by Kira Barker
I paused then, wondering if this was a trap. Had he left something that I might use as a weapon there, only to give himself a very good justification to tear into me if I tried to use it on him? Whatever this was, I couldn’t even pull it out and inspect it properly. It felt like a four-inch long sliver made of some hard material, but really, it could have been anything. Was that enough for me to place my hopes on it?
But could I really afford not to use it?
As the minutes ticked by, I tried to decide what to do. Where had that splinter, or whatever it was, come from? And why was it still there? I could see where whoever had last changed the sheets—and they smelled fresh—had missed it, it was on the other side of the bedpost. Or had deliberately left it there for me as a trap?
My mind kept wandering to Juliette. I didn’t even know what she’d looked like. Well, I guessed I had seen her outside, but there had been no way to fix names to the “dolls.” I had spent at least an hour staring at them, committing their dead faces to memory. My heart had wept for them, but I had been glad that none of them looked even vaguely familiar.
Had she, who Darren himself had admitted had surprised him, been the one to leave this weapon here? But why hadn’t she used it? Had she been too weak by then? Or too broken to care, but still had held out hope that maybe whoever came after her would avenge her?
In the end, it didn’t matter. Alone in my room, the only use it was to me was as a tool to end my own life right now, and considering that was not an option, I had to bide my time.
One might have thought that waiting here, in comfort and relatively at ease, was easier, but it only seemed to grow harder and harder. I felt actual physical relief when I heard the door in the other room open, followed by Darren’s measured steps crossing the concrete floor.
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, my legs curled underneath me, the fact that my wrist was still chained to the bed post only a minor hindrance. I wondered if I should have tried to look coy, but instead I aimed for gratitude. And in many ways that was even a real emotion, if not as pure as Darren hopefully thought.
He stopped just inside the open door, his eyes drinking me in. I could tell right away that he was in a better mood, but I had no idea if that boded well for me. I tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. My heart still hurt just seeing him, and my pulse was speeding up as terror licked at my mind.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to push all that aside.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he echoed, then looked away, a wry smile on his face. “I’m sure you’re ecstatic to see me.”
“You’re more interesting than the wall. Although the toilet might be tough competition to beat,” I said, aiming—and failing miserably—to put levity into my voice.
His eyes snapped to my face, and for several seconds he just stared at me.
“Points for trying, but you still have to work on that.”
“I know,” I admitted, then attempted to find a more comfortable position. That in turn jostled my finger, making me wince. Darren watched me rearrange myself, then pushed away from the door and walked over to me but still kept some distance between us. I could have tried picking up the bottle and using it as a club, but the water was too valuable for such a doomed-from-the-start plan. There was no water in the toilet and no flushing mechanism, so I couldn’t hope to fall back on that.
“How are you feeling tonight?” he asked.
I glanced at my hand, the bruised and broken finger hurting twice as much under the attention it now got.
“Better. Thank you,” I replied. Acting civil was definitely the better part of valor.
We kept looking at each other, me sitting on the bed, him leaning against the wall, seconds ticking by.
“Can I ask you for a favor?” I ventured on, trying to read his reaction.
“You woke up in a bed with water and a toilet nearby. I think you already owe me big time,” he shot back.
I pretended to think about that, but there was really no sense to playing coy.
“There’s only so much I can do for you. And if I offered any of that, I would like to know that I’m not stinking of days of sweat, fear, desperation, and all kinds of bodily fluids. If you won’t let me out of here, can I at least have a basin and sponge to clean up?”
I was stalling, in part, and trying to see how much I could still count on his goodwill if he stood to profit from something, but I was actually feeling kind of gross.
“Wait here,” he said, then had the audacity to flash me a grin. “Oh, right, it’s not like you could just get up and run from me.”
If he thought he could try my patience with jokes like that, he’d miscalculated. I just looked at him blankly until he left, only to return a little while later with a bucket, steam rising from it. I looked at him expectantly, but Darren hesitated after putting it down by the end of the bed where I couldn’t reach it.
“Let me. You must still be exhausted. And if you’re really asking for this for my sake, I might as well lend you a hand there.”
The very idea of him touching me gave me hives, but there was no sense to denying him now.
“Thank you, that would be very generous of you,” I replied.
“Not the word I would have used, but as you wish.”
He looked at me expectantly, and after a moment’s hesitation I pulled off the negligée, leaving it bunched around my trapped wrist. Darren stared at my body as if he hadn’t had it on full display for days, then scooted back. Following his example, I knelt down on the floor next to the bed, my back to him. I shivered from the realization just how vulnerable that position left me, but it wasn’t like any kind of security on my part wasn’t illusion to start with.
Gathering my loose hair with both hands, he pushed it to the side and over my shoulder, then brought the warm, wet washcloth to my upper back. I bit my lip hard as he traced a wet line down my back, then another, slowly working his way around to my side. Staring at the cuff that held me captive helped keep me focused, but it was hard not to lean into the warmth, and eventually, his touch.
First a hand on my hip, then the washcloth on the other side, both meeting in the middle of my stomach. I felt him scoot closer so he could reach better, then he brought the cloth up and lightly swiped over my breast. My nipple hardened instantly, but not just from the sudden change of temperature. Screwing my eyes shut, I tried to fight the impulse to lean further into him, but he seemed to feel my need for contact. Switching the cloth to his other hand, he used his wet fingers to trace a hot path up over my ribs, then cupped my breast in his palm.
I moaned.
I’d seldom hated myself so much in my entire life.
“Shh,” he whispered into my ear, and I realized that moan had turned into a sob now. He still didn’t let go, though, and after wiping the cloth over my other tit, he brought it straight down my stomach and between my legs.
My breath came in heavy pants, dread mixing with need. I tried to tell myself that I was just acting, trying to give him what I thought he wanted, but that was not what I was feeling. I was wet from more than the sponge bath by the time he dropped the cloth and used his fingers to part my folds, finding my clit instantly.
Darren’s arms tightened around me as he pulled me flush against his body, his touch so achingly familiar that it killed me. It should have been hard to give in to him, but it was easy—too easy—to roll my hips up and forward when he slid two fingers into me, finding me more than willing.
“That’s it. Give in to me,” he told me, his voice husky with need. “We both know that this is what you need.”
I screwed my eyes shut and told myself that I was just letting this happen because it was part of my plan, but when he nudged my head to the side so that he could reach my lips, I opened up to him immediately. After days without toothpaste my mouth must have been disgusting, but he devoured it with a hunger that rivaled my own. All the while his fingers kept working me, steadily driving my lust higher and hig
her, until—
“Stop!”
I didn’t know who was more surprised, he because of my plea, or I that he did indeed halt in his tracks. Panting loudly, I felt my entire body shiver, but what he likely thought were the first throes of my climax was revulsion so potent that it clogged my throat.
Then his fingers started moving again, his lips swallowing my protest, and I lost myself in his touch for a few blissful seconds.
Crashing down from that high came with a feeling of loss so vast that I simply couldn’t comprehend.
Darren took his time cleaning the rest of me, only letting me wash my face by myself. By then the washcloth reeked of my body odor, but all I could smell on it was the scent of my own juices.
He made as if to get up and carry the bucket away then, but I quickly reached up with my hand, wrapping my fingers around his biceps.
“Please, don’t leave me.”
Genuine surprise showed on his face, although there was also a hint of something else—calculation?—in his gaze.
“I thought you might want to be alone now?” he suggested.
And drive myself mad over how disgusted I was? No chance. I fought to keep those thoughts hidden, and instead locked gazes with him.
“You asked me to be your wife, right?” He nodded slowly, his eyes briefly flitting to my mangled hand. “Then don’t I deserve a wedding night?”
It cost me to utter those words, but they came smoothly over my lips. It cost me even more to add, “I love you. Don’t you love me, too?”
He kept staring down at where I was still kneeling on the floor, still filthy, pathetic, with barely enough energy to remain in that relaxed position without toppling over. I must have been quite the sight.
“Of course I love you,” he said, then gathered me up in his arms and put me down onto the bed, the mattress dipping under our combined weight.
I forced my mind to go completely empty as I watched him undress with quick, jerky motions. Whatever madness had driven me to give in minutes ago was gone now, leaving a stark clarity in my thoughts that made this twice as hard.
And still I somehow managed to smile up at him as he joined me on the bed, stretching out next to me, one hand gently stroking the side of my face. He knew—or thought he knew—that I was ready, so he didn’t hesitate long before pushing my legs apart with his knees.
My back arched as he thrust into me, my body gliding against his. My right hand was useless, but I used my left to thread my fingers through his hair, then later hold on to his shoulder as he began moving inside me. He started murmuring things into my ear—how much he loved me; how much he’d missed me; that I was the only one for him—but with every second that passed, I felt myself withdraw from him, further and further. Staring up at the ceiling above us, I asked myself again how far I was willing to go.
The answer was still the same. Anything it took.
Just as I felt him gearing up to release into me, I pushed his face to the side so that I could kiss him, pouring all my emotions into that one sweet gesture. Sadness swept through me, and I felt a single tear trail down my cheek as he came deep inside of me, then stilled—relaxed, content. Smiling up at him was suddenly easy, even though my heart broke inside my chest.
“I will always love you, Darren. Always.”
And then I pulled the splinter free, and rammed it deep into the side of his neck.
Chapter 34
He didn’t die right away, but my improvised blade must have hit something vital, because a moment after I let go of it, his entire body went slack, pinning me to the bed. It took me three tries to get my legs free, and I needed the entire strength of my body to finally be able to roll him off me and the bed, sending him to the floor with a sickening “thud.”
Lying there on my back, I drew in one shaky breath, then another, before I rolled over and looked down at him.
Darren had landed on his side, incidentally driving the splinter in further. Blood was seeping from the wound, spreading slowly in a puddle around his neck. His eyes were wide open and he was staring up at me, his lips moving without a sound coming over them.
Adrenaline was pumping in my veins, making my limbs shake, and I forced myself into action. Grabbing the rail of the bed next to the cuff, I ignored the spike of pain coming from my finger and heaved. The bed moved, but barely more than a couple of inches. Frustrated, I tried yanking on the cuff, but it was useless. Inspecting it closer, I couldn’t even find a locking mechanism.
Looking around, my eyes fell on the open door, the heavy wooden part extending into the other room. That might work, even if my entire body wanted to cringe from just the idea alone. But what else should I have done? I didn’t even know where I was, let alone if anyone would come looking for Darren if he didn’t return. By then I would be long gone, I told myself.
A little more heaving and I’d managed to get the bed away from the wall, far enough that I could climb into the resulting gap and push instead, using what little strength I could muster more effectively. It still took me forever to push it into the middle of the room, then drag it over until the head part was right next to the door. All the while Darren kept making sounds, part gurgling, part labored breathing, each and every one cutting right down to my very soul.
I didn’t spare one last look at him before I held my cuffed hand up to the door, scrunched my eyes closed, and slammed the door shut.
Something broke. I screamed as soon as my lungs managed to pull in enough air. I tried yanking on the cuff, but it still wouldn’t budge. So I repositioned my hand, making sure to hit the widest part this time, and slammed the door again. And again. And one last time.
Sobbing uncontrollably, I stared down at what used to be my right hand. There was blood, and bone, and just one continuing, white hot something that went so much beyond agony that it made my knees buckle and I sagged to the floor. The fingers of my good hand trembled as I held on to the mangled flesh, then pressed as hard as I could, making the last bit of resistance give.
The cuff slid off, clanking uselessly against the bed frame.
I was up and staggering through the main room of my prison as soon as my feet would carry me again, my entire body shaking.
I forced my eyes to remain on the door at the other side, and to not see what was crowding in on my field of vision. I knew that they were still there, but now I had to take care of myself. I knew that if by some miracle Darren got up again, I was dead. There would be no more chances, no more deception. He would come after me and hunt me down, and I would be damned if I let him.
I finally reached that door, half dreading that it was locked, but it swung inward as soon as I pulled on the handle. Outside was a corridor, also unfinished concrete, dark as night.
Leaving the door open behind me to let what little light there was filter outside, I started down the hallway, using my good hand to feel my way in the dark. It went on forever, but eventually I hit another door, this one metal. More groping around, and I found a knob, and pushed.
Nothing.
Tears sprung into my eyes but I forced them to remain there, unshed. Feeling along the metal, I finally hit the edge, then realized that the door must open the other way. A hard yank and I was staggering back, losing my footing and ending up on my ass when it opened silently.
The harsh light of a single bulb illuminated the maintenance room before me. It was only then that I realized that my excuse for a nightgown was still wadded up around my elbow, my body covered in blood. So much blood.
Gasping, I gazed at my hand, but instinct made me look away immediately. Bad, but not gushing bad. Then I realized that it wasn’t my blood, and I felt the need to clean myself all over again.
Instead, I forced myself to pull on the négligée, then I staggered on, aiming for the next door right in front of me. A last push and I more fell than walked into a larger room, the gleam of expensive cars surrounding me.
Reality came crashing down on me as I recognized the sleek gray Jaguar I was lean
ing against. But, of course, it made sense that he kept his collection close where he could always go visit. Look at them. Talk to them. Call them from the other side of the world to let them know that soon they would have a new companion. Do whatever else I really didn’t want to know and would hopefully never find out.
A laugh, already more sob than anything else, tore itself from my throat, but cut off suddenly when a shadow fell over me.
No. Nonononono.
Almost in slow motion, I turned my head around toward the light and the figure hulking above me. I had no idea how anyone could survive losing so much blood, but it made sense that he’d let me taste freedom one last time before slamming the door closed on me forever.
It took me several seconds to realize that it wasn’t Darren who was standing at the foot of the steps leading up into the house, but James. And because he was James, his usual sneer was in place, and I half expected him to admonish me that I was leaking gore all over the car.
“Is he dead?”
He took a step toward me, causing me to scramble backward along the car, but he stopped immediately, then repeated his question when all I did was stare at him, my mouth hanging open.
“Hunter, is he dead?”
I didn’t know what to say, and my brain didn’t seem to be able to provide an adequate answer right now.
“Most of the blood’s not mine,” I somehow managed to grind out. “I stabbed him. In the neck.” And then that last piece of the puzzle fell into place. “It was you! You left that splinter. It was you.”
James didn’t bat an eyelash, but he also didn’t deny my accusation. He just kept staring at me the same way I was staring at him.
“You should go. All the cars have GPS trackers. If you take one, ditch it soon or you will get caught,” he advised, then glanced at the door to the maintenance room. “And there is a tracker implanted at the nape of your neck. I would take care of that, too.”
With that, he turned his back on me and stalked off, whether to help or finish off his master, I didn’t know, and right then, neither did I care.