by Sweet, Izzy
Sounding more insulted than afraid, the man in the back with me roars, “By who?!”
Voice frantic, the driver cries, “I don’t—”
Glass shatters and something warm and wet rains down on me, splattering against my legs.
The man above me curses and fumbles around before he shouts, “Fuck you!”
More glass shatters, falling down on me.
Then it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I peek up to see the man that was molesting me mere seconds ago slumped to the side with blood pouring from what’s left of his head.
Dead.
Before I can fully process what the hell just happened, I hear footsteps crunching against glass then the unmistakable sound of someone trying to open the door.
“The two targets are down,” a man mutters. “Searching for the girl.”
Terror unlike any other terror I’ve felt so far floods through me.
Am I next?
The footsteps fade away and I force myself to get moving. Digging my fingers into the carpet, I crawl my way up to the other door.
Afraid to make a sound, I hold my breath and pray as I reach for the handle.
Please open. Please open.
The interior light flashes on and all the doors click, unlocking, just as my fingers wrap around the handle.
Biting back a sob, I yank on the handle and crawl forward to push the door open.
At first the door opens slowly, then it reaches a point where it swings away from me.
Losing my balance, my palms hit grass, and before I have a chance to stop myself, the rest of my body follows.
A little dazed, it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings and scramble to my feet.
“Hey!” someone calls out and instinctually I glance back.
Over the top of the car I see the head of a man wearing a backwards black baseball cap.
The man who killed the other men.
The man who might kill me.
Without thinking twice about it, I take off running, pumping my legs like my life depends on it.
Because, fuck, at this point it does.
“Wait!” the man shouts behind me. “You’re going to wrong way!”
Ignoring him, I push my aching, abused body across the grass. Huffing through my gag as the flimsy hospital gown I’ve been dressed in flaps against my ass.
“Hey!” the man shouts again. “Stop! Goddammit! I’m here to help!”
Above me a full moon shines down, providing some light so I don’t trip and break my neck. I have no clue where I am, but given all the grass and bushes, I can only assume it’s a park.
Voice strained with exertion, I hear the man tell someone, “My package is fleeing. I’m in pursuit.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see him running after me and quickly gaining on me.
So close now I can make out his clothes.
He’s dressed just like the guys back in the warehouse. Black vest, dark shirt, and dark pants.
Crying out in despair, I will my tiring legs to hold on for a little longer. Pushing my body as hard as it will go.
I make it a few more feet before I sense him at my back.
“Hey! Sophia! Stop! Stop!”
I can’t stop. I won’t stop. No matter how futile it all seems.
I’m done complying and playing along.
If I’m going to die, I’m going to die trying my best to survive, dammit.
The man’s hands touch my back and a second later his body crashes into mine, taking me down.
I land on my knees then his weight flattens me to the ground.
Still determined to get away, I ignore the pain vibrating through my legs and claw at the grass.
“Dammit, woman! I don’t want to hurt you!” he half-yells, half-pleads with me as I try to work my way out of his hold.
Shaking my head, I use my arms to pull the rest of my body forward while screaming a muffled, “Fuck you!”
Grabbing one of my arms, he yanks it out from under me and pushes me onto my back.
Immediately, I start thrashing. Kicking and punching at him in a desperate attempt to force him off.
He continues to say, “Stop, goddammit. Stop,” as he struggles to grab my free hand while avoiding my kicks.
All I hear in my head though is my brain urging me to fight.
Fight for my life or die right here.
I get in one good punch, his head whipping back when my knuckles connect with his chin.
Then, with a look of pure fury, he grabs that hand, pins it down, and roars in my face. “I’m not going to fucking hurt you! I’m here to fucking rescue you!”
I freeze in shock from the force of his roar and stare up at him.
Breathing heavily, he stares right back, his dark eyes burning into me as if he’s trying to see right through me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats softly after a few seconds.
I hear the words, I understand the words, but they make absolutely no sense.
Is this a cruel joke?
A new way to fuck with me?
It has to be a trick.
It has to be.
With tears pricking the corners of my eyes, I try to jerk my hands out of his grip.
Tightening his hold, he presses his body down on me, using his weight to keep me pinned. “I mean it, woman,” he says with a hint of a growl. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to take you home.”
That word. That one word, home, hits me like a ton of bricks.
Home. God, I just want to go home…
The tears that were pricking at the corners of my eyes break free, rolling down my cheeks, but I still don’t quite believe him.
After everything I’ve been through, it simply feels too good to be true.
I try to ask, “Who are you?”, but with my throat raw from all the screaming and my mouth going numb from the gag, the words come out soft and unintelligible.
Lips twisting into a scowl, he asks, “What?”
Snorting in frustration, I probe the gag with my tongue, trying to push it out, before I repeat the question. “Who are you?”
He shakes his head, clearly not understanding me.
Then he does something completely unexpected.
He releases my left hand.
Eyes never leaving my eyes, he gently slips his fingers underneath the back of my head, moving slow. As if he’s afraid of spooking me.
And instead of taking the opportunity to lash out at him, I find myself arching my neck up to give him room to work.
It takes him about a minute to untie the gag one-handed, but once the material is loose, he pulls it free and tosses it away with a look of disgust.
More tears slip from my eyes before I close them and press my lips together in pure relief.
My chin is wet, my tongue is dry, and the corners of my lips are rubbed raw, but being able to close my mouth is something I’ll probably never take for granted again.
Once my mouth is no longer so dry, I become even more aware of his weight and all the places his body is pushing down on my body.
His knees have my knees squeezed together, trapped.
The hard vest he’s wearing is pressing hard into my breasts.
His face is so close to my face, I can feel his warm breath.
Opening my eyes, I find him still staring down at me with a strange, intense expression on his face.
An expression that makes me feel uneasy and excited at the same time.
It must be the drugs still lingering in my system….
“Who are you?” I finally manage to croak clearly.
“James,” he responds, as if his name alone explains anything, and I swear the fingers still gripping my wrist tighten.
“James who?” I press, turning his hard stare back on him.
The question seems to give him pause and he hesitates before stating, “I’m here to return you to your father.”
; At the mention of my father, I feel a slight pang in my chest.
Did he really send this man?
I open my mouth again to challenge him, but before I get a chance, he says, “Chief Cronin.”
At first, I don’t want to believe him. I’ve been through so much, the fact that it’s over, it’s all finally over, is hard to accept.
He’s a complete stranger who just killed two men and chased me down… it would be utterly stupid to believe anything he says.
But after what the Russian man did to Lindsey when she said who her father was, I haven’t uttered my father’s name or title once.
Not once.
Because I knew as soon as I did, I was as good as dead.
How else would he know unless he’s telling the truth?
“Chief Cronin sent you for me?” I croak, needing to hear him say it one more time so I know my ears didn’t deceive me.
“Yes,” he confirms without hesitation. “He sent me for you, Sophia Cronin.”
Oh god, he’s telling the truth.
A tidal wave of emotions swells up inside me.
And like I’ve had to do so many times during this nightmare, I try to hold it back. Try to keep it all contained.
But there’s no containing this.
My body begins to shake as all the stuff I’ve been holding inside, all the fear, anger, and despair, combine, becoming a maelstrom.
Then it bursts free.
“Shit,” James mutters as I sob pathetically beneath him.
Try as I might, I can’t seem to stop.
I can’t stop the crushing, agonizing, pain of becoming a person who matters again.
James’s weight leaves me.
His warmth, his protection, gone.
For a fleeting second, I miss it.
Then it’s back.
Arms wrap around me, pulling me up, and blindly, I follow them.
“It’s okay… It’s okay…” James mumbles while awkwardly patting my back.
It’s not okay.
Nothing will ever be okay again.
But I’m safe.
Finally, I’m safe.
In the arms of yet another strange man.
That thought causes another explosion of uncontrollable sobs.
“Fuck it,” James says and stops patting my back.
I watch him pull away through a blur of tears and feel even shittier for putting him in this position.
From the way he’s dressed, I’m pretty sure he works in some branch of law enforcement. It would explain how he knows my father, and why he was so hesitant to give me anything more than his name. My father probably pulled some strings and got one of the bureaus involved in my disappearance.
Angrily, James rips the Velcro straps off his vest, pulls it off, and tosses it away.
Then he grabs me and pulls me close.
Crushing me against his warm chest.
“Sshh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay now,” he breathes against my hair. “I’m here.”
His arms tighten around me.
“I promise you those motherfuckers will never hurt you again.”
I shake my head and mentally try to push away, but my damn fingers won’t stop grabbing at his shirt.
Grabbing at the only man who hasn’t tried to hurt me.
Yet.
Still trying to comfort me, he murmurs, “They’re fucking dead. I killed them. I fucking killed them.”
Not all of them, I think with dark despair.
He only killed two of them.
There’s still at least a dozen more who tortured and abused my friends and me.
Oh god…
“My friends!” I cry out and pull back enough to look up at him. “We have to save my friends!”
The moonlight catches James’s face as he looks down at me, highlighting his sharp bone-structure and solemn expression. “Already done.”
“What?” I gasp, confused and not sure I heard him right.
“There are men retrieving—I mean, rescuing the others as we speak.”
Are we talking about the same people?
Needing to know, I ask, “You’re rescuing Beth and Amanda?”
“Yes,” he answers, the expression on his face unwavering.
Hearing that, the pendulum of my emotions swings in the opposite direction.
My friends are safe. Beth and Amanda are safe.
So much relief and gratitude overwhelm me, I can’t handle it.
“Thank you!” I sob, but this time it’s a happy sob.
“You’re welcome,” James smiles sadly at me.
Even sad, the smile makes him even more incredibly handsome.
The sudden urge to kiss him hits me out of nowhere.
And without thinking, I give into it.
Stretching up, I press my lips against his lips and feel him stiffen.
I realize my mistake instantly.
Shame, embarrassment, and more confusion warms my face as I pull back and bumble out an apology. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me…"
Fuck, I’m a stupid mess. My emotions are all over the place… and I don’t even know why I just did that.
James stares hard at me for the longest moment.
His eyes so intense it feels like he’s slicing my soul in half.
Then, with a soft growl, his mouth crashes into mine in a crushing kiss.
Shocked, I freeze up. Stiffening as his hand finds the back of my head.
But his lips are so soft, so gentle after the initial crash, it’s not long until I find myself unexpectedly melting into his kiss.
His fingers lace through my hair, tighten, and pull me closer.
And I know I should pull away.
I should put an end to this.
It was a mistake.
A stupid, silly mistake made in the heat of the moment.
But it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but cold terror…
And he’s making me feel warm and alive again.
His mouth coaxes mine into matching his rhythm, and I push closer. Seeking more of his comfort.
Needing more of this life he’s breathing back into my lungs.
It’s a kiss. Just a kiss.
But it’s also validation.
Validation that I’m more than nothing.
I’m here.
I’m important to someone.
I exist.
He pushes back, deepening the kiss.
His lips become more demanding and persistent as he wraps an arm around my waist and presses his warm palm against my bared back.
Knowing deep down what he’s asking for, even if my brain hasn’t figured it out yet, I open for him.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, finding and stroking against my tongue.
My mind completely blanks out for a second.
Then it feels like I’m hit by a bolt of lightning.
My blood buzzes with an electrical current.
Over and over, he strokes his tongue against mine.
Pushing me closer to combustion.
Moaning, I become completely lost in the kiss.
So lost, I never sense someone approaching.
A man sighs then says coldly, “Really, James? Molesting the Chief’s daughter in the middle of Elim Park? Even I expected better of you.”
At the sound of the cold voice, I immediately turn into stone.
Petrified that one of the men who kidnapped me have found us.
Tearing his mouth away from mine, James growls, “Fuck off, Simon.”
The fact that he seems to know the man calms my panic a little.
Still holding me, James turns me, as if trying to shield me from the other’s eyes.
I hear the man, I’m assuming Simon, sigh again. “Normally, I would. The Devil knows I have better things to do than to watch you carry out your twisted little perversions. But you called for assistance… and here I am...”
Turning his head, James glares at Simon. “Well, your
assistance is no longer needed. I’ve got everything under control.”
“Under control?” Simon repeats incredulously. “I hardly think deflowering the Chief’s daughter out in the open is under control.”
Red begins to creep up James’s neck. He sputters for a second then he sneers. “Deflowering? Seriously, Simon? Is that what you think this is?”
“I don’t know what this is, and I don’t want to know,” Simon says firmly. “I’m here to escort Miss Cronin home.”
James’s arms tighten around me, and I feel extremely grateful when he says, “I’ll escort her home.”
I don’t know who this Simon guy is, but from the way he talks, especially about me, I already don’t like him.
Somehow Simon’s tone becomes even colder as he says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Honestly, Simon?” James laughs. “I don’t care what you think.”
I lean to the side to peek at Simon. Standing only a couple feet away, it’s easy to make him out in the moonlight. Tall, with dark hair, glasses, and a charcoal suit, he’s an ominous presence in the shadows.
From his awful attitude and the way he’s dressed, I assume he’s James’s superior in whatever bureau they work for.
Everything about Simon practically screams miserable bureaucrat.
Simon lifts his glasses and pinches his nose. “James…” Dropping his glasses back into place, he asks, “Who do you think sent me here?”
James stiffens around me, causing a tendril of alarm to shoot down my spine.
Glaring at James, Simon continues, “Again, do you think I’m here because I have nothing better to do?”
“What are you saying?” James asks, his voice dropping to a husky growl.
Expression icy, Simon says, “You do not have permission to take her home.”
“Permission?” James scoffs.
“Indeed,” Simon confirms, his lips curving with a sharp smirk as if he finds what he’s saying amusing. “Permission has not been granted and will not be granted in the future.”
James scoffs again, but it’s not nearly as confident as before.
“You may be… favored,” Simon goes on, his tone full of derision, “for familial reasons, but even you will not be spared from his wrath if you put his wife and children in danger.”
James shakes his head in disbelief. “Danger? What danger could I possibly put them in?”
“Don’t play stupid, James,” Simon snaps. “You know exactly who her father is.”
Simon’s words seem to hang in the air, ringing like a warning I don’t understand.