing is ragged. Determined. He tears at my robe, ripping it open with no remorse—

Wait. Robe? Why am I wearing a robe?

The thought has no time to expand itself as the struggle continues. I fight against him, twisting this way and that, trying to get myself free.

“Jeremy, stop!” I yell. “Jeremy, stop it! This isn’t you! This isn’t—“

My words are swallowed as my mouth is sealed by his angry lips. His tongue darts into my mouth in a crass, cavalier way. I shake my head, trying to break free. Why is he kissing me like this? He never kisses me like this. It’s so… sloppy.

I gasp for air when he lifts his head. “Jeremy, what’s gotten into you?” I demand. “Jeremy, what the hell—“

“You know, girly,” he interrupts, shifting all his weight on top of me. He’s so much heavier than I remember. “I wish you would stop calling me that.”

And then he surges down again and seals my lips, but I keep my teeth clenched tight, denying him access. He growls and grabs me by the throat. I pucker up and gasp. His hand goes between my legs and I gasp again. He’s being so crude, and the pain—the pain won’t stop.

I twist my head to the side, still fighting against him. My hair goes into my mouth when I take an ill-advised breath, and then—

Oh God. My hair. My
hair
!

The illusion shatters and for a glimmer of a moment, I see Big Man raging above me, one hand yanking his trousers down to reveal thick, hairy, disgusting legs, along with a pair of stained white undies…

I scream and scream and scream as he pounds into me. But all I hear filling my ears is Jeremy Stonehart’s cold, dispassionate laughter.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Another drink is brought to my lips. Another cold, long straw.

I sip, and feel my grip on myself strengthen. I don’t know how long I’ve been gone this time. All I know is the horrible pain that festers through my insides.

It starts between my legs and consumes the rest of my body like a throbbing, living thing.

I drink more. I blink. Red. All I see is red. Why is my vision stained red?

More of the liquid, more of the fluid. That precious, life-giving nectar. It emboldens me. Strengthens me. I feel it flow past my tongue, down my throat, spread through my insides. With it, the pain lessens. It becomes less awful, and more… tolerable.

I open my eyes, looking past the haze of red. Even that is fading with every sip. Control returns to my limbs. On instinct, I bring one hand up and run it through my hair.

Stubble. Short, prickly stubble.

And on that realization, the world crashes into me. I see where I am, what state I’m in, and why.

I’m outside on a… on a balcony. The same one as before? No. I look around. This one’s different. It’s more expansive, for one. For two…

For two, I catch the source of the red. Flames. Dancing flames, from gas torches placed all around the perimeter. I focus on them as the final bits of my dementia drain away.

It’s night. I see the stars above me. The flames make the shadows flicker and twist along the floor.

“Good, good,” Esteban’s voice. “You’ve come back to us now.”

Fear seizes my insides and I jerk up. I expect to be restrained in some way. But I am not. I grip the armrests of my chair and push up—

“Shh, shh, relax,” Esteban says. His hands come on my shoulders, and he gently eases me back. I find myself accepting the movement much too easily.

I tear my eyes away from the flames and look at him. Then I look past him, and see that we are alone on this rooftop.

A rooftop. That’s what it is. Not a balcony. A rooftop!

“Wine?” Esteban asks. “I dare say I am a connoisseur of fine spirits. And I do pride myself on my collection. I’ve brought together rare vintages from all over the world. It’s not the largest, most certainly. But I do try to make it one of the best.”

“Why?” I spit at him. “Do you want to get me drunk so you can rape me, too?” I bring my arms around myself and huddle in my robe, suddenly cold.

“Ah,” Esteban says. He rises and moves away. I watch as he walks to the railing and looks out over his darkened estate. “Lilly. Miss Ryder, if you prefer? Let me assure you that you are in no danger of that from me. Much like with my wines, I have
distinguished
tastes in bodies. And while I’m sure, you were lovely enough at some point—I saw you when Mr. Stonehart introduced us, after all—people of your gender hold no appeal to me.”

I narrow my eyes at his back. He’s gay?

“And what my men have put you through is unfortunate,” he continues. “But you see, Miss Ryder, certain appetites must be appeased. It is just the seven of us on this island. If I did not offer you to my men, well,” he chuckles, “they would soon get restless. And trust me. This way is the lesser of two evils, for you.”

I scoff to show him what I think, but it’s all a façade. In truth, I don’t think I can channel the strength to withstand abuse at the hands of his guards.

“What do you want?” I ask him softly. It’s almost a plea. “Why am I your prisoner?”

He takes a deep breath. “You smell that?” he asks. “The scent of the sea. Growing up inland, as a little boy, I always dreamed of having a house by the sea.

“It still appeals to me, you know. It still invigorates me. Being here, I’m reminded of all that I’ve lost, of all that was taken away from me—by your Mr. Stonehart.”

He turns around. For the first time since I was kidnapped, Esteban looks calm. Mellow, even. Thoughtful and hypnotic, in a way.

“Hugh—Mr. Blackthorne—assured me that you would be an invaluable bargaining chip for me to claim back what I lost.” He purses his lips. “After all this time, however, I’m beginning to think otherwise.”

Fear seizes my insides.

“Jeremy,” I say quickly. “He knows?”

“Oh, yes,” Esteban nods. “Your Jeremy knows. He knows quite well what we want, who we hold, and what is being done to you. Sadly, he seems quite resolved—unyielding, even—in his position.”

“Good,” I sneer. My proclamation is a complete act. On the inside, I feel hollow and broken. Like there’s nothing left. If Jeremy knows what’s being done to me, and he still doesn’t come…

But, why would he?
How
could he? The demands I remember being made when they shot the video of me swallowing those poison pills were ludicrous. There’s no way Jeremy would accept.

Except… I had hoped, prayed, wished, that maybe I meant enough to him that he would.

It seems I was wrong.

Despair swells up and all but swallows me whole.

“Good?” Ethan turns back and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Tell me. How is all of this
good
, Miss Ryder? I was assured that you were an asset valuable enough to be a prime bargaining chip. I was told of Mr. Stonehart’s devotion to you. His obsession for you. I was led to believe he would do anything to get you back.

“Kind of,” he says softly, “how I would do anything to get Dextran back.”

“Let me talk to him then,” I beg. “I can convince him. I’m sure of it! If that’s all you want…”

Esteban looks at me sadly and shakes his head. “That is what I
wanted
, Miss Ryder. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I whisper.

He sighs, and walks toward me. He deposits his wine glass on the table, and sags into a chair.

I see him from up close. For the first time, I see how very small he seems. How fragile. How broken.

His eyes don’t have that manic glint to them anymore. All I see in them is an overwhelming sadness.

“I don’t want it anymore,” he tells me. “It is something I can never get. All I want now…” He exhales heavily, “…is peace.”

I scoot my chair around a little bit to face him.

“But peace,” he sighs again, “is unattainable, given what I’ve had done to you.”

Is he being penitent? I’m shocked. Is my kidnapper—my
second
kidnapper—developing a conscience? It’s beyond belief.

I run a hand over my head again just to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

“I’m sorry, Lilly.” He looks at me. “I’ve been led astray. Consumed by greed and vengeance. I manufactured this—this plot—to get my company back. To strike at Mr. Stonehart in a way that he would keenly feel. Assurances were made, but now, it seems, those assurances were false.”

“What did Hugh tell you?” I whisper. I feel my chance, however vague and uncertain, floating somewhere just beyond reach. But just minutes ago, there was no chance that I could speak of.

I reach out, and actually take his hand. “I can help make it right.”

“Can you?” He gives a small, humorless laugh. “I’ve poisoned your mind, Lilly. I’ve damaged you forever. I’ve taken your life, all your potential, away from you. For what? Greed. Avarice.”

He scoffs and pulls his hand away. “Oh, if my family could see me now…”

I swallow.

“There’s no going back for you, Miss Ryder,” he says. “Nor for me. Not ever. We’re both committed. There is no making it right. And unfortunately, in this tale, there is only one end for you.”

He rises. He looks down at me. “I’m sorry,” he says once more. With that, he turns, and walks away.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mere minutes after Esteban leaves, I am visited by the third member of his guard. The silent one, who’s never said a word to me.

He comes up the stairs smoking a cigarette. I look over my shoulder when I hear him coming. My insides seize in fear.

But my worry was ill-advised. All he does is grunt a crude, “He wants to see you,” just before dropping an envelope on the table. Then he turns and leaves me alone.

He
wants to see me?
Who
wants to see me?

I reach for the sealed, small, square envelope. My heart skips a beat when I see Jeremy’s tight, precise writing on the front.

To Lilly
.

Excitement rips through me as I tear it open. I look around making sure I’m alone. Then I withdraw the paper.

I unfold it. My breath catches when I see lines and lines of small, tightly bound text. Without even reading, I know right away: Jeremy wrote this.

He wrote this, whatever it is, for
me
. When? I scan the page but there’s no date.

Doubt forms in the back of my mind: What if I’m imagining this? Then my hand crawls up to the top of my head. I wince when my fingers find that awful, prickly skin.

It means this is real! I hold the letter up so it’s better illuminated by the flames and begin to read:

Lilly.

I cannot say all the things I want to in this letter. You know why. My words will not be restricted to your eyes alone. Others will see.

So, I will say what I must, and leave it at that.

I have to see you. I have to know that you are alive. Believe me when I say that I am willing to do whatever it takes to get you back.