WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  “I’m not interested in walking.” He tries to charm me with a playboy sparkle in his eyes. “And my place is warm and clean. Not some seedy hotel on the wrong side of town.”

  If I get in his car, we won’t make it to his Lake Oswego home. I’ll be driven to an isolated industrial area where he’ll try to beat me, rape me, then leave me battered and barely breathing on the side of the road.

  No, thank you, Danny boy.

  “I appreciate the offer, but I insist on my hotel.” I pull my hand away. “Neutral ground, ya know?”

  His nostrils flare, and I wonder if he’ll drop this bullshit act and drag me, hair first, to his getaway car.

  “It’s decent accommodation,” I exaggerate with a flash of my pearly whites. “You’ll like it.”

  “It’s the car or nothing.”

  My chest tightens. Fear and anxiety collide in a mass of tangled emotions. I can’t throw away my one and only shot at this.

  At him.

  But I can’t get in that car either. Not now. Not even with the looming promise of his Rohypnol-induced impairment.

  Confinement in a small space would mean my fun would end and his would begin. I’d lose my advantage and he’d gain the upper hand. His strength against my strategy.

  I have to stick to my plan or let him walk.

  God, I don’t want to let this fucker walk.

  “Then I guess this is where we part ways.” My face falls, and I don’t need to fake a stricken expression. I’m on the verge of heartbreak, devastated at the thought of this guy getting away, not only with what he’s done, but with the information I desperately need. “See ya, handsome.”

  I give him a timid finger wave and the chance to demand a refund before I turn in the direction of my hotel. I take slow steps, and his pursuing footfalls don’t hit my ears. He’s not following. I guess he’s too frustrated to even ask for his cash.

  Shit.

  Four weeks of meticulous preparation disintegrate into painful splinters, each one penetrating my skin to exacerbate the failure.

  This guy deserved what I had planned. He’d earned it over months, possibly years, of brutality. But losing the connection to my past tears me apart, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.

  Anger boils my blood, the potency so rich my throat tightens with the need to scream. I can’t turn back.

  I can’t.

  Getting in his car is too dangerous. The drugs might not kick in for another twenty minutes. Maybe more. He’d easily overpower me. I’m not stupid enough to believe my years of self-defense, martial arts, and boxing classes could save my ass in a confined space, up against a deranged psychopath.

  The knife in my boot is insurance, but I’m not infallible.

  I grind my teeth to the point of pain as I trudge the eight-minute walk to the sleazy, pay-by-the-hour hotel, with its flickering red ‘Vacancy’ sign.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  I may never get another chance to find Jacob. I’ve failed. Again. And not only on a personal level, but all those women Dan has abused won’t get a vicarious taste of vengeance.

  How have I messed this up?

  Was the meticulous preparation not enough?

  Should I have watched him for longer?

  Could I have tried harder?

  Risked more?

  Fuck.

  I pull the hotel key from my clutch and stride to door fifteen—the last room in the single-story complex. I slide my key into the flimsy lock, preparing to lick my wounds in private, when the noisy crunch of asphalt alerts me to a vehicle entering the parking lot. My heart kicks. A sixth sense sends goosebumps erupting along my arms. Or maybe it’s optimism.

  I want this.

  I want it enough that each breath hitches in my throat.

  I glance over my shoulder, my limbs throbbing, and come face to face with the impeccable good fortune that stares back at me.

  2

  Her

  I paste a surprised look on my face, placing my mental celebration on hold.

  Dan cuts the engine, slides from the car, then slams the door shut.

  “You changed your mind?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He stalks toward me, his smile stiff. “I did.”

  I unlock the hotel door and push it wide, allowing him to proceed. “After you.”

  He doesn’t respond as he strides inside, not bothering to scope his surroundings. This smug piece of shit thinks he’s invincible, and I can’t wait to prove him wrong.

  He slumps onto the well-worn bed, the cheap springs squeaking with his heavy weight. A frown spreads across his forehead as he stares blankly at the tiny kitchenette in front of him.

  Could my buddy Rohypnol have given him a friendly nudge of disorientation?

  “You okay?” I purr, closing the door to the world.

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “You got a glass of water or something?”

  “Sure.” I saunter to the sink, and the hair on my neck tingles as my back faces him.

  Limit vulnerabilities.

  Stay alert.

  He pushes to his feet while I begin filling a cloudy glass with tap water. Every inch of me is tense, ready to attack, but I continue the monotonous actions, turning the tap off slowly and drying my hands on a dirty dish rag.

  I swing around. He paces near the door. Like a caged dog, he wants out, but there is no out. Not until I have what I want.

  “Here.” I hand over the drink and point to the sturdy wooden chair strategically placed between the bed and the stained sofa. “Have a seat and I’ll make you feel comfortable.”

  He takes large gulps of the water, the deep grooves of his frown still intact when he hands back the empty glass. “No.” He shakes his head in a mix of confusion and agitation. “Let’s go. I’ll take you somewhere better than this.”

  “We have all we need right here.” I grab his wrist and lead him forward, guiding him to sit in the hot seat. “I’ve been practicing something for a while, and I really want to see what you think. Call it an added bonus, if you like.”

  I place the glass on the unsteady bedside table and slide my hand under the pillow on the bed. He watches as I produce a handful of thick, red ribbon. I sway my hips to imaginary music on my return and let the long lengths of material fall to the floor, dragging behind me.

  “This room is a dump,” he mutters. “We need to go to my place.” He grips the armrests, preparing to stand.

  “Don’t.” I lean over and get in his face. “It will be fun to have sex in here. It adds to the fantasy.” I inch closer, his stale breath brushing my lips. “I’m the weak woman in distress, and you’re the wealthy, charming man here to save me. But every fantasy has to be earned. Let me earn this. After that, I’ll go wherever you want.”

  His jaw tightens. His features harden. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  “I can work with that.” It isn’t a lie. Once he’s tied, his ability to negotiate is over. The game is won. All that’s left is the celebration.

  I hold his right wrist to the armrest and begin binding it to the wood with my ribbons.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” He lashes out, gripping a fistful of my hair—my wig.

  I gasp, feigning fear when the reality is anger shooting through my body. “It’s a part of the show,” I plead. “I just—”

  A rustle of noise sounds from the back of the room. In the bathroom. No, it must be right outside the window, in the alley. My escape route.

  The potential for someone to overhear freezes my blood. It seems to have the same effect on Dan because he releases my hair and scowls at me.

  “Hurry up and do your thing.” A slur mars his words. “Then we leave.”

  I nod, quick and sharp, ever the eager escort, and continue binding one wrist to the armrest, then the other. Next, I kneel between his spread legs, sliding my palm over his crotch as I lower. There’s no hardened cock behind that zipper, no erection, no arousal. Not surprising. He won’t get turned on again until h
e’s in control. Not until he’s inflicting pain.

  I bat my fake lashes at him and tie his ankles to the chair legs, tightening the last knot against his leg with all my strength.

  “Jesus.” He tries to kick me and fails under the restriction. “Stupid bitch. That fucking hurt.”

  I cluck my tongue, stand, and leisurely walk to the bathroom to close the door on anyone in the alley who may plan to snoop on my pleasure. “You’re really showing your true colors now, Danny boy.”

  His face slackens.

  I let the situation sink in—my familiarity, his vulnerability.

  Warring emotions spread across his face, from confusion to annoyance, then more confusion. “Who are you?”

  I shrug and stroll back to stand before him. “Consider me a business partner. We’re going to work together tonight.”

  “Is that right?” His narrowed gaze holds mine as he tugs at his wrist bindings. “Well, I’m more than happy to help a pretty lady. But you might want to untie me. We can’t work together if I’m stuck like this.”

  “You’ll do just fine where you are.” I move to the bed and drop to a knee to retrieve the folder I stashed under the ensemble. “It’s very easy, actually. All I need are a few answers to some really simple questions.”

  “Ha.” He grins. “If you’re after information, I’ll tell you what I’ve told everyone else. You’re not getting anything until I get paid.”

  “I’m sorry, but that deal isn’t going to work for me. I’ll have to convince you to try this my way.” It’s my turn to smile, the curve of my lips gentle with the slightest hint of cocky menace.

  “And what’s stopping me from yelling for help?”

  “I think the most influential answer is my ability to cut your dick off and dive out the back window before anyone finds the room key.”

  He snarls.

  “There are many more reasons,” I continue. “Like, what will Daddy think when another escort makes claims of sexual assault? I don’t think the senator will appreciate an additional scandal where you’re concerned.”

  “You fucking cunt.”

  I chuckle. If only he knew.

  “Now, as I was saying. It’s very simple.” I slide out an image hidden inside the folder and hold it up. “This guy,” I point to the man standing beside Dan in the candid photo, “I need to find out where he is.”

  He doesn’t glance at the image, doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”

  I inhale slowly and smile. “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  I nod, shrug, then slam my elbow against his cheek.

  His head jolts to the side. His shouted curse fills the room.

  “How ’bout now, Dan?”

  “You’re going to die.” He bucks in the chair. “I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands.”

  I lunge, grasping his throat in a tight grip as I glare. “Let’s get one thing straight. You might think you’re tough as nails because you hurt defenseless women, but I spend my days fucking up ruthless men. I will cut you. Flay you. I’ll slice you open and wear your intestines like a fucking necklace to your own funeral unless I get what I want.”

  I release my hold and step back.

  We’re both panting, our chests heaving. Dan glares from under his lashes, his lids heavy. “Something is wrong. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

  “That would be the Rohypnol I gave you back at the bar. It’s only going to get worse.”

  His eyes widen.

  “It also means we’re on a tight schedule. So, tell me.” I raise the photo and wait until his attention strays to the image. “The guy standing beside you, where can I find him?”

  He squints, his fingers gripping into the chair. “Like I said, I don’t know him.”

  “Danny, Danny, Danny.” I cluck my tongue as I return to the bed. I slide my hand under the pillow and pull out a knuckle duster. He watches my return with narrowed eyes as I slide the shiny metal down my glove-covered fingers, then cock my fist.

  “Wait,” he snarls. “That photo was taken two years ago.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. It was a rented property. Some mansion on the outskirts.”

  “The outskirts of Portland?” My words flow in an excited rush. “Here?”

  “Yeah. Here.”

  “And you spoke to this guy? What were you doing with him? Have you seen him since? And who rented the property?” I fire questions, hoping to maintain the momentum.

  He shakes his head, his brows furrowed. “It was a party. A celebration. I only went to pick up a package.”

  “What sort of package?”

  His chin lifts. “Laundry,” he grates.

  AKA drugs? What a naughty, naughty senator’s son.

  “And this guy” I tap the man standing next to him in the photo, “is that who you got the package from?”

  He jolts his wrists. “Yes. Christ. Who the fuck are you? You’re getting yourself messed up in some pretty heavy shit, sweetheart.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about that.” I only need the briefest grasp of information. That’s all it will take to make another connection. Another lead. “Do you know his name?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  Liar.

  “Think, Danny.” I drop the photo and lean forward to grip his junk. “Think hard.”

  He winces, but the severity of my hold isn’t evident in his features. The drugs must be providing a numbing effect.

  I squeeze tighter and twist, achieving a grunt.

  “Zander. Zeke. Zack. Fuck. I can’t remember. Last name was Vaughn.”

  “Are you sure?” I point to the photo. “You’re telling me this guy goes by the name Vaughn?”

  “Yeah,” he grates. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, bitch.”

  My heart pounds, the inspired reverberations ebbing all the way into my stomach. I can work with a name. That’s all I need to inch another step closer to Jacob.

  I release his dick. “If you’re lying to me…”

  His head lolls back. “Too fucking tired to lie.”

  “Okay. Good.” Tingling optimism makes me believe him.

  “Are you going to let me go now?” His blinks are slow. Sluggish.

  I’m running out of time. “We’re just getting started.”

  He scoffs, opens his mouth, and yells, “Help.”

  Jesus. I slam the heel of my palm into his nose, cutting off the call, then lunge for the bed. In seconds, I’ve retrieved the gag from under the pillow and have it pressed to his mouth.

  His head thrashes, and he yells through clenched lips as I increase the pressure, banging and smacking the hard ball gag until he relents and opens for me with a growl.

  “Good boy.” I tighten the strap behind his head, then come back to stand in front of him, admiring my handiwork. “Revenge is such a pretty picture.”

  He’s yelling, mumbling, whimpering behind the gag. Rage glares back at me, but it’s a wavering emotion. A sleepy anger that dissipates. He no longer tests his bonds, the mind-numbing drugs making the situation more acceptable.

  That won’t last long.

  “Now that we have the photo out of the way, I want you to know I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” I hope to reignite his fear or maybe a bit of panic. Instead, he looks straight through me. “You enjoy hurting women, don’t you?”

  He releases a half-hearted chuckle, his eyes twinkling the slightest bit.

  “Beating them. Raping them.” I grab his hair and yank. “You prey on those weaker than you.”

  His eyes brighten in bliss. In memory. He’s reliving what he’s done in that twisted mind of his. Even with his life at my mercy, he’s enjoying his accomplishments. But then his eyes close.

  Oh, no, he isn’t going to take a nap on my watch. It’s time to fast-forward the festivities.

  “Hey.” I slap him. “You’ve gotta stay awake for this.” I’m hell-bent on retribution, but I’m
not going to beat the unconscious.

  He mumbles, over and over, the same cadence, the same indecipherable syllables. I’m curious enough to lower the gag and give him a chance to confess his sins.

  “What’s your name, bitch?” he slurs, his eyes still closed. “I want to know what to whisper in your ear when I’m raping you raw.”

  “Oh, honey.” I reposition the knuckle dusters, pressing them lower on my fingers. “Threats don’t work well with me.”

  “You touch me again and I kill everyone you love.”

  “I wish you the best of luck.”

  His eyes open, but he’s not there. Not really. I doubt he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. He’ll only have the physical pain to taunt his unclear memory.

  I run the cold metal on my hand along his jaw. “Maybe I should cut out your tongue to stop your sweet-talkin’ ways?”

  He spits at me, the projectile not making the distance. “You’re dead.”

  “Not yet. So, while we’re both alive and kicking, I’m going to give you a refresher on the lives you’ve ruined.” I shove the gag back in place and clench my fist. “Cassidy Trelore, twenty-six, broken ribs, broken jaw.”

  I cock my arm, my limbs heating with approaching euphoria. Then I swing, launching my fist into his ribs. A muffled grunt is my reward.

  “Melissa Taylor, twenty-eight, swollen lip, two black eyes, and eight facial fractures.” This punch I aim at the middle of his face, cracking cartilage and distorting his nose.

  He yells.

  Everything inside me tingles in celebration while rivulets of scarlet blood seep from his nostrils toward his mouth.

  I continue, naming the women he’s assaulted, along with his long list of offences. Each time I land a blow harder than the last, until his face is a masterpiece of reds, maroons, and puffy, swollen skin.

  Bree Foster. Carla Kane. Zoey Day. Amanda Scupin.

  “Do you like feeling vulnerable, Dan?” I stand in front of him, cupping his clean-shaven cheek in my palm while I run the steel down the other. “Do you like knowing I’m hurting you, the same way you hurt those women?”

  His eyes roll, and my stomach swells with disappointment. He’s tapping out. Already. Weak fucker.

  Then again, I did give him a healthy dose of powdered goodness.