Black Vows: A dark romantic thriller (Obsession Inc. Book 2)

by Dori Lavelle

  He stands before me and nods. “Fine, I didn’t plan on doing this, but you give me no choice.” He yanks open another drawer and removes a roll of tape.

  Another scream, louder than before pours out of me moments before he tapes my mouth shut.

  He kisses my taped mouth, and whistles as he swings open the doors to the shelf, pulling out a hard plastic metal box, which he drops on the floor next to my feet.

  I writhe and groan, shaking my head from side to side, trying to remove the tape with my shoulder. From the way I’m struggling to breathe, he might as well have closed my nose.

  He continues to whistle, uncaring about how I feel. He doesn’t bother to look at me. Instead, he drops to his knees in front of the box and flips it open. He lifts something from it and gets back to his feet. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take great care of you. But first I need to make you mine. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”

  I close my eyes, not ready to see what he’s holding in his hands.

  “Once we leave this basement, we’ll start over. We will get married just as we’d planned. Our future is about to start.”

  My eyes open. I’m dying to tell him to go to hell, that I’ll never become his wife. But I’m distracted by the tool in his hands. It resembles a large injection.

  “This will hurt just a little,” he says. “But pain is a small price to pay for love, don’t you think?” He drops to his knees as if about to propose, then runs a hand up my right leg all the way to my thigh. He doesn’t seem to notice or mind the dry urine.

  I attempt to squeeze my thighs together only for him to roughly pry them open again as far as he can manage considering that in my bound state my legs are not capable of much movement. “Stop delaying the inevitable. It’s in your best interest.” He presses a kiss on the inside of my thigh and grins up at me. “I promise to be gentle.”

  He lifts the tool and I notice the needle at the end. My pulse starts to race. It’s a tattoo gun. Dax is about to brand me.

  He puts down the tool and pulls surgical gloves onto his hands. A smile still pasted on his face, he fiddles with the tattoo gun while I struggle, but fail to free myself.

  Before he starts, he cleans and disinfects the inner thigh of my right leg. I’m paralyzed with fear when he finally places the needle against my skin. The only thing I have the power to do is scream through my throat as needles of various sizes move against my skin. The pain is much worse since I’m not willing.

  Resigned to my fate for now, I shut my eyes and focus on the darkness behind my eyelids while tears seep through my lashes.

  I’m not sure how long it takes for him to do the job. It feels like hours. He enjoys every second of my torture, whistling as he works.

  When he’s finally done, even the parts of me that have not been touched by the needle are in agony.

  “You can look now. It’s beautiful.” I open my damp eyes, but don’t look, unable to find the courage to see what he has done to me. Has he written his name on my skin?

  “Come on. Have a look?” He removes the gloves. “I promise you’ll like it.”

  Before he loses his patience, I swallow hard and lower my gaze. The moment I see the image inked into my skin, my world starts to spin. It’s a perfect magnolia flower with a snake wrapped around it.

  Tears blur my eyes as I focus on the image, alarm bells ringing inside my head. I’m terrified of snakes and wouldn’t want to walk around with one on my skin, but what bothers me more is the flower. I’ve seen it before on someone else. The magnolia girl.

  The flowers on my body and the one on Maria Adamson’s skin are almost identical, even though hers was on the ankle, not the thigh. Oh my God.

  A heavy feeling settles in my stomach as I raise my gaze to look into Dax’s eyes, searching for answers I’m not sure I want to hear.

  “Let me guess.” A gentle smile curls the corners of his lips. “You now know what I’ve been hiding from you.”

  It all makes sense now. I finally understand why he didn’t want me to be in the movie that told Maria Adamson’s story. He knew her on an intimate level. He murdered her.

  “You must have so many questions.” He swipes a hand across his mouth. “Since you can’t speak, allow me to answer them.” His tongue flicks his bottom lip, making him look like the snake he is. “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re right. Before she became a star, her name was Patricia Jones. The first room I showed you belonged to her.”

  I start to thrash in my chair even though I know it’s a waste of my energy. But how can I sit here and do nothing while he stands there acting as though what he did was normal? How did he even kill her? Everyone thinks she committed suicide.

  “Stop that.” He grabs me by the hair again, pulling so tight that spots appear before my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I close my eyes and focus on the pain firing up my scalp. When I think I can’t handle it anymore, I hear a snip and immediate relief sweeps through me. Then I open my eyes and my blood goes cold.

  In one hand he’s holding my hair and in the other a pair of silver scissors.

  A sudden chill hits my core. My body starts to shake.

  “Don’t worry, I will cherish this treasure.” He pushes the handful of hair into his pocket. “I’ll sprinkle it around your room.” While I’m still trying to come to terms with what just happened, he narrows his eyes at me. “I guess no one will want you in this state.” He runs a hand over my head. “Except for me, of course. I will love you in any state.”

  He cups my chin and presses a kiss to my closed lips. When he lets go, it’s with a force that sends the back of my head slamming into the wall behind me.

  As I watch the monster before me, the walls of the dam inside me breaks and the tears come.

  “Yes.” He cups my head with his hands, his face so close to mine his breath touches my skin. “That’s what I love to see. The fear in your eyes is such a turn on.” He pushes me away again. “Now that you’re mine, I guess it’s time to tell you about the change of plans. Since I know you’ll try to get away again, we’re going away from this place, maybe for a while, maybe forever. We’re going to be so happy, far away from toxic Hollywood. But first you need some rest. Let me help you fall asleep.”

  His words sink into my mind only moments before a sharp needle breaks the surface of my skin and sinks into my flesh.

  Chapter Four

  I wake up blindfolded, my head bouncing on a surface that feels like the leather seat of a car. My hands are tied behind my back and a seatbelt is across my body so I can’t remove the blindfold or the tape around my mouth. In a way, that’s a good thing. I can’t bear to look at him right now.

  His soft whistling brings back memories of what had happened inside the basement. The blurry images of what I’d seen bring tears to my eyes, their warmth soaking the fabric tied around my head. The sounds coming from my throat are tortured and raw.

  My stifled sobs rock my whole body as once more, I try to free myself, kicking out against what I believe to be the door of the car. In the process, my thighs rub together, the pain of an unwelcomed tattoo tearing through my skin. Humiliation washes over me when it hits me that I’m still naked. The fucker didn’t even bother to cover me up with a sheet.

  “Hush, baby,” he says. His voice is coming from the front of the car. “You don’t have to cry. You have me. You should be happy right now.” He clears his throat. “Happy girls don’t cry.”

  His words force me to swallow my sobs. The hot tears burn down my throat. I stop the struggle. There’s no point in wasting my energy, especially since I haven’t had food or anything to drink in God knows how long.

  Fuck you, I want to say to him, but we all know I’m the one who’s fucked.

  In all the years I’ve been alive, I’ve disliked people before, but never strong enough to hate them. But my hate for Dax is so strong and so bitter it makes the back of my throat ache. If he was ever thrown into burning flames, I would watch him burn to death.


  He starts to whistle again, and I rest my head on the seat. He may think I have resigned myself to my fate, but I’m only conserving my energy so I can fight him when the chance presents itself.

  It’s a good thing he has not already killed me, that he wants me alive. As long as I’m not dead, I’m lucky, even though it doesn’t feel like it. Being alive means being available for more torture. At this point, I wonder who is luckier, me or the women he has already killed.

  How far will he go to break me? How far will he go to shatter my whole world? And where the hell is he taking me? How long until someone catches up with him?

  I comfort myself with the idea that someone will figure out something is not right. Christa will never believe I’ve gone to rehab without saying a word to her. She would never believe I’m a drug addict. When she hears the news she’d definitely try to find out the name and address of the rehab center so she can get in touch. We are sisters, we look out for each other. There’s no way she won’t sniff that something is off.

  It hurts me to the core that I can’t be there for her when she needs me most, while Dax makes me disappear from my life, taking me away from everything I know so it won’t be easy to find my way back. I hate that I’m already losing myself.

  How could everything have gone so wrong? One minute, I’m on top of the world, celebrating my success, in love and looking forward to getting married to the man I loved. The next, my life is in pieces.

  He turns on romantic music. A song about forever love that makes me sick to my stomach. Dax has officially poisoned the notion of love for me.

  Behind the blindfold, I shut my eyes. I wish I could shut off the damn music. Since I’m helpless, I search for a happy place inside my mind. It sucks that the happiest I’ve ever been was with Dax. He holds both my joy and my pain in his evil hands. He’s my heaven, he’s my hell. My angel and my devil, my worst nightmare.

  The music finally stops, so does the car. My chest tightens. As relieved as I am to be able to get out of this vehicle, I’m terrified of the plans he has for me.

  “Final destination,” he announces.

  My hands form fists as I listen to the sounds of him exiting the car and slamming the door. I expect him to let me out immediately, but I count to a hundred and he doesn’t. Maybe he went somewhere.

  Believing I’m alone, I kick out against the door again in the hope someone would hear, hopefully not Dax. I scream from behind the tape until my throat feels sore. Then I hear a voice and suddenly the car door is thrown open.

  Cool air whooshes in and sweeps through my now short hair to cool my sweaty scalp.

  “Take her to Faith,” Dax says. “She should clean her up and get her some food. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” a deep male voice responds.

  Who the hell is Faith and who is Dax talking to?

  “I’ll see you inside.” I hear footsteps as I’m guessing Dax walks off, handing me over to a stranger I cannot even see.

  When he unfastens the seatbelt and his hands touch my naked body, I struggle for him to let me go, but his hands are strong as they grip my arms and pull me out of the car. I force myself to cry and make sounds of agony from behind the tape. He doesn’t say a word as he lifts me into his arms, his hands on my naked thighs.

  As his footsteps hit the ground, the sounds of seagulls and water lapping tell me where we must be.

  I have known for a while that Dax owns a super-yacht. Shit. Could it be where he’ll keep me imprisoned? Is he taking me out to sea, making it harder or even impossible for anyone to find me?

  I squirm in the stranger’s arms. He grunts with frustration but doesn’t let me go. He was given clear instructions and he’s carrying them out. No amount of writhing or kicking will get me anywhere.

  When the temperature becomes a touch cooler and the breeze loses its strength, I know we’ve entered the interior of whatever place he brought me to. The air smells the way it does in Dax’s car, expensive leather, wood, and a hint of his cologne.

  The smell in the air changes to musty as we enter what I guess is another room. I have given up the fight. It’s just too exhausting to struggle against someone stronger than me.

  The door closes and the man lays me down on what feels like a blanket on the floor. I curl myself up into a ball to cover my shame, but I don’t believe it makes any difference. How could Dax humiliate me this way?

  I hear the door opening and then closing. On instinct, I turn to the sounds even though I cannot see.

  The sounds coming from my throat are my pleading for help, another attempt in case someone decides to help me.

  They’re speaking a language that sounds like German. Even though I don’t speak it, I’ve heard a few words here and there and can recognize it. They sound as though they’re arguing, but I can’t tell for sure. My hope is that one of them is on my side and is pleading for my freedom.

  After what sounds like a heated discussion, silence falls, only to be broken by the sound of footsteps coming toward me. I make myself as small as possible.

  To my relief, the person unties the blindfold to give me back my right to sight.

  She’s an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair in two dark braids on both sides of her head and amber eyes. The lines and dark circles around them tell me more than words ever could. Her life had not been easy. I wonder whether Dax had something to do with it. How much of his dark side does he show the people who work for him?

  My relief at seeing another woman brings tears to my eyes. If anyone is going to help me, it’s her.

  As tears trickle from my eyes, she reaches for a corner of the tape and yanks it off my lips. The discomfort of having my skin assaulted is replaced by relief that I can now talk to someone.

  “Please help . . .” I swallow hard, but my mouth is so dry. “Help me.”

  The bulky middle-aged man in a black and gold uniform and a ponytail at the back of his head says something to the woman in German. From the sound of his voice I know he was the one who carried me from the car.

  Her eyes flicker to my face and she straightens up and walks away.

  Both of them disappear from the room and I hear a click as the door locked.

  In their absence, my eyes get a chance to quickly observe the room. It’s empty like the rooms at Dax’s Hollywood mansion, but at least it’s clean.

  The door opens again. My heart lifts. Maybe the woman has come back to do the right thing.

  It’s not her. It’s not even the man who had carried me from the car. It’s Dax. In his hands is a red bucket.

  “Hello, movie star.” He steps farther into the cabin and closes the door behind him. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy to see me?” He comes to tower over me. “That disappoints me. Especially since I made such an effort to come down here to clean you up myself.”

  “Go to hell.” It’s a stupid thing for me to say considering that I’m completely at his mercy right now. But I couldn’t hold the words back.

  “No, darling. I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you. I expect you to behave yourself while I wash you. After that, you will be fed, then you will make yourself at home.”

  “You … you’re a monster.”

  “For now, I’ll take that as a compliment.” He drops to his knees next to me and reaches into the bucket. “But if you keep talking, you will find out how much worse I can get.”

  Afraid he might shut me up again, I remain still. He uses a rag to clean my body including the part with the tattoo. I try not to scream out from pain or to move from his touch.

  The water is warm, comforting and painful all at once, especially at the site of the tattoo that I’m trying to pretend is not there. And when he washes my face, my tongue slips out of my mouth and laps at some of the drops of water clinging to my lips.

  “Poor baby, you must be so thirsty.” Dax gets to his feet, lifts the bucket, and pours the water he had used to wash me, straight onto my face. I gasp for air as the liquid gushes into my mo
uth. The sudden rush makes me spatter most of it out.

  “There,” he says. “Better?”

  I don’t respond as I shake my head, still trying to recover from the attack.

  “Answer me.” His voice is thick with warning.

  I nod ever so slightly, and he smiles. “That’s good.” He tosses the bucket onto the floor. “From now on I expect you to behave or there will be consequences. Is that clear?”

  I nod again, biting back tears. I want to lash out at him, but the warning in his eyes tells me the price of my disobedience will be too high. For now, I need to rest from his torture, to gather my strength for this war.

  “I’m going to untie your hands. But if you even think of doing anything stupid, I want you to know that this place is guarded heavily. One wrong move and you could end up with a bullet in your head.”

  I nod reluctantly. Satisfied, he sets my hands free. I hold them to my chest, massaging my aching wrists.

  “Won’t you thank me?” Dax rolls the rope around his hand before pushing it into his pocket. “You know I don’t tolerate ingratitude.”

  “Thank you.” My eyes don’t meet his as I say words I don’t mean.

  “That’s my girl. Once you have eaten, my guards will escort you to your cabin.”

  After Dax leaves, the older woman comes back with a bowl of soup and brown bread. She helps me to a sitting position, leaning my body against the nearest wall. Without meeting my eyes, she feeds me the soup with a plastic spoon.

  I beg her to help me again, but she doesn’t react. I come to the conclusion that she must not understand English. I wouldn’t put it past Dax to surround me with people I will not be able to communicate with. But do they really need words to see that I need help? Surely they know what’s going on here.

  Once the woman is finished feeding me, she leaves with the bowl. Less than five minutes later, two very muscular guards appear to take me to my cabin. One guard has a thin mustache and ginger hair swept back with gel. The other has the same color hair, but his is close-cropped. They both seem to be somewhere in their forties.