Tremble

by Alison Foster

  Hey, Lukas, shove the Stockholm Syndrome up your ass and why don’t you eat a bag of dicks while you’re at it?

  How ironic that I was already at least three quarters in love with him before he revealed his true colors. He didn’t have to go to these lengths to get my complete attention and devotion. My eyes water again, the tears spilling down my cheeks freely. It’s emotional exhaustion. I’ve had relationships go bad, but come on! Really?

  I bury my face in a pillow and scream for twenty seconds. When I stop, I need to take a big breath to keep from fainting. The world blurs around me.

  Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe I just need to answer some fucking mad man’s question. I need to get him to ask me his damn questions—outsmarting a deviant can’t be that hard. I’ll find a way.

  I go to the window and try to open it but it won’t budge. It’s locked in place somehow, not to mention the thick metal bars outside.

  Next, I try the door. The knob turns freely, too freely, nothing happens. I crash my shoulder into the door. It doesn’t move at all. I don’t think a football player could get through this door. There must be double or triple locks on the outside and the door is wood all the way through.

  I’m still considering ways out of the room when I hear his footsteps and the sound of the key turning. I count. One, two—yes, two locks.

  I hurry back to the bed just as he enters.

  “I almost forgot,” he says with a wink, then grabs my arm with one hand and holds up the handcuffs with the other.

  “No. Come on, Lukas,” I plead. “There’s no way out of this room. What’s the point?”

  “Hush,” he says, fastening one cuff around my wrist.

  “Not cool,” I say, unable to hide my defeat.

  This pleases him. He fastens the second cuff to the headboard, careful not to hurt me. “This is necessary, Mac,” he says. “You need to learn humility.”

  Chapter 18

  Lukas

  The shower keeps running but I linger in front of the mirror as if my brain has shut down. Today could be an important day. If she acts even a little subdued, I might start the interrogation. If she’s as spineless as I think she is, she’ll fall apart quickly. I could have my answers by the end of the day.

  I step into the shower finally, letting the hot water scald my entire body until I’m red all over. I rub myself hard with the sponge, causing even more irritation to the skin. A little soreness will keep me focused and free of weak feelings of pity or guilt. The end may not necessarily justify the means but the means are necessary anyway.

  Keeping my senses muted after enjoying her perfect little body in so many intense sessions is the hardest part, but controlling my impulses can yield a different kind of satisfaction. I dry myself off quickly and wrap the towel around my waist as I walk to the kitchen.

  A peek at the monitor on the wall that I’ve rigged to the camera in Nora’s room reveals that she’s awake and eating the breakfast I left by the bed. As an added bonus, I freed her wrist while she was asleep. Before leaving last night, I put sedatives in her food so she could fall asleep.

  I lost a few hundred gambling at the Luxor, my mind unable to concentrate for long stretches, but I needed some time away from this house and away from this girl.

  As soon as I get a shirt and jeans on, I walk up the stairs to her room. She flinches when I enter. That’s a good sign. If she’s consumed with fear, she’ll struggle to unscramble her own manic thoughts, and it’ll be much easier for me to crawl under her skin and wear her down.

  I cross the room to get to the window. I take out my phone to punch the code for the wireless window locks and then push the window up to let some fresh morning air into the room.

  Nora’s big brown eyes study me, cataloguing my intentions. “Who are you?” she says as I walk to the second window. “Why are you doing this?”

  I take my time with the second window, slowly opening it. When I’m done, I walk to the chair opposite the bed and plop down.

  “I’m many things to many people,” I tell her, as truthfully as I can. “To some people I am their worst nightmare.”

  She tilts her head. “No, you’re being hard on yourself.”

  “Always the funny girl,” I say. “But if you really want to know who I am, Mac? I’m a soldier. A US Marine. I fought with Shane and Tanner in Afghanistan. That’s the connection you almost hurt your pretty little head trying to figure out. That’s the secret I was trying to keep from you when you met them. They could have blown my cover if you talked to them.”

  She shakes her head. “Soldiers?” she says. “I thought soldiers had honor. What you are doing to me is the least honorable thing ever. I really doubt you could have ever been a true soldier. Not buying it.”

  I laugh. “How many times must I tell you that I don’t care if you believe me or not? And I certainly don’t care what you think of me.”

  “What about prison?” she says, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Made that up. I’ve never seen the inside of a cell.”

  Now she laughs. “Well, welcome to my cell,” she says, her voice filled with contempt. “Strange you’ve never ended up behind bars. You’re no doubt a career criminal. Just since I met you, you’ve committed a dozen crimes. Besides kidnapping, you obviously have falsified numerous government documents. Jules checked everything. She found your criminal record. She found many things on you that can’t be true.”

  “In my line of work, shaped identities come with the territory.”

  “Your line of work? Right. You’re like in the lunatic union.”

  I smile. “Being insane would be much easier than what I am. And I know what you’re doing. You want me to prove my worth to you. You want to flip the tables here. I like that, Mac. I like that fire in you that believes you can actually influence the outcome of your predicament.”

  Her eyes are filled with hatred now. “Fuck you, Lukas, or whatever your name was before you became a sick asshole.”

  “Nope. I’ve always been Lukas. The sick asshole part came later. I wanted you to know my real name all along.”

  She’s confused again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “All in good time, sweetheart.”

  She exhales angrily. “Can you just do some water torture or whatever? Anything would be better than hearing another one of your riddles.”

  She rubs her hands together like she’s cold. Strange because the room has been getting increasingly hotter since I opened the windows.

  “You want more rough stuff?” I say eagerly as I stand and approach her on the bed. I tug at her hair. She brushes my hand off.

  “Or maybe you miss sucking my big dick,” I tell her.

  “Try it,” she says. “And it won’t be so big anymore.”

  I laugh and secretly yearn to have her bite my stiff shaft. “I’m quite sane, Nora. And I would have never fucked you if you hadn’t wanted it so bad. That was necessary, too. It’s all part of the greater concern. I’m after something very concrete, very tangible and you’re my best chance at getting it. What you call psycho, I call methodical.”

  “What?” she says, losing patience.

  “I told you, all in good time. Now rest. You’ll need all your strength for what’s coming.”

  I handcuff her before I leave the room. I can think of better ways to treat Nora tonight. I’m not proud of the abuse but I wasn’t lying. She’s the best chance I have at justice. This is the only chance I’ll ever have to clear my own father’s name and give my mother the solace she deserves.

  She won’t give in easily. I understand that now. There’s too much at stake for her, but I’m making this a battle of wills. There’s no way I lose.

  *

  It’s dark when I return to her room. She’s dozed off, but startles awake when I turn on the light. She sits up. Her senses are in full-on alert mode.

  “Guess what, Mac?” I tell her as I free her wrist. “I’m giving you a chance. I think you might be ready to
provide answers. Shall we try?”

  She looks at me with pursed lips, unblinking, waiting.

  I pull the chair next to the bed and sit, crossing my legs. Only her eyes move. It’s as if she is absent but still seeing. I know that she has been altered now. I reach out and pull her by the legs to the edge of the bed.

  Her eyes are inches away and unflinching.

  “Let’s talk about your father,” I begin.

  “My father?” she repeats, barely audible.

  “Yes,” I say, brushing my fingers against her cheek. “I’m going to ask you a question and you’re going to answer.” I take a deep breath. “Where on this Earth is your father?”

  She twitches until I see her emerging from her trance. She nods slowly. “I’ve had this dream. I knew I was dreaming.”

  I lift my hand in front of her eyes and snap my fingers loudly two times. “Wake up. You’re not dreaming. I’m asking you, where is your father?”

  She fidgets now, looks away and then back again. “My father?”

  “Are you deaf?” I say, my hand trailing from her face down to her throat.

  “He’s dead,” she says, licking her dry, chapped lips.

  I press my thumb against the base of her throat. “Try again.”

  Her eyes blink fast a few times as panic floods her chest. My hand trails down to her collarbone. Her eyes fix on mine like a hawk.

  “I don’t understand. What do you want me to say?”

  “The truth, Mac. Nothing more, nothing less. Where’s your father?”

  “You really are a mad man,” she says, rubbing her forehead.

  I’m getting tired of her act. We both know James McRae is alive. The difference is she might know the very hole he’s hiding in. I’ve searched the known world for any sign of the scumbag. And then I went off the grid, looking in places no decent soul should ever visit.

  I drop my hand to cup one breast over her shirt. I feel her shiver.

  I’m crossing the line and I know it. Threatening her body in the vilest way possible won’t be my proudest hour but it’s keeping her mind unfocused. It creates an edge beyond which any dark fear might be possible. Basically, I need to convince her that any delay could be gruesome, even deadly.

  “You’re loyal,” I say. “Don’t make me take you to a state where all loyalty has been bled away. You are not animated, Nora. You are not an actor. Your pain and your scars will be real.”

  “I saw his dead body, you dimwit,” she says as she grabs my hand, trying to get it off her tit.

  I increase the pressure. “Believe me when I tell you, your anger can not match mine. I’ve been places you could never even imagine. I’ve seen up the dark asshole of the universe, Mac. Don’t fucking try me.”

  I squeeze on her breast harder. I’ve come to enjoy the way her tits feel in my hand more than I should. I miss the way her nipples bunch up when I play with them, how she squirmed hotly and got wet when I nuzzled on them. Too bad I’ll never get to tease them again. Too bad I crossed the line too many times to forget her.

  It’s easy to fall under Nora McRae’s spell, easy to admire her lonely, but fierce spirit, the disengaged intellect, the way she comes alive in bed, the way she hungers touch. In those brief, orgiastic instances I could almost forget the monster that spawned her.

  “I hate you so much,” she says as her tears well. “Pure hate.”

  “Good. A little purity in this world would be an upgrade. By the time this is done, I predict you’ll find room enough in your heart to hate yourself.”

  “You’re a monster,” she says through a fresh curtain of tears. We are well on the way to her total breakdown.

  “I’m a monster? That’s funny. Then you must be attracted to men like your father. That’s a little sick, Nora. You need to see someone.”

  She’s full-on sobbing now, her shoulders shaking violently as she tries to control her fraying emotions. I want to yell at her to shut the fuck up. I can’t. I want to laugh out my victory. I can’t. Something’s stopping me.

  Whether I like it or not, this pathetic spawn of the devil has gotten under my skin. Fuck. I need to focus. There’s not one good reason to like this girl and there are dozens of great reasons to despise her.

  The math is not adding up. What’s so special about her? I could have a thousand women more beautiful and less annoying. Women who are wiser and less naïve. She’s fucking delusional. She’s a money hungry phony. The life she hopes for is tedious, planned, boring and bland.

  I’m weak. No more. I will start over, build the hate anew. If harming her is a necessity, then I cannot hesitate. I could not have her back in my bed anyway. We’re beyond that. I will never be anything but reprehensible in her eyes and fuck her eyes. Fuck those soulful, foolish brown eyes.

  Shut up, motherfucker. You’re losing it.

  That’s me. I’m talking to myself now. I am fucking losing it.

  “You know who the real monster is, Nora? Your fucking father.” I tug at her hair, pulling her painfully to her feet. She whimpers. I lean down to put my lips next to her ear. “And he yet breathes.”

  Chapter 19

  Nora

  What is he talking about? He’s making even less sense than before. I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. What is this sick obsession with my father? I’m sick and tired of his nasty games. How did I ever find this man attractive? Everything beautiful in his face has turned grotesque. He’s a freak, a disgusting nightmare creature.

  “Why don’t you come clean?” I challenge him. “Tell me what you think my father did to you that makes it okay to torture his daughter.”

  Lukas lets go of my hair and raises his hand. I duck, certain he’s going to hit me. He doesn’t. Instead, he rests his hand on my shoulder.

  “This was the path left to me. Any man can do terrible things if left only with one option,” he says. “Neither you nor your father are fit to be my judge.”

  He stands and basically bolts for the door. Suddenly, I’m alone.

  At any moment he could return. There is no peace when he’s gone. His absence looms larger than his presence. When my mind is free to roam, every possible thing he could do to me repeats in my head, over and over, terrifying and exhausting me.

  At least when he’s here I can mock him, watch him, despise him.

  The more information he leaks about his motives, the more uncertain I become. He showed up at the restaurant when I was supposed to meet a hired escort. Did he pay the escort off? Or are they in this together? Maybe the escort died in his motorcycle accident. Maybe Lukas had something to do with that death and others. Maybe even her father’s death.

  The agency texted me about the escort swap though. How? He said he’s not an escort at all. His words are a diarrhea of lies. I can’t trust a word.

  He could be a hacker or a hacker/pervert or a hacker/pervert/killer. I think one thing must be true. I was his mark from the beginning, but why?

  There is far more I don’t understand. I mean, why did he wait six weeks sweeping me off my feet and then alienate me forever in six seconds?

  The man spent a week making love to me. And when I say a week, I mean nearly every minute of that week. Repeatedly, passionately, like it was the most important thing in the world for him. Like the world was ending.

  And now the loon believes my father is alive. Not only that, he’s convinced I know where he is. That doesn’t even make sense. I hired a damn escort to marry me to get Dad’s money. Why on earth would he assume any of this? Where does he get these crazy ideas?

  My father harmed a lot of people financially and probably otherwise, there’s no denying that. How many of those people, though, would actively search for him after his death? How many would kidnap and imprison his daughter? What good would that do? You’d have to be crazy.

  I’m at a complete and utter loss. That’s not good. If I can’t understand him, I can’t fight him. And I need to fight or I’m done.

  My leg’s asleep. Too many hou
rs laying here, doing nothing. I shake it to get the blood flowing and I walk to the closet, the only place in the room that could hold clues. There are a few boxes on the top shelves which I haven’t touched, fearing he might have left them on purpose to lure me so I can find false hope, or maybe he’s waiting to punish me when I open them.

  Screw that. I don’t have time to lose. The longer I stay here, the more likely it will be that he kills me to avoid getting caught.

  On my tiptoes, I work at getting one of the boxes from the shelf. He’s back. I barely have time to get back in bed before he unlocks the door.

  He brings with him a sour disposition and he’s not even trying to hide it. He gives me a side glance and then dives under the bed to bring out a second pair of handcuffs that he must have hidden under the mattress.

  I exhale slowly trying to compose myself. There’s a good possibility he wants to cuff both my hands and both my feet and leave me like that all night but I don’t want to panic. He’d love to see me do that.

  He takes my hand and sits close to me on the bed.

  “Have you decided?” he says, quietly.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I want to break up.”

  My pointed joke means nothing to him. Not so much as a twitch of a facial muscle in response. “Where’s your father, Mac?”

  I glance at him defiantly. “Oh, him. Let me see. Pushing up daisies. Walking in the spirit world. Tending to one of hell’s many fires. Playing shuffleboard with Elvis. Does that help, Lukas? Did you get the answers you need?”

  If I’ve pissed him off, it doesn’t show. He remains calm and unfazed. “Try again. Where is James McRae?”

  “He killed himself.” If I am steadfast in my assertions, he might eventually accept the truth.

  “James McRae would never kill himself.”