The Arrangement Duet Box Set

by Madison Quinn

  I don’t say anything, knowing how arguing would just push him further and make him angrier. Right now, I’m just trying to buy some time. I don’t know how, but I know Nicholas and Carter will find me. I just need to… stay alive until that happens.

  “What do you want?”

  “You, of course.”

  “Why? You hated me. I was a lousy wife, a lousy lover and nothing I did was right. Why would you want me back?”

  “Because you were fucking mine!” his voice bellows through the empty room, bouncing off the walls, as he suddenly waves the gun in front of me. My stomach drops, fear settling in as I try to control my breathing hoping a panic attack doesn’t start. A gun… he has a fucking gun and I’m strapped to a chair. Any chance of being rescued just became more dangerous, especially considering Nicholas hates guns and refuses to even touch one. “You are mine! You belong to me! I don’t care if you were a lousy cook, a piece of shit in bed and that you flirted with every one of damn my coworkers, you were mine!”

  It takes everything in me not to argue and point out that I wasn’t any of those things, but I know that will only make the situation worse… and it’s looking pretty dim as it is.

  “You made me the fucking laughing stock of my family and my job when you fucking disappeared that night. How do you think it made me look when I came home the next morning to find you gone? Do you know what they fucking said about me?”

  I don’t answer. I don’t point out that he just admitted that when he tried to kill me, he was gone for the entire night, that he didn’t even bother to check on me all night despite the fact, he knew I was hurt and passed out at home. I don’t say anything because doing so would just make it worse, but it’s taking everything in me not to tell him what I truly think of his piece of shit ass.

  “I tried to convince you that you belonged to me, but then you had to go and fucking threaten to show my father the pictures you paid someone to doctor up for you.”

  Now, I’m fucking livid… he’s fucking denying laying a hand on me?!?! He thinks I paid someone to what… photoshop the bruises, the swollen eye and the scars on me? He thinks I paid someone to write fake medical reports? Fake police reports? I knew he was crazy… but this takes denial to a whole new level.

  “The thing is, I knew you weren’t that smart. I knew you’d fuck up at some point, you always do. Did you not think that I wouldn’t see the pictures of you and your new hubby all over the magazines? They were fucking everywhere! How did you think I wouldn’t see them?”

  Yeah, that was probably a screw up on my part. In my defense, I truly didn’t think the press coverage of my dating and then marrying Nicholas would be so intense. I figured our picture would be tucked away in the gossip section of a local newspaper or something. Not on the internet, multiple times a week, for anyone to see. But, it doesn’t matter because even if I knew that’s what would happen, I wouldn’t change a thing. I would still sign the contract with Bridget, and I would still ultimately marry Nicholas. Falling in love with him and the happiness I experienced made it all worth it. Even if it meant that he would find me—even if it meant he killed me today.

  “The moment I saw your picture with him, I had someone dig into who he was. Then it was so easy… I just had to feed the press some stories to break you both up. When he still didn’t leave you, I had no choice but to get closer to that drama queen, Harper. I had to get closer to her so I could figure out other ways to get to you. Of course, like a typical woman, she couldn’t even do her job right. She couldn’t convince that husband of yours, that he should be with her, over you. Look at her! She was more his type than you will ever be. You’re nothing—absolutely nothing and she was everything he needed.”

  Fuming… I still don’t say anything. Instead, I focus on my wrists and the rope that surrounds them. I may be buying time until someone figures out where the hell I am, but I’m not going to sit and wait, without doing something. There’s no way I’m letting him walk all over me again. I just need to get my hands a little loose before I can do anything.

  “What do you want, Richard? You want money? I’ll give it to you,” I’m starting to get desperate. Watching a gun waved in front of you will do that. “I have access to lots of money now… just take me to a bank and you can have all of it.”

  “I don’t want his fucking money!” he snaps, pointing the gun directly at me as he screams. “I don’t want anything of his!”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Have you not been fucking listening or are you that stupid? YOU.ARE.MINE! He is not going to have you.”

  “You want me?”

  Fuck…

  “Ding ding… we have a winner!” the smug smile on his face makes me wish my hands were free so I could fucking slap him.

  “Why? You hated being with me. Why not find someone who you love? Someone who can do all those things that I can’t?” I’m trying to keep him talking, hoping that I’m buying myself enough time to get the rope loose.

  “Because you could have been fucking everything! You needed work but you were finally getting it! It took you a while to follow the fucking rules, but you had most of them down pat. You just needed reminders of why you should follow them. It’s not too late, I can make you into the woman I needed you to be—the woman you should have been. I don’t give a shit about love; love doesn’t make me look good to my boss. Love doesn’t help my career. A halfway decent looking woman, who can follow a few simple rules, at my side, though? That can make or break a man’s career. I’ve put too much work into you just to let you go. With Dad now out of the picture, you can threaten me with those pictures all you want because you and I both know I don’t give a shit about them. I lose my job because of those pictures you made up? I’ll fucking punish you, like you’ve never been punished before; then I’ll move us to a new city and get a new job. You’ll never get rid of me. There’s nothing you can hold over my head any longer, bitch.”

  What the fuck do you say to that crazy logic? How do you make sense of that? I look around the small, empty, dirty room hoping to find something that can help me. The windows are covered in filth, barely letting any light in, not that it matters because it’ll be dark outside soon. I have no idea what time it is, or how much time has passed since the accident, but I know the sun will be setting soon. The floor is covered in newspaper, plastic bags, broken bottles, wires and just plain garbage. Nothing that can help me while I’m tied to a chair; I need to find a way to get lose from the chair, if I’m going to have any chance of getting out of this.

  Suddenly his cell phone rings, he pulls it from his pocket glancing at the screen before answering it and telling whoever it is to hold on. He walks away from me, out into the hallway leaving me to carefully weigh my options. I could scream, I know the other residents would hear me considering how paper thin these walls are. But I also know, none of them would call the cops. The last thing anyone living here wants is the cops to show up.

  With him gone, I double my efforts on loosening the rope from my wrists. I try to pull my ankles from the chair legs and I’m surprised when they move a little easier. Abandoning the rope at my wrists, I focus my efforts on my ankles. It’s a risk, because if he comes back out he could see that the rope is lose, but it seems to be my best option. I refuse to sit here and wait for him to kill me—I did that for far too long.

  “We need to move… I want a new car here within the hour. I’m not taking any chances… get me something NOW!”

  He storms back into the room, shoving the phone back in his pocket and pulling the gun from his waistband. I don’t know if he knows that I heard the end of his call, but I panic at the thought of him moving me. I don’t know where Nicholas and Carter are, or how they’ll find us, but if he keeps moving me, I know they’ll never find me. I need to do something; I take a deep breath and think back to the self-defense classes I took when I first moved to New York. I took them several times a week, for nearly a year, before my schedule finally made me st
op. I loved those classes; they made me feel more confident–that I could take him if I ran into him on the streets.

  I discretely test the bindings on my ankles and wrists as I formulate my plan. I say a silent prayer that this plan doesn’t back fire and that I get to see Nicholas again. I close my eyes for a brief second thinking about all the things I still want to do with him. The second wedding where we exchange our vows for real, the snow falling at his place in Vermont, Christmas in our new home… the list goes on.

  With a new determination that and strength, I formulate a plan. One that hopefully keeps me here long enough for Nicholas and Carter to find me. Or for me to get to his phone to at least call for help before whoever is helping him comes along. I can’t risk him taking me somewhere else.

  I wait for Richard to make his move, to give me a chance to get to him. I know he’s not expecting me to do anything, because he still sees me as that naive twenty-year-old I was when we first met: who never questioned him, never argued and never fought back. He has no idea how much I’ve changed; how much stronger I am–that I’m no longer the girl he thought he knew, the girl that he tried to break.

  When he suddenly turns around to grab a water bottle off the box acting as a makeshift table, I take a deep breath and force myself to a somewhat standing position. The ropes on my ankles have loosened enough that I’m able to get my feet on the ground. I can’t stand up completely, but at least I can somewhat move. Before he can turn around, I rush over and forcefully throw myself at him, chair first. We both tumble to the floor, the chair breaking in the process as we fall. The break allows me to pull my feet free from the legs of the chair before he gets up.

  “You fucking BITCH! You’re going to regret that!” There’s blood pouring from his forehead—he must have hit it on the table when he fell into it.

  I quickly get to my feet, just as he does the same. My hands are still around the back of the chair, but that’s not going to stop me from trying to fight him off. The gun went flying across the room and is now behind me; Richard’s eyes go wide looking for it, but I don’t think he can see it from where I’m standing.

  “I’ll never be yours,” I grit.

  “You’ll always be mine. I was your first love, I took your fucking virginity for Christ sakes! You’ll never be able to forget me!”

  His eyes go to the floor behind me and I know he’s found the gun; I wrap my hands around the wooden spindle of the back of the chair, gripping it tightly, as he approaches me. The look in his eyes tells me what’s coming before the punch connects to my stomach; even though I was expecting it, the force still knocks the wind out of me. I bend over, focusing on my breathing but keeping my eyes on his feet. When he moves toward me again, raising his knee as if he’s going to kick me, I swing my back upwards, twisting so the back of the chair catches him in the face.

  “BITCH! I’m going to fucking kill you!” He grabs his nose as blood spills from it, as his eyes try to focus on me.

  With the back of the chair now broken, I’m able to pull off the rope from my wrists. We’re both standing there, waiting for someone to make the next move as the gun lays waiting. I know this is it—if he gets his hands on the gun, he’s going to kill me. I don’t know what to do; while the gun is closer to me, I have no doubt that the moment I move, he’s going to be on top of me. But, if I don’t move and wait for him to make the first move, odds are against me: he’s stronger than me and probably faster. I have no choice. I refuse to wait for him to kill me. If he kills me now, at least I’ll know that I tried to fight him, unlike all the other times.

  I’m sorry, Nicholas.

  When he glances at the blood in his hands, I dive for the gun, but I’m immediately tackled by him as I expected. We roll on the hard, cement floor. I feel punches to my ribs, my jaw and knees to my stomach as we fight for control. When the opportunity finally presents itself, I raise my knee, hard and he immediately loosens his grip on me, as the pain takes over. I push him off of me, he rolls on the floor his hands cradling his dick. I don’t hesitate, I reach for the gun, wrapping my hands around the handle and aiming it at him.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he groans, as he rocks back and forth on the ground.

  “Try, and I’ll fucking shoot you,” I promise.

  Apparently, he thinks now is a good time to call my bluff, as his hand reaches out to grab my ankle, I suppose thinking he could pull me to the ground and knock the gun loose. I don’t hesitate—I pull the trigger and hit his arm. He howls in pain, immediately bringing his injured hand to his chest. I move closer to his legs, my eyes never leaving his body as he grunts in pain.

  “Move and I’ll fucking shoot your dick off,” I promise, taking aim.

  There’s a commotion behind me, but I don’t turn away. If this is who he’s been waiting for with the new car, I’ll kill Richard and then hope like hell the guy behind me doesn’t have a gun. I’m not taking my eyes off of him for a moment—I’m not giving him a chance to do something, even as I hear footsteps running towards me.

  “Mrs. Parker… Kenzie… Kenzie!” Carter’s voice finally forces me to look away from Richard on the floor. His hand is wrapped around my wrist, keeping the gun pointed at the floor. I look at Carter, relief floods me seeing that I’m no longer alone. My eyes immediately look for Nicholas behind me, but it’s not until I hear his voice that I realize he’s actually in front of me.

  “You fucking bastard,” he’s kicking Richard in the face, the chest, his stomach anywhere that he can get him as Richard rolls on the floor trying to protect himself.

  “Can I have the gun, Kenzie?” Carter’s voice is demanding, but at the same time cautious. Part of me doesn’t want to let it go, knowing that without it I have nothing to protect myself. But, knowing that they’re here, reassures me that it’s highly unlikely that I would need a weapon. I slowly and somewhat reluctantly, loosen my grip on the gun letting it slide into Carter’s hand.

  “You’re bleeding,” he points to the dark stain on the sleeve of my jacket. “Did he shoot you?”

  “No,” I shake my head. I don’t know where the blood is coming from, but it’s not from a bullet, that much I know. The room starts to suddenly spin and I feel weak, sort of disoriented.

  “Nicholas! NICHOLAS!” Carter screams as he wraps an arm around my waist holding me up.

  “WHAT!?!” Nicholas snaps.

  “Kenzie needs you, she’s going to pass out,” Carter says.

  “Baby? Are you okay?” He’s immediately next to me, his arm wraps around my waist before he lifts me and carries me across the room.

  “I’m okay,” I smile weakly.

  “Where are you hurt?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Make one move and I’ll fucking kill you,” we hear Carter threaten Richard.

  “Someone’s coming, he’s waiting for someone to come with a car to take us…” I remember.

  “The police should be here any minute, Kenzie, they’ll find whoever it was who was helping him. You’re not going anywhere except to a hospital once the paramedics get here.”

  He slowly slips off my jacket, I groan in discomfort when my arm moves, but I don’t pay it much attention to it, instead my focus is on Richard who continues to groan on the floor across the room with Carter standing over him a gun.

  “It doesn’t look like you were shot,” Nicholas says pulling my attention back to him.

  “I think it’s from when the chair, I was tied to, broke.”

  “I’ll fucking kill him,” Nicholas mumbles as he checks over the gash on my arm.

  “It’s fine… I’m fine—”

  BOOM

  The sound of a gunshot makes us both jump, Nicholas’s body quickly surrounding mine, as we both look toward Carter, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Richard remains on the floor, no longer moving as blood slowly spreads from underneath him.

  “He moved,” Carter explains simply.

  Chapter 51

/>   Nicholas

  “Are you sure she’s okay?” I ask Mom for probably the hundredth time.

  “Yes, sweetheart, she’s fine,” she assures me as I watch Kenzie sleep on the bed next to me. “The pain medicine is going to keep her out of it for a couple more hours at least. That combined with the adrenaline wearing off…”

  She’s explained this to me countless times, but it doesn’t make me feel any less worried that Kenzie hasn’t woken up yet. She’s lying in bed with several broken ribs, a broken wrist and numerous stitches from her battle with the piece of shit, sorry excuse for a man. Her wrists and ankles are bandaged, allowing the contusions from the rope to heal. Her face has countless bruises on it and her lip is still swollen—I don’t need to ask her what caused them.

  “It’s truly a miracle, that she wasn’t more severely injured,” Mom comments. Although, I know she’s right, Kenzie shouldn’t have been hurt at all. That asshole should never have come after her—he should have been locked up a long time ago for what he did to her. “I never thought I would say this about another person, but I’m glad the bastard is dead.”

  “Me too, Mom,” I sigh and sit back in the uncomfortable hospital chair that I’ve occupied for the last two hours.

  Carter arrives about an hour later, after finally having been released from questioning by the police, still in clothes covered with blood. I had called Mr. Brown, and asked him to represent Carter, as soon as Kenzie was declared stable by the onsite paramedics. I knew the police would want to question Carter, even though it was clear as day he killed Westbrook in self-defense.

  “How is she, sir?” he asks immediately.

  “Stable,” I sigh barely noticing my mom stepping out of the room. “They’ve given her pain medicine which knocked her out. She has several broken ribs, a broken wrist, stitches… and well the bruises.”

  “She’s strong, sir, she’ll get through this.”