The Curse: The Butterfly Effect, Book 2.

by Margaret McHeyzer

  THE CURSE

  Copyright © 2017 Margaret McHeyzer

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9946460-4-0 (ebook)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9946460-6-4 (paperback)

  This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be stored or reproduced by any process without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  Cover Design: Book Cover by Design

  Editor: Debi Orton

  Interior Formatting by Tami Norman, Integrity Formatting

  www.facebook.com/authormargaretmcheyzer

  email: hit_149@yahoo.com

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Preview ~ Dying Wish

  Preview ~ Mistrust

  Preview ~ Ugly

  Also by Margaret McHeyzer

  With my phone in my hand, I pace the floor of my office. I stop every few steps and look down, waiting for the phone call to come.

  “Where the hell is she?” I say aloud to no one.

  Swallowing my anger, I run my hand through my hair, then down the back of my neck to squeeze the tense muscles. She’s been gone for nearly two weeks, and no one knows what’s happened to her.

  Everyone I pay at the police department to keep me informed is failing miserably. I’ve called on every contact I have, and no one knows anything. It’s like she’s vanished.

  The raid on my house was a damned ruse. It was orchestrated to get Lexi out and take her away from me. But I still have no idea who did this. One department is saying it’s another department, and no one seems to know anything for sure.

  Stopping in front of the desk, I swing my laptop around and play the security footage taken just before they took Lexi from me.

  I watch as they come into my house, I watch how the men I paid to look after her froze and dropped to the floor instead of grabbing Alexa and hiding her in the safe room. They’ve all been fired, replaced with men I know will do exactly what they’re supposed to do. Some are even mercenaries, hired for their comfort with extreme brute force.

  Placing my phone on the desk, I flex my right hand and rub my bruised knuckles. Don, the guard at the door who let them enter my home, copped the worst from me. He let those animals inside my house. He let them take my girl without even questioning their fake credentials.

  He had to be held responsible. He deserved what he got. Everyone knows what happens when you cross me.

  I stretch my hand once more; the ache is a welcome. If I could, I’d go back and bludgeon his skull in again. But he’s been disposed of, like the trash he is.

  My eyes keep watching the screen, how they’re handling my girl. They’re careful not to touch her. They know. They have to know. They wouldn’t go to all this trouble to get her if they didn’t.

  My head of security, Ronan, was with me when it all happened. He was remotely watching over the house, and the moment he saw it unfold and informed me, I left my meeting with the Sorrell family and took the jet straight back here. Hell, I even had the pilot put it down on the landing strip here, instead of at the hangar.

  But we were six hours too late. Lexi was gone. Frank was beaten nearly to death, and most of my men were dumped in the middle of nowhere.

  The van that took Lexi disappeared.

  We can’t find it, and we have no idea who has her.

  Ronan’s been searching and hacking into every security system he can to find her. I haven’t slept since she’s been gone. I’m on the very edge of losing my shit and about to start breaking down doors until I get the answers I need.

  Ronan appears at my door, with his laptop in his hand. His eyes tell me I’m not going to like what he’s found. She’d better be alive, or I’ll find and torture every person who’s been part of her death. Every person who’s profited from, touched, or hurt her, will die.

  “Ronan.” I gesture for him to come into my office. “What have you got?”

  He doesn’t speak. He’s usually the quiet type, the guy who gets things done and doesn’t say much. I like him because he takes instruction well. He’s been my right-hand man for as long as I’ve been in this business.

  “I’ve found her.” He types furiously on the screen, bringing up multiple images.

  The one in the top left hand corner is of the van. Destroyed and crumpled. The front of the van is completely destroyed. It doesn’t look like the driver could have survived the wreck.

  “Who has her?” My eyes furiously search all the images on the screen.

  Ronan is quiet.

  Fury overtakes me.

  Something inside me snaps. Ronan’s silence is alarming and I’m ready to murder every fucker who’s put their hands on her.

  “Who has her?” I shout at Ronan.

  “You’re not going to like this . . .”

  Sitting in this room is driving me crazy. It’s nothing like the room I had at Jude’s. This is more like a cell. It’s a small, dark room with a mattress on the floor and a bathroom with only a toilet, a shower, and a sink.

  I get fed twice a day, and usually it’s just thrown into the room in a brown paper bag. I’m treated worse than an animal.

  I haven’t met whoever instigated this yet. Apparently, I’m going to meet ‘the boss’ tomorrow. It’s been seven days, and truthfully, I’m terrified.

  The men who took me come in and watch me shower. One of them even started masturbating while I was washing myself. He made my stomach curdle with sickness. My skin crawls and my heart hasn’t slowed from its frantic beating since I was brought here.

  Every time I hear the locks being opened, my anxiety peaks to a point where I think I’m going to pass out. Dressed all in black, they usually enter, and look down at me before either throwing food on my mattress or ordering me around.

  One guy’s eyes ‒ I’m sure he’s the one who took me from the van ‒ always roam all over me. They search me up and down, and he licks his lips like he wants to taste me. He scares me the most. His eyes are dark and beady, and his nose is crooked, like it’s been broken many times before. He always comes in here holding a gun in his hand, leering at me.

  Seriously, what does he think I’m going to do? Run away? I have no idea where I am, or even what state or city I’m in.

  He’s truly terrifying, the stuff my nightmares are made of.

  As I sit on the mattress, I look down at my dirty clothes. I haven’t changed them since they brought me here, because they haven’t given me anything to change into. I don’t dare ask for anything, because I really don’t want to hear their voices. They frighten me.

  The main guy, the scary one, has a deep, crackly voice. I can’t help but imagine years of yelling and chain smoking contributed to the harshness of his voice.

  While my eyes take in my surroundings, my heart breaks. Loneliness and sadness constrict my soul. A few short months ago I was a normal teenage girl, who had a best friend and a family.

  Now I’ve been kidnapped, twice, and I’m sitting in a room where
I’m sure many people have died before me. This place is nothing like Jude’s. At least he allowed me some type of freedom. I had clean clothes, and food. And even though the experience was frightening at least I was able to sleep at night.

  Here, I’m too scared to close my eyes, because I don’t want to wake and find someone on top of me, taking something that doesn’t belong to them.

  The ache inside my body keeps reminding me of how good I had it with Jude. He may have stolen me, but he treated me well. Yes, I know he’s a monster. But with me, he wasn’t. And he didn’t let anyone else handle me badly, either.

  The door rattles, and I hear what sounds like chains, unlocking deadbolts, or whatever else they use to secure me in this dingy room. I crawl up to the top of the mattress, and when my back finds the wall, I know I can’t go any further.

  My throat constricts and my hands begin to shake. Praying, I keep my eyes toward the door.

  When all the locks and bolts are unlatched, my eyes widen and terror washes over me. Is today the day I’m going to die? Or maybe today is the day that whomever comes into this room will do unspeakable, cruel things to me.

  Either way, I’m frozen with fear. Panic shoots through my veins in the form of burning terror.

  I feel myself stop breathing, holding it because I’m unsure of who’s coming or what’s going to happen.

  The door opens slowly.

  Saliva collects in my mouth, and my breathing is labored.

  The door hits the wall behind it, coming to a complete stop.

  Tears well in my eyes, and a sudden wave of bile quickly rises.

  A man steps into the room.

  My heart constricts with dread.

  It’s the man who scares me most.

  Trembling, I try to move even further back. Everything inside me wants to scream, but I know it’s not going to do any good. There’s no one here who cares, or even wants to hear me. It would probably lead to my death.

  But maybe death is my only way out. If I try to run, he’ll shoot me. He holds his gun on me every time he enters the room, obviously to threaten me. He wants to intimidate me. Guess what, asshat? It’s working. The gun is a warning that if I try to run, he’ll kill me. Maybe, just maybe, it’s worth trying.

  Crazy ideas flood my brain. I can sacrifice myself. If they kill me, I’ll no longer be stuck in this hellhole.

  “Princess,” he says while checking me out.

  Vomit threatens to appear. His eyes are so scary and his dark features even more terrifying. “Wha-what do you want?” I manage to respond. My voice is tight with stress and worry. I try and curl into myself more, hoping the wall swallows me whole.

  “The boss wants to meet you.”

  “I thought I was meeting him tomorrow?” I ask and quickly clamp my hand over my mouth. Terror spikes inside me, warning me.

  “You are.” The scary guy looks me over again, his eyes landing obviously on my breasts. My stomach roils with anticipated worry.

  Stop looking at me like that.

  “And what do you want me to do?” I look away from him, afraid of the answer.

  Although I’m not looking directly at him, I notice the side of his mouth pull up into a smirk. He moves his free hand and grabs his crotch, scratching himself. “I have a few ideas.” I gag on the bile. “Don’t worry, princess, we’re not allowed to touch you.” Why should I believe him? Relief isn’t instant. As a matter of fact, all that happens is the terror intensifies and manifests further. “Yet,” he adds in a cold tone. “You need to clean yourself up.”

  I feel like yelling at him and telling him I have nothing to change into. But I have a distinct feeling he isn’t the type of guy to mouth off too. He’s definitely not Jude. Instead I look down at my clothes, and struggle with what to do. I’ll need to wash them and hang them over the shower head, hoping they’ll dry by tomorrow.

  “Don’t worry, princess.” God, I hate how he calls me princess. “I’ll have some clothes delivered to you later on.” He smirks again, the smile evil and malicious. “I’m sure you’ll like what I bought for you.”

  My skin prickles and my palms sweat with panic and worry.

  I opt to say nothing. He does have a gun.

  He looks me over again, licking his lips. I know what that means, I’m not an idiot. He’s going to enjoy himself with me when his ‘boss’ gives him the go-ahead. Tears pool in my eyes, but I hold them back.

  He turns and exits the room, leaving me with the darkness of my own mind, in my own private nightmare.

  When I hear the door locking, I finally breathe easy. It’s stupid, because I’m locked in here on my own, but I feel as safe as I can be because of the locks on the door. I know it’ll take them at least a minute to enter the room. And in that minute, I’m still safe. I’m safe from whatever horrors await me.

  For now.

  I slept with one eye open. With every creak, I jump up and prepare myself for whatever is about to happen.

  Each time, my poor heart hammers so hard I think I’m going to die. Actually, I wish I would.

  It’s morning, or at least I assume it’s the morning. The lack of windows or any other way to tell time has me confused. But, I’m hoping my instincts aren’t completely off.

  I sit on the mattress cross-legged and wait for whatever will happen. I’m meeting ‘the boss’ today, and I’m so scared of what that means for me.

  The door begins to unlock, and I shuffle back away from it until my back hits the wall. It’s a stupid reaction, because truthfully, this room isn’t very big, and there are no windows. I can’t try to run away. All I can do is wait.

  Wait for them to open the door.

  Wait for them to feed me.

  Wait for them to decide what my future holds.

  Wait.

  My eyes are glued to the door. It opens and the scary guy walks in, holding his stupid gun and a paper bag. He throws the bag toward me, but it lands at the foot of the mattress. “There’s food in there, and the clothes you have to wear for the boss.”

  I swallow hard, my throat feels like it’s lined with sandpaper. “Okay,” I respond, still staring at him.

  “You have an hour to eat and get ready.”

  How am I supposed to know how long an hour is? I have no clock. “Okay,” is the safest answer I can muster. Anything else may result in my death.

  Sighing as he closes and locks the door I entertain the alternative. Death. It could be a welcome change from what I’m going through now.

  Dragging myself forward, I snatch the paper bag and open it. My stomach gurgles with hunger. They don’t really feed me a lot, and even though I’ve only been here for just over a week, my pelvic bones have started sticking out more than normal.

  Sitting on top of the clothes in the bag, is a wrapped muffin. My stomach rumbles with hunger again. Unwrapping it from the cling wrap, the sweetness of the aroma invades my nose. “Oh, my God,” I breathe before inhaling the muffin in a matter of seconds.

  Because I’m ravenous, the muffin doesn’t even touch my hunger. “I needed that,” I say to myself. I pick at the crumbs that have fallen on the bed. I know the bed’s filthy, but I’m so damn hungry. Licking my finger, I try and stick the crumbs to the end of it then eat them. When there’s nothing left, I stand and head into the bathroom. I figure I may as well wash myself and get ready to meet ‘the boss.’

  Once out of the shower and wrapped in the scratchy towel, I head over to look at what’s in the brown paper bag. Balking, I lift the article of clothing with my pinkie. “You have got to be kidding me,” I sigh. The clothing is quite intimate, and completely see-through.

  It didn’t cross my mind how small the brown paper bag was, or the fact that there was a black lacey object under the muffin. Shaking my head, I look back in the bag, and find the panties to match the lacey, transparent, baby-doll negligee. They can barely be called underwear.

  It’s a thong, a teeny-tiny thong that hides nothing. “I’m not wearing this,” I say as
I look at it with disgust. The problem is, I have nothing else to wear, because I only have the underwear I’ve been wearing, and I washed them in the sink last night.

  “I’m not wearing this,” I say again as I slump down on the bed, with only the towel protecting my exposed body.

  Sneering at the stupid ‘attire’ I shake my head with contempt and revulsion. I cannot believe this is where I’ve ended up, in a small room with no window, being forced to perform for some guy known as ‘the boss.’ And I’ve ended up here not because of anything I did, but simply because of what I’m capable of.

  Taking myself into the bathroom, I lean my hands on the sink and look down into the small basin. “This is bullshit. I need to get out of here,” I say to myself. Looking up, I stare at myself in the mirror.

  My left eye is half blue and half green. I still have no idea why it’s changing color, or even if it’s going to affect my right eye too.

  “You have to do this, Lexi.” Trying to convince myself sounds dumb. What’s the worst thing to happen? They’ll kill me and my life will be over. I don’t think that’s a bad alternative at all. At least I’ll be free. And I won’t have to dress up and parade myself in front of a group of sleazy men. I may not have seen them, but judging by the scary guy who comes in, and the lewd, insulting scraps of material I’m being made to wear, I can only imagine the horny men I’ll be paraded before.

  My own underwear hanging over the curtain rod of the shower catches my eye in the mirror. I turn and grab it, wringing it out the best I can. My panties are still wet, but at least they cover all my bits up. It’s bad enough they’ll see my breasts through the sheer material of the baby-doll lingerie. I refuse to allow them to see everything else too.

  I take my towel off, completely aware of how likely it is there’s a camera in here. Placing my undies in the towel, I try and wring them out more. The towel will hopefully help by absorbing some of the moisture out of them. I keep doing this until I know there’s only a few minutes before the scary guy comes in to get me.

  Unravelling the towel, I check my undies and find they’re still damp, but at least they have dried out enough for me to wear.