by Karen Glista
Suddenly, the Mercedes came to stop, all but spilling her to the floorboard. She glanced to the glass wall which separated her from her abductors. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Oh no, is this it? Are they going to kill me?
She heard the front doors open and finding a bit of courage, she sat up and raised her hand to tuck her hair behind her ears. The back door to her left opened and before she could protest, Jonas reached in and seized her, his grip so painful that she cried out as he dragged her into darkness. He spun her, one of his massive arms around her waist, the other manning a flashlight. With her feet dangling and her hands clutching his arm, he traipsed into the night.
Into the woods, he’s going to kill me!
“Please, let me go.” she sobbed, fresh tears streaking her cheeks.
Jonas ignored her. Besieged by terror, Donja heard herself scream, shocked that she could, for her throat felt paralyzed.
Jonas laughed. “Save it, bitch, there’s no one to hear you.”
Minutes later, Donja caught sight of a light in the distance. “Help!” she cried, her voice breaking.
Jonas belched a sickening laugh and then it hit her. The light ahead of them wasn’t someone who could help, but instead their destination. She saw a small dock illumed by a lantern and as they drew near, she heard the slap of waves on the wood pilings. Assuming it was the St. Mary’s River, or perhaps one of the Great Lakes, she listened as a man she could not see, conversed with Jonas. “You guys are late.”
“Shut your trap,” Jonas barked as he stepped onto a motorized, aluminum canoe and threw Donja to the bottom. She squirmed attempting to get up. Jonas sat on one of three boat seats rocking the vessel, then put his foot on her stomach, pinning her to the bottom. She begged and pleaded, but he gave no indication that he heard her. Finally suffering in silence, she succumbed to the misery.
Hours later with the outboard motor humming and the sound of water splashing the canoe, the motor idled down as they floated into a dock. Jonas snatched her up with a tight grip and dragged her from the canoe onto the dock. Lanterns cast an eerie glow on the faces of two Iridescents on the dock. Jonas dropped her with a thud. One of the Iridescents tossed him a roll of duct tape. Realizing her fate, Donja fought, weakly. Jonas back-handed her across the face then bound her hands, ankles and mouth. He seized her and tossed her across his shoulder, marching with squeaky shoes into darkness. She felt his hand on her ass sliding deep between her legs. She kicked with muffled squeals escaping the tape. She tightened her legs to ward off his assault and he laughed, righted her weight over his shoulder and resumed his dirty deed. She tangled her legs around each other, warding off a full-blown assault which so angered him that he smacked her ass mercilessly with the palm of his hand.
God help me…oh please, help me.
They boarded a small jet on a one lane concrete runway. Jonas tossed her into a window seat surrounded by twenty or more Iridescents. She eyed them as they licked at their lips, eyeing her throat as if contemplating a meal. The jet raced down the runway then lifted off. She closed her eyes, suffering with no food or water in twenty-four hours. Later with time a blur, she gazed down at twinkling lights which slowly disappeared, civilization vanquished.
Where are they taking me?
Within four hours, give or take for time was a blur, Donja felt the jet begin its descent. Once it skidded to a stop, Jonas snatched her up and carried out the door to an awaiting vehicle. He brutally forced her into the back seat. Within seconds the opposite door opened. A woman got in, middle aged and built like a runway model with long blonde hair, blue eyes and false eye lashes that fanned her cheeks unnaturally. The vehicle, which Donja realized was a Land Rover, lunged forward and the woman began peeling the duct tape from Donja’s mouth, wrist and ankles.
“Fucking tape, what the hell,” the woman mumbled as Donja squirmed and grimaced, stomping her feet. “That goddamn Jonas is gonna pay for this if her skin’s damaged,” she said to one of two men whom Donja had never seen before in the front seat. One of them turned but didn’t say a word.
Donja moaned as it was peeled from her lips. Finally, as the last of it was removed, the woman opened a backpack and found a tube of Olay moisturizer. She applied it to Donja’s reddened skin, then pulled a water bottle from the bag and offered it up. Donja drank, coughing harshly. The woman smoothed her hair and in that moment Donja met her eyes, which surprisingly held what she wanted to believe was compassion.
“The name’s Trixie,” she said, “sorry about the tape.”
“Where,” Donja’s voice creaked, “am I?”
“Fifty miles north of Whitehorse.”
“Where’s that?” Donja asked. She sipped the water, but even that did little to soothe her parched throat.
“Yukon Territory, but don’t fret yourself, honey. Drink your water and within a few hours it will all be over.”
“Over?” Donja whispered. “Are they going to kill me?” Tears streaked her cheeks.
“No, no, no. You’re not gonna die,” Trixie cooed, wiping at her cheeks. “Quite the contrary.”
“What do you mean?” Donja croaked.
“I mean you’re lucky as hell, little gal, and you don’t even know it yet.”
Donja met her blue eyes. “Lucky. You call this lucky?” she screeched.
The woman just stared, but her demeanor shifted and then, with a glint in her eyes, she grumbled. “Damn lucky, why I’d give my right arm to be in your position, to be wanted by the son of one of the most powerful men on earth. Your life’s set honey, carte blanche.”
Unable to find words, Donja turned to the window, clutching the water bottle as the Rover cruised over a gravel road, a plume of dust rising around them. The terrain was completely foreign with rolling hills, rocky outcroppings and brush-covered meadows flanked by rugged mountains.
Wilderness, my God not a dwelling in sight.
Minutes later the vehicle left the road, forging a fast-flowing creek. They climbed a rocky hill with the vehicle whining as it tossed them about. Hours later, traversing a path no ordinary vehicle could manage, Donja caught sight of a rocky bluff with a sprawling log mansion the size of a city block. She squinted, unable to believe her eyes, and as they approached she caught sight of a deep gorge where a river snaked the land.
“It’s the mighty Yukon,” Trixie mused, “runs from British Columbia all the way to the Bering Sea in Alaska. You ever been there?” she asked.
Donja just stared.
You’re crazy…you’re all crazy.
“I guess not,” Trixie huffed. “Not much of a talker, are you?”
The Rover came to a stop and her door swung wide. A hulking man with a brown, wiry beard dressed in coveralls, extended his hand. She took it and he assisted her out. She instantly raised a hand to shield her eyes as sunlight stealing past snowcapped mountains blasted her face. Glancing around she saw hundreds of men scattered about, a few lurking behind towering spruce. She spied a barn with a corral where horses stood lazily watching the event. She surveyed the grounds and in the distance, she could see men, hundreds of men scattered along the bluff.
“This way,” the man in coveralls motioned, ushering her up a paved walk flanked by hostas, lilies and sculpted shrubs. She marched ahead of him and it took all her willpower not to bolt and run. Past a fountain with a rocked pond, she tried to steady her nerves, eyes on the mansion for somehow, she knew that what lay waiting may well be her demise. Each step intensified the urge to turn, run and leap from the ledge, falling to the river below. It played heavy on her mind, and she glanced to the bluff, judging the distance.
From behind, the man moved in close, as if reading her thoughts. He placed his hand in the small of her back forcing her forward. They climbed twenty or more wooden steps onto a landing where French doors, with lace attire swung wide. She took a breath, nerves on edge as they entered the sprawling mansion.
Trixie joined her. “Come with me, sweetie,” she giggled with a wig
gle in her walk as she sashayed atop stone floors, her spiked boots tapping. Past the foyer they came to a grand room the size of a school auditorium. It was superbly decorated with leather, stone, and polished wood. “Make yourself comfortable,” Trixie said as she took to a staircase spiraling up to a bannistered loft.
Donja raised a hand to her brow and watched her disappear.
Comfortable…not gonna happen.
Seeing Trixie disappear from site, Donja glanced around for a phone, but if one existed she couldn’t find it. A bit weak in the knees, she wobbled to the wall of windows and to her surprise found the glass doors unlocked. She turned the knob, then stepped out onto a deck that jutted out over the river. She traversed the luxurious outdoor furniture and finding the bannister, gripped it firmly, winds whipping her hair. She took a deep breath, leaning precariously over the rail with eyes locked on the white capped rapids hundreds of feet below. Lightheaded and burdened by an intense swooning effect, she contemplated.
Jump…take my chances?
She baulked trembling with fear. Feeling a hand grip her arm, she spun and glanced into Trixie’s eyes. “Naughty girl. Now let’s get you back inside,” she said as she forcefully grasped her arm. Back in the great room, Trixie closed and locked the door.
Donja sat down on a leather sofa, and it occurred to her that there was background music which she had not previously noticed. She listened to the fluidic flow which sounded like a distant opera. She saw movement on the stairs and wearily rose to her feet expecting to see Satan himself, but as the man came into view shirtless and barefoot in tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination, she could only stare.
“Donja,” he said with a dazzling smile, pearly white teeth contrasted by his ebony skin. “What took you so long?” He beamed like an old friend, striding toward her with torrents of dark curly hair trouncing his muscular shoulders.
Donja took a step back. He was tall, well over six feet with a sculptured body, not a day over twenty. He carried himself with superiority and though he was not exceedingly handsome, he looked masterful…virile.
He slowly circled her.
She held her breath.
He passed her face again and again, setting a gravitational path, Earth to the moon, his nostrils flaring.
She exhaled, her chest tight.
Finally, he stopped, facing her and with one hand to his abdomen, the other to his back, took a sweeping bow. “Magnificent,” he whispered, as he took a step closer and extended his hand to her hair, which he took between his fingers. Towering over her, he bent forward, smelling it like a dew-kissed rose. He briefly closed his eyes savoring the scent and then he released the lock, which fell gently upon her chest.
He shivered, without regret, licking his lips. “Forgive me, but I can’t believe it’s you. I have waited so long and though my father promised he would find you, I must admit, I had all but given up and yet,” he paused, “here you are in the flesh.”
Donja swallowed hard and finding a shot of courage, tucked her hair behind her ears. “Who are you?” she asked with a voice that sounded foreign.
His lips curled. “Your destiny,” he whispered.
“Please,” Donja sobbed, the weight of the last few days taking its toll. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Please, I beg you, let me go.”
“Trixie!” he called out, with his unwavering eyes locked on Donja.
“Yes,” she cooed, gliding down the stairs.
“Take Donja to her room. We will dine at seven with my father.” He turned and marched for the stairs.
“Wait, don’t go!” Donja staggered forward, swallowing tears as she dropped to her knees, “I want to go home…please,” she begged, her tears falling.
He paused with one hand on the bannister. He turned his head, his body rigid. “You are home, my love—finally home.”
Trixie pulled Donja to her feet, leading her up the winding stairs. Down a vast hallway adorned with opulent splendor, Trixie opened a door and Donja stepped inside a lavish suite done in pearl white with lavender and lace. “This is your room,” she said. “The bath is off to the right, beyond the closet and there’s a library past the sitting room. The doors do not open, the windows are bullet proof and you and I both know, there is no way out, so submit, Donja.”
Donja spun holding the door for support. “Submit, my God, do you hear what you’re saying. I’ve been abducted, this is unbelievable!” She sobbed hysterically. “It’s criminal!”
“Now, now,” Trixie whispered, shaking her head. “Count your blessings, he’s a great lay if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Oh my God,” Donja gasped, “are you crazy?”
Trixie laughed so unnaturally that it reminded Donja of a crazed psycho in a horror movie.
“You’re sick,” Donja gushed as Trixie grabbed the doorknob.
“No, I’m quite healthy my dear, don’t fight it, just give in.”
“Give in!” she screamed, her voice reverberating. “To what, abduction, rape and God knows what else you people have in store for me?”
“A word of advice,” Trixie said, forcefully removing Donja’s hand from the door. “Make this easy for him, else there will be hell to pay. He’s suffered enough,” she said as she attempted to close the door.
“Who is he?” Donja called out, grabbing it with her hand.
Trixie glanced back. “Silly girl, he’s your husband-to-be, and like a I said, you’re damn lucky that he’ll make you his consort.”
“Lucky, that proves it,” she sputtered, swallowing tears, “you’re a psycho and he’s out and out insane if he thinks I’ll marry him!”
Trixie’s face hardened. “How dare you speak of him like that. If it wasn’t for fear of losing him, I’d knock you on your ass right now, so count your blessings, bitch.”
“Losing him…my God, what are you talking about. Who are you?”
She smiled. “I’m just his whore, a Participant with a warm throat to feed on while waiting on the likes of you, but hear me, bitch. He may take you as his own, but it changes nothing. I love him. I won’t give him up.”
“You can keep him, I just want to go home. Please, my heart belongs to another.”
“Not anymore and one final warning, you filthy Indian. If you hurt him, I’ll cut your heart out.” She pushed her forcefully from the door, slammed it tight and locked it.
Donja gasped, her fractured mind reeling. She fell to her knees, hands to her temples squeezing. “No!”
It was then that she remembered her engagement ring. She dropped her hand and eyed her empty finger. “Torin!”
A Date with the Devil
Forlorn but intent on escape, Donja searched her suite which was like a small cottage with adjoining rooms, but if an escape route existed, she couldn’t find it. Through the windows, which she discovered were sheets of solid glass she saw twelve men in coveralls and hoods standing guard. Her hopes plummeted as muffled sounds from the outside world leaked into the mansion as if to remind her that this opulent room was now her prison. She turned away, tears in her eyes, Torin in her mind and finding the bed, threw herself down and cried. Hours later, with the clock reading noon, she rose and set upon the task of once more exploring the suite, thoughts of escape still heavy in her mind. She discovered a huge walk-in closet fully stocked with gowns, heels, minis and lingerie. Seeing that it was all her exact size, she leaned upon the wall, with a hand to her brow.
How can this be happening?
She paced restlessly, gripping her flat, empty abdomen. Passing the bathroom, she slid her hand inside and found the light. It was large, dressed in lavender prints with white tiles and elegantly lit mirrors. She spied a paper cup dispenser and dashed for it. She leaned on the vanity drinking cup after cup of icy cold water hoping to stall her hunger. Without warning an intense wave of sweat-popping nausea sent the cup flying, water splashing the wall as she hugged the porcelain toilet, gagging. She threw up and then for the longest time just sa
t there, quivering. Finally, weak as a lamb, she grasped the vanity to pull herself up, but besieged by misery, she succumbed to tears, struggling for footing.
Goose bumps embellished her skin.
“Torin,” she sobbed, grasping her head, staggering for the door. She collapsed on the carpet just outside the bathroom door, the smell of vomit in her hair. She crawled on hands and knees back to the bathroom, wedged the stool from the makeup table under the door, then drew a steaming, hot bath. Hours later with the hot water dripping she rose to her feet. Hunger once more plagued her, painfully. She brushed her teeth, blow-dried her hair and then rummaged through the closet until she found a bright yellow dress, the least revealing she could find. She slipped into it, then added matching pumps to the ensemble. She glanced at her image in the floor-length mirror, stress evident in her eyes. She touched her prominent cheek bones and turned her head left and right.
I’m dying, these bastards are starving me…killing me.
She drank water, then fearing more nausea, tossed the cup. She turned to leave, accepting that escape from this suite was impossible. She caught her image in the mirror and paused, her hand on the light switch. Trixie’s words played in her mind, “carte blanche, his consort, lucky girl.” She smoothed the yellow dress.
Charm the devil, yes, that might work. Gain his trust, then run.
Back to the counter, she pinched her cheeks for a bit of color, applied mascara then added some lip gloss and sprayed perfume. She peered out the bathroom window overlooking a small garden.
Who am I fooling, even If I got out, which way to run? I have no idea where I am.
Torin’s image, like a ghostly presence, danced before her. She shuddered. Surely, he and Gage would come and stage a rescue. She blinked, reality settling upon her. In the mirror she locked eyes with her image. “It’s not gonna happen, Donja, so suck it up, face it. You’re on your own. He has no idea where you are.” She just stood there, staring as her own words cut to the bone.
A knock at the door forced a stark grimace. She returned to the bedroom. “Come in, she called out,” amazed that they would take the courtesy to knock.