Untamed

by Jessica Sorensen

  Even though she’s Doc’s daughter, she’s just as much a victim as everyone else Donny Elderman and his men have annihilated. I can’t believe that, only hours ago, I was actually considering using her to get to the warehouse, using this already broken girl.

  I brush my finger across her cheek, and her face instinctively nuzzles against my touch and she murmurs my name. Something breaks inside me, something I’ve been fighting to keep together since the first time I met her. I make a vow right then and there to make sure Emery stays out of this mess. That no matter what it takes, I’ll get her out of this life.

  Pushing to my feet, I dig my “personal” phone out of my pocket. The lack of hesitation I feel when I send the text makes me feel pretty content with my choice, regardless of the consequences.

  Me: I’m going to tell Emery everything, and then I’m going to leave and take her with me.

  Chapter 16

  Lost Days… Again

  Emery

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  “You made me do this,” my father says, his voice drifting up the stairway to the kitchen. Clank. Clank. Clank. “I do this because of you.”

  “What’s Father doing down there?” I ask my mother, staring at the closed door of the basement. My arms are strapped to the kitchen chair, and my ankles are bound to the legs. Ever since I snuck out of the house, I’ve been tied up except for when I go to school.

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  “How dare you ask such questions.” My mother takes a seat across from me and grasps the pendant dangling around her neck. “You know better than to question anything your father does.”

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  “I’m sorry things turned out this way, son,” my father mutters. “But in the end, I think it’s for the best. Now the darkness no longer stains your soul.”

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  My mother winces then twists the cap on the pendant. Removing it, she puts it up to her nose and sucks up the white powder. Her nostrils are ringed with red and a glimmer of red flashes from the silver metal of the pendant.

  “What’s that?” I ask, nodding my head at the pendant. “That light.”

  “That is for your father to keep track of me,” she replies, her words rushed together as she sniffs a few times

  “You’re not supposed to be doing that.” I don’t know why I say it. Perhaps it’s the clanking. Perhaps it’s because deep down I know what’s happening in the basement. Or maybe it’s just because I’m crazy.

  Her pupils dilate as she leans across the table and strikes me hard. “How dare you speak to me like that.” She pushes the chair back from the table, walks around to me, and bends down. With a flick of her fingers, she unties the binds around my ankles then rises to her feet and frees my wrists.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, stunned.

  She smirks. “Now maybe your father will do to you what he’s done to my son, then I’ll no longer have to worry anymore.” With that, she leaves the room.

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  I know I should go up to my room, stay away from the basement, but my legs lift me from the seat and take me in the direction of the clanking. I turn the doorknob and pad down the concrete stairs. The surface is cold against my bare feet and the air is arctic, like midnight during wintertime while standing in a freezer.

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  I reach the bottom of the stairway and see my father standing there with a shovel in his hand. The concrete of the floor has been torn up in one area, exposing the dirt beneath it. Beside the hole is my brother, sprawled across the ground. His arms are lifeless, his legs are bent in an awkward way, and his skin is a pale blue.

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  “Emery, you’re not supposed to be down here,” my father says calmly as he continues to dig.

  “I’m sorry.” I step back to head upstairs, unable to remove my gaze from Ellis.

  “You might as well help, now that you’re down here.” My father stabs the shovel into the dirt.

  “I…” I trail off as Ellis turns his head toward me.

  His eyes are wide and his lips parted. Help me, he mouths.

  When I blink, his head is turned the other way, and he’s no longer moving. I’m not sure if what I saw was real, but I want to help him.

  “He can’t breathe,” I whisper in horror.

  “Emery, grab a shovel and help me dig,” my father demands, pointing at a shovel leaning against the wall. “And stop whining.” When I don’t answer, he bashes the shovel against the wall, missing my head by inches. “Help me or else join your brother.”

  My body trembles as I skitter across the room while my father continues to dig.

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  My fingers wrap around the wooden handle. I feel so cold inside as I turn back around. My eyes immediately drop to Ellis’s body. I don’t want to do this.

  His eyes are still open and his lips move again. “Then don’t. Let your mind take you somewhere else.”

  I suck in a breath and shut my eyes. Everything around me fades away.

  I’m familiar with drugs as much as my lungs are familiar with air, my body with blood, my wrists with restrains, and my mind with hallucinations. When Evan plunged that needle into my arm, I knew I was going to go under for at least a couple of days. That’s the way it always is with Donny’s experimental drugs. I saw firsthand that night I snuck out what kind of damage his drugs do to people. All those people living on the rundown side of town were malnourished, out of their minds, and tortured by their addiction Donny was intent on feeding.

  Still, even knowing what happened to me—that I was dropped into some sort of high—when I open my eyes the panic sets in.

  I’m awake.

  I’m awake.

  I’m awake.

  What happened?

  What happened?

  What happened?

  I bolt upright in a bed, but immediately regret it as my head pounds. “God… how long this time?” I mutter as I scan my surroundings.

  An unmade bed that’s not mine, a table and chair, a television, and a single window with the curtain drawn shut. Dust lines the orange carpet, and the walls are stained. I’m in a cheap motel room.

  “How did I get here?” I fling the blankets off my body and cringe at the sight of the T-shirt and boxer shorts I’m wearing that definitely don’t belong to me, and my bracelet is gone.

  The latter is a relief. After remembering what my mother said about her own pendant—about it being so my father could keep track of her—I worry mine may serve the same purpose. Still, I wonder how I forgot about it… And how I forgot about my brother.

  Ellis, I’m so sorry.

  I rack my brain for an image of how I got here, perhaps an image containing blood staining my hands or with my fingers wrapped around the handle of a shovel. The last time something like this happened was the night I saw my brother dead… God, how could I have forgotten what I did to him? How I helped bury him.

  “I’m so sorry I forgot about you,” I whisper, sucking back the tears. “I really am.”

  “You did what you had to do,” Ellis’s voice fills my thoughts. “Don’t worry, I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault. You need to let me go.”

  I think about how I see him all the time, how I talk to him—talk to the dead. It should mean I’m crazy, but at the moment, I feel strangely sane, like my mind has found inner peace.

  Still, I have to wonder what’s real and what isn’t.

  “Is this real?” I ask myself, peering around the motel room. “The last thing I remember is being drugged.”

  Silence is my only response. Unsure what else to do, I check my arms for more injection sites, but only spot the one, which has faded to a yellowish bruise. I reach for the hem of my shirt and lift it up to check my body for fresh wounds. Other than the faint traces of a few bruises, everything appears to be intact. I release a breath and stand to my feet. My legs shake like two wet noodles as I stumble for the
door. After unlatching the deadbolt, I reach for the doorknob, but before I can turn it, the door swings open.

  I trip backward and bump into the wall as a man a bit younger than my father walks in, carrying a cup of coffee. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt with a loosened red tie around the collar. His slacks have a stain on them and his shoes look a little worn.

  He startles when he sees me, but quickly composes himself. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

  I skitter away from him, but my feet are still figuring out how to work again, and I end up tripping into the dresser.

  “Easy,” the man says, raising his free hand up. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help you.”

  I grip on to the corner of the dresser as I fight to keep my legs underneath me. “That’s what they all say.” My voice is scratchy, and my throat feels like sandpaper. I cough, trying to clear it.

  The man slowly shuts the door then extends the coffee toward me. “Here, you probably need this more than me.”

  I shake my head. “Do you think I’m stupid?” I ask, eyeing the cup as if it’s the enemy. “I just woke up from being drugged. I’m not about to let it happen again.”

  He glances down at the cup with his brows knit, then he must realize something because I see something click in his eyes. “Right. I get it. Trust, right?” He raises the cup to his lips and takes as sip, watching my reaction over the rim. “See, perfectly drug free.”

  “Nothing is perfect,” I tell him, taking a few more steps back. The world spins around me and I stop, realizing that I don’t have anywhere to go. “Who are you? And where am I?”

  He sighs and moves to set the cup of coffee on the table. “It’s there if you change your mind.” He pulls out a chair and sinks down in it. “This was never supposed to happen,” he mumbles, rubbing his hand across his face. “If he would have just followed the damn rules,” he shakes his head and lowers his hand, huffing out a breath, “none of this would have happened.”

  “Tell me who you are,” I demand, cringing at the quiver in my voice. Fear is seeping out of me, giving me away.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says in a gentle tone. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  I flatten my back to the wall and keep my eyes trained on him like a hawk. “How about you tell me who you are and let me decide that for myself. Are you… Do you work for my father? Or are you one of his enemies?”

  “Neither.” He mutters something under his breath again and curses about a thousand times. “I’m Federal Agent Stale. I work for the FBI.”

  My lips part in shock. Not at all what I was expecting. “I don’t… no you can’t…” I shake my head. “You’re lying.”

  He sticks his hand into the pocket of his pants and retrieves a leather wallet. Then he stands from the chair, opens the wallet, and shows me the silver metal inside—his badge.

  I stare at it disbelief. “Am I hallucinating again?”

  His face contorts in confusion. “Do you do that a lot?”

  “I…” I’m struck speechless. When Evan had injected me with the drug, I never expected to wake up with an FBI agent. And where the hell is Ryler?

  I scan the room, searching for signs of him, my clothes, my phone, anything belonging to my old life, but it’s like it’s—I’ve—been erased. I veer toward a panic attack, my breathing turning ragged as my pulse soars through the roof.

  “Emery, I promise I’m not going to hurt you,” the agent says, concerned. “In fact, I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me with what?” I gasp for air, inching back, but I’m already backed up to the wall. I have nowhere to go. “No one can help me anymore.”

  “That’s not true. I promise I can help you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Sure you can, but only for a price, right? Isn’t that the way things go?”

  He tensely massages the back of his neck. “I’m not going to lie to you.” His arm falls to the side, and he straightens his stance. “I do want something from you, but you have my word that you’ll be protected if you give me what I want.”

  “I have your word.” A sharp laugh escapes my lips. “I don’t even know you, and yet you just what? Expect me to trust you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  A contemplative look crosses his face. “Aren’t you curious about what I want?”

  “No.” I inch toward the window, putting distance between us.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I already know what you want.” I spring for the window and reach out to open it, but it doesn’t even have a latch.

  “How on earth can you possibly know what I want?” he asks from behind me, sounding as calm as can be.

  I whirl around and face him. Panic swims through my veins as my vision spots in and out of focus. “Do you think I’m stupid?” I blink to hold onto reality, fight not to let my panic attack get the best of me.

  He gapes at me. “No, not at all. Why would you say that?”

  “Because you asked me if I know why I’m here. Of course I do. I know who I am, where I come from, so when a federal agent shows up in my life, I’m pretty sure I know the reason behind it.”

  “Oh, well, then good. I don’t have to explain it to you.” He offers me a warm smile, and I swallow hard.

  Something still doesn’t feel right.

  “I still don’t know why I’m in this room, though,” I point out, leaning against the wall, “instead of at a police station. And I’m not sure how I got here.”

  “That’s because this entire situation has become extremely complicated.” He pauses. “And kind of dangerous.”

  “Everything is always complicated and dangerous,” I tell him. “That’s life.”

  He sighs then returns to his chair and motions to the bed. “Sit down and I’ll explain a few things to you. Hopefully we can clear up some of your confusion.”

  I eye the door then the bed.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, reading my silence.

  “I know you aren’t going to physically hurt me.” I remain motionless for a few more minutes, while the detective patiently waits for me to make up my mind. Finally, seeing no other alternative, I cross the room and sit down on the bed. “Why am I here in a motel room?”

  “Because the police station isn’t a safe place for you to be,” he replies without missing a beat. “Bringing you here was the only alternative.”

  “Why isn’t it safe? Are the police corrupt?” I wouldn’t be surprised with how powerful Donny Elderman is. “Are you corrupt?” I ask, realizing how easily he could be working for Donny or my father.

  The detective shakes his head. “No, I’m not corrupt. I’m the opposite of corrupt.” He reclines back in the seat and props his foot up on his knee. “Besides, corruptness isn’t the reason you’re not at the station.”

  “Then what is the reason?” I aim to sound firm, calm, and steady as a rock, but I’m a nervous wreck, and it shows through my off-pitch voice.

  “Because we have someone there you know,” he answers, watching me closely. “And we found it necessary to make sure the two of you aren’t near each other for the time being.”

  My breath hitches in my throat. Ryler? What if he’s been arrested? He was the last person with me. At least, from what I can remember.

  The detective rests his arms along the armrest of the chair. “Tell me how much you know about Evan Elderman.”

  My heart slams against my chest so forcefully that I choke. He used the name Evan Elderman, not his fake name, Evan Moleney.

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I reply indifferently, my pulse soaring through the roof.

  “Yes, you do.” He reaches for the coffee, takes a swallow, and then continues. “Maybe you recognize him by the name Evan Moleney.”

  I grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling because it feels like I’m tumbling, down, down the rabbit hole, right where Evan sent me. “Is this a test?”


  Shock masks the detective’s face. “What?”

  I glance at the mirror on the wall. “Is there someone watching us through that, seeing how much information I’ll divulge?”

  He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Emery. That’s just a mirror, and this is just a motel room. Nothing more.”