What the Heart Needs

by Jessica Gadziala

  Hannah felt her nerves reach a peak and took a deep breath, untying the sash to her tan trench coat and letting the front fall completely open.

  Underneath she wore nothing but the necklace Elliott had given her.

  Elliott’s breath hissed out as his eyes raked her up and down. Her hand landed on his chest, pushing him into the house and closing the door. She slipped the coat from her shoulders and reached for the front of Elliott’s shirt, taking the buttons quickly as she looked up at him.

  His arms slipped out of his shirt and his hands went to her breasts, warm on her cool flesh. He pulled at her nipples roughly, pinching their peaks. Hannah winced at the feeling, reaching between them to undo his pants and tug them from his hips. They fell to the ground, his cock springing out, hard and thick and straining toward her.

  His fingers pinched harder and she let out a whimper. She brushed his hands away, going to her knees in front of him. She reached out tentatively, stroking his length before taking the hard tip into her mouth. Elliott’s hand came down on top of her head as she took more of him into her. His hand pushed her face forward, making her take him to the back of her throat.

  Hannah coughed, sucking hard as her mouth slid away. She stood up to face him. His eyes were hooded with desire. But, she noted, his face seemed impassive, detached. He reached between her legs, stroking her heat for a short minute before grabbing her and pushing her against the wall.

  Hannah felt her own desire stroke higher. She felt a distance between them but her body betrayed her and she was wet with need of him. She looked up into his eyes, but Elliott quickly looked away. He grabbed her hips and turned her around to face the wall. He spread her thighs apart with his knee and she felt his hardness against her ass. His hand reached between them and in one hard, almost painful thrust, he penetrated her fully.

  A moan came out of her harshly, her fist slamming against the wall. Elliott’s hands went to her hips, grabbing roughly. He was still for a second, his fingers digging into her flesh. She felt his cock twitch inside her once before he withdrew and slammed into her again. And again. He pushed a hard and fast pace, his cock pounding into her again and again making her legs tremble.

  An orgasm ripped through her quickly, having her sagging against the wall as he pushed inside her three more times and came, his fingers grabbing her hair and pulling her backward, her back arching as her scalp stung.

  He withdrew from her almost immediately and she had to flatten her hands on the wall to keep upright. She turned a second later, but found that Elliott was gone. His clothes were still strewn over the floor but he was nowhere in sight.

  Hannah felt something sharp in her chest, a pinprick growing and spreading outward. Hurt. The aching, crushing feeling had her wrapping her arms around herself for a moment, stunned by its intensity.

  They had had quick, rough sex before. But it had never been quite so mechanical, so cold and distant. And it had never left her feeling so hollow and used.

  Hannah felt the tears rising and stooped to grab her coat. She threw it on and tied the sash quickly.

  So he was angry with her. It didn’t give him a right to treat her like some prostitute he could just walk away from after screwing. And she wouldn’t let him see her cry over being treated as such.

  --

  Elliott paced the bathroom, looking much like a lion in too small a cage- full of furious energy. He was cursing himself, words he would never utter aloud about another living soul. But himself. His stupid, idiotic self.

  She was clearly trying to apologize. She being every bit as awful at communication as him, she meant to do it physically. It was an act he should have accepted. And instead he punished her. Treated her cooly and abandoned her afterward. Because his own feelings had been hurt from the night before.

  He had seen something was wrong when she had come in but he had been too impatient to show her his gift that he hadn’t even acknowledged it. And then she said the one thing he didn’t want to hear from her. He had already phoned Dan’s lawyers that afternoon and informed them that he was going to give in to her monetary demands. Just to get her out of his life. For Hannah. And she threw Dan in his face.

  Like he had been a great fool for falling into Dan’s greedy claws.

  Like he didn’t know just what a prize Hannah was.

  But he did. When James had finally gotten the words out of him, he realized how much he wanted to be with her. How he liked her spunk. How she became haughty, almost pretentious when she was riled. How she showed affection with touch. How she was tough and delicate all at once. How she could put him in his place with just a raised eyebrow.

  And then he went and pushed her away because his pride was hurt.

  Elliott slammed his fist down on the marble countertop, pulled the door open, and stode quickly back into the hallway. To find nothing but his clothes there.

  He could picture her there afterward, hurt and confused, while he ran off like a child. What must she have thought of him?

  Eighteen

  Hannah stormed up the stairwell toward her apartment, too embarrassed to show up at a hotel crying and half-naked. She unlocked the doors and locked all the locks behind her. She flicked the light on, fleetingly sure that she had left them on the last time she left. She shrugged it off, blaming her mood.

  But she systematically went through the house, checking behind furniture and inside closets with the biggest frying pan she owned in her hand and a cell phone in the other. Finding nothing, she put the tea kettle on and walked into the bathroom.

  She took a shower, the water hot enough to turn her skin red, until she heard the screaming of the kettle. She threw on an old pajama set with pictures of candy all over it and walked into the kitchen.

  The pain had subsided to a constant, dull ache in her chest. Inwardly she started taking some of the blame. Had she been open and honest with Elliott, she knew most of the events of the past two days could have been avoided had she told him what was going on. She could imagine telling him, his face opening up in shock then snapping shut in anger. Would he have insisted on going to the police? Get his own investigator? Would he insist she stay by his side until it was all straightened out?

  Hannah reached for an old box of chamomile tea knowing she would have to cringe her way through drinking it but hoping it would help settle her nerves. She heard a creaking. The kind of sound an older building made. Settling, her father would call it. But Hannah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she turned slowly.

  Her teacup fell from her hand, falling to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. The delicate china splintered in every direction and the hot yellowish liquid spread across the cheap linoleoum.

  Because right there in her kitchen was someone dressed head to toe in black. A ski mask revealing only the tiniest sliver of skin and eyes.

  Hannah felt like she stood there frozen for hours when only seconds passed. Her intruder staring at her, unmoving. Hannah snapped out of it, reaching for the frying pan she had put down. But she found it out of reach and before she could even take a step, the person in black was right in front of her, reaching out, grabbing her arm.

  Then it was like everything switched into fast-forward, her body having a mind of its own when the only thought she could process was how scared she was. The blood she could suddenly feel racing through the veins in her arms, the heart hammering in her chest, the sick feeling in her belly.

  Her body twisted, wrenching free of the vice-like grip on her arm. But then hands were reaching out, grabbing at her shoulders. One landed in her hair and pulled savagely, making her knees buckle from beneath her. Her knees hit the floor with a shooting pain that radiated both up and down. But the hand released her and she scrambled on all fours toward the living room, shards from her shattered teacup slipping into the skin of her palms. Small porcelain splinteres.

  But then a boot struck out and landed in the center of her stoma
ch, sending her rolling and knocking one of her dining room chairs over. Frantically she looked up searching for anything she could use to defend herself. She grabbed the lamp next to her couch but before she could hold it upward, it was knocked from her hand and flew against the wall.

  Then the intruder kicked her again, sending her sprawling onto her back. Before the pain even sunk in, they were on top of her, sitting on her chest, their knees pinning Hannah’s forearms to the floor. Hannah struggled but then the person’s gloved hand reached into their pocket and pulled out a needle and removed the protective tip. Hannah found her voice through the fear then, rising, screaming out for help but the sound didn’t carry as she had hoped. But then the needle was in her neck and she saw only darkness.

  She struggled toward consciousness later, feeling like she was deep underwater. Everything felt slow and far away. She saw only darkness, felt the confines of a small space. Her body was jostled to and fro and she realized with sudden clarity that she was in the trunk of a car. Her eyes strained against the dark and she saw the emergency pull put into place for children who got stuck. Her hand rose up to it, but her arm felt heavy and numb and she couldn’t get her fingers to grab it, slipping off of it again and again uselessly.

  Hysteria flooded her system, feeling the car slow down and finally stop. A door open and shut. Footsteps. And then jiggling of a key in the lock.

  The trunk opened and the figure was there again, still concealed by their mask. She tried to scream but her mouth opened and shut with no sound. The person reached again into their pocket, drew out another needle, and she was once again spiraling to nothingness.

  Hannah felt the drugs wearing off many hours later. She woke up slowly, hazy and disoriented. There was a soreness in her shoulders and back and she moaned against it, her eyes still closed. There was pain in her stomach where she had been kicked and her scalp twinged. Then there was the sharpness of the glass in her hands, more acute than before and she realized her hands were clutched together.

  Her eyes shot open as she realized her hands were tied behind her. Her senses came back all at once, sharper than usual. There was a tightness over her mouth and face, covered with something so she couldn’t scream. Duct tape, she assumed. Her legs were sprawled out to one side awkwardly, the hard cement floor cold through her thin cotton pajamas. She pulled them back toward her body, cringing at the pain. There was something round and hard against her back. She tilted her head upward, seeing what she was tied to. A grey support beam. The kind you only find in basements.

  Hannah’s eyes shot around, taking in the thick concrete walls, the tiny rectangular windows that showed only darkness. There was a staircase to a far corner, the steps steep and irregular. A washer and dryer against one wall. A tool bench on another.

  If she could get her arms free and get to the bench, she could find something to defend herself, hide until someone came, and attack. Escape. She had to escape.

  By the time someone even noticed she was missing, it could be too late. And even if Elliott noticed her absence, he would probably attribute it to their rift. Her only hope was Tad. Tad knew what was going on. Tad knew about Xander Rhodes. And, she had to face it, Xander was her only chance at being found.

  But she couldn’t just sit and wait to be discovered. It would probably never happen. She was her only hope.

  She pushed her legs up underneath her, leaning heavily onto the support beam. Her legs were waking up from falling asleep, pins and needles, weird pusling and standing on them required more effort than she was used to. Once standing she arched around the beam, looking down at her hands. Duct tape. Hannah let out a cry, muffled by the tape across her lips. She could have tried to maneuver her hands to untie knots. Tape was a whole other issue.

  She rubbed her wrists up and down against each other, the tape pinching and ripping at her skin as she did so. But loosening. She just needed to get it loose enough to slip out of.

  A short time later, feeling more like hours as her skin on her wrists and hands turned raw and tears streamed unabashed down her face from pain, she heard a door upstairs slam shut. Footsteps across the floorboards. Walking down toward the side of the room where the stairs were. And then the door flew open, feet scraping down the steps. Hannah felt her breath getting stuck in her lungs like something heavy was settling on her chest.

  Then a bare light bulb came on in front of her, turned on by a pull tab. She squinted at the light, her eyes blinking suns behind her lids. She squinted against it. She needed to see. She needed to know who had been making her life a living hell for months. Who hated her so badly she wanted to kill her.

  Hannah didn’t know what she was expecting. A random passerby from work. Or a complete stranger. Even Dan. But her eyes widened and what little breath she held in her lungs escaped her nostrils audibly at who was standing before her.

  Sally.

  Nineteen

  Elliott had called her twenty times by morning. He went to voicemail over and over. His texts went unanswered. But she didn’t pick up. He showed up at work, trying to focus on his tasks as the hustle and bustle of the office went on around him. And Hannah didn’t show. He had expected to see her there, stubborn and prideful. Her eyes shooting daggers at him. Calling him Mr. Michaels in a tone that suggested she really wanted to call him a rat bastard.

  But by ten o’clock he had given up hope of seeing her there. Perhaps ever again. He had royally screwed up and Hannah was not the kind of woman who forgave easily.

  There was a frantic knocking at his door and he felt his heart stutter, praying it was her. But the door burst open and Tad rushed in looking frazzled, worried. Frantic even. Every bit not the Tad he was used to seeing everyday.

  “Somethings wrong,” he said, his voice high pitched, breathless. At Elliott’s raised eyebrow, he went on. “Something is wrong with Hannah.”

  Elliott sighed. He knew Hannah and Tad were close. He definitely knew by now that they were… together?

  “We had a fight Tad,” he said, his voice quiet.

  “What? No,” Tad said, walking closer, his eyes wide. “No I mean something is wrong. I know she never told you about what has been going on…”

  “What has been going on?” Elliott asked, rising from his seat, concern building.

  “Someone is stalking her.”

  “What?” the word exploded from him like a curse, like an accusation.

  “Come here,” Tad said, leading Elliott into Hannah’s office, brushing the contents of her desk frantically onto the floor to reveal the carving underneath. “It’s been going on for weeks. Threatening notes. Emails. Graffiti on her parking space. They took pictures of you and her together. Call her a whore. Tell her she’s going to die…”

  “Jesus christ,” Elliott said, savagely. Why didn’t she tell him? Why would she keep it all to herself?

  “That’s not the half of it, Elliott,” Tad said, Elliott’s name sounding clumsy on his tongue. “They broke into her house. Stole her pet. Drew a picture of her dead on her living room wall. That’s why she ran,” he rambled on. “That’s why she went to her hometown. But they followed her there. They cut her brake lines.”

  “Oh god,” Elliott said, sitting down on Hannah’s chair, his head in his hands. He wasn’t a man prone to worry. Anxiety was never a part of his life which he structured to always have control. But all his control was slipping out of his hands and he felt like he was spiraling into some awful unknown.

  “She’s gone,” Tad said after a moment. “I’ve been calling and texting. She’s not responding. Something is wrong.”

  Elliott stood up suddenly, turning over the chair as he did so. “I’m going to her apartment,” he announced and looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

  They showed up at her door a few minutes later, finding it cracked open slightly. Elliott threw the door open and froze for a second. Things were scattered around like a struggle happened. The horrible bloody mural on her wal
l. And a man standing in the middle of the mess. The same man he had seen Hannah whispering with at work before. The one with the scar and menacing appearance. The one who practically had danger tattooed across his forehead.

  Elliott flew at him, knocking him to the ground, shouting and trying to get a punch in. “Where the hell is Hannah?” he spat out, his fist finding a place in the man’s stomach.

  Xander pushed Elliott off him, hissing as he took a fist to his side.

  Then there was Tad, getting between them. Yelling something that Elliott couldn’t hear through the blood raging in his ears. And he watched in horror as his own fist landed squarely into Tad’s face. Blood burst from his nose and Tad’s eyes widened, his hand grabbing his face.

  “Shit Tad. I’m sorry. That was meant for this jacka…”

  “He’s Hannah’s private investigator,” Tad spat back, pulling his shirt up over his face to stem the blood flow.

  “What?” Elliott felt his anger draining from his body, leaving nothing but the worry. The bone-deep fear for Hannah.

  “Xander Rhodes,” Xander announced. “Hannah hired me a couple days ago. Asked me to look into her stalker. There hasn’t been much to go on though.”

  “What the hell are you doing here then?” Elliott asked, looking around the apartment, his breath hitching when he saw the streaks of impossibly red blood from the floor of the kitchen to the living room. Hannah’s blood. She was hurt. She was hurt and it was all his fault.

  “I sent her a text last night. I told her to come meet me. That we needed to discuss some things. When she didn’t answer by this morning, I got concerned. I came to check on her and found the place like this. The police are on their way,” he said, sounding annoyed that they needed to be involved.

  Elliott paced the floor as they waited, half listening to Tad and Xander talk about what they each knew. Comparing notes. Trying to figure out the puzzle. While he paced in all his uselessness.