The Woman Trapped in the Dark

by J. D. Mason

  “Stop!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Don’t do this! Don’t do—”

  “Hush now,” he said, clamping her wrists in one hand and slowly raising her shirt with the other. “Aw, shit,” he murmured, cupping one breast in his hand, kneading it in his palm, raising the nipple to a ripe, dark peak.

  They were bigger than he first thought, and his mouth watered to taste one. James licked his lips, lowered his head, and wrapped his lips around that sweet little berry. She bucked against him, but he held on tight. James made love to that thing, licking and nibbling on it like it was candy. Her petite, curvy little ass fit him like a glove. He had her all to himself. Nobody was going to hear her cries. Nobody was going to save her or stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted to do to her. Her rich man was nowhere to be found. She belonged to James. He knew that now, more than ever.

  In one effortless motion, he raised up on his knees and pushed her down on her back onto that mat, and nestled between her legs.

  “Damn, I been wanting you so bad,” he groaned, slipping his hand between the two of them. He shoved the material of her shorts to one side and slipped his fingers between the warm, moist folds of her pussy. “Shit, girl. Fuck!”

  Nothing mattered anymore. Not promises to DJ or threats to Naomi. Keep her safe. Keep her safe. Who would know? Even if she said anything to Naomi, who the fuck cared? Her cries got lost in a vacuum as James fumbled to unhook his belt. And then his phone rang.

  It’ll stop! He ignored it. He wanted to ignore it.

  She screamed all up in his gotdamned ear.

  “Fuck!” he grumbled, reaching into his pocket to get to that fuckin’ phone.

  He looked at the screen and saw his brother’s name on the screen. James looked into her face. She was crying like crazy. But he had to take this call.

  He climbed off of her, grabbed what was left of the food and drink, and left, locking the door behind him. His dick bucked in protest as he braced himself on the other side of that door. The phone stopped ringing, but then DJ immediately called back. He’d keep calling until James answered.

  “Yeah,” he said abruptly.

  “Where you at, man?” DJ asked. Music played in the background. “You were supposed to bring the ribs.”

  Ribs? Fuck! James was supposed to have met DJ and the fellas at a friend’s house to watch a basketball game. “Yeah, man. Yeah,” he said, trying to compose himself.

  “Don’t tell me you laid up with some woman?” DJ asked teasingly.

  “You know how it is, D.”

  “Yeah, I know how it is. But we need ribs, man. Get them and come on.”

  “On my way.”

  James stood at that door for several minutes before his hard-on dissipated enough for him to walk straight. He was at the door before he remembered to leave the key for Naomi. James walked back and placed it on the shelf; then he leaned against the door and listened to the soft sobs coming from the other side.

  See Dishonor

  “SENATOR ADDISON.” BRANDON greeted the senator with a handshake arriving at his father’s home, as the senator appeared to be leaving.

  “Ah,” the senator said, greeting him with a warm smile, “young Mr. Degan. It’s good seeing you.”

  “You too, sir.” Brandon glanced at his father, standing in the doorway. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just stopped by to check on the old geezer since I was in town.”

  Brandon’s father huffed. “I’ll show you old on the golf course the next time I make it to Austin,” he threatened.

  The senator laughed. “You got lucky last time.”

  “And what about the time before that?” Lars Degan asked with a smirk on his face.

  Addison groaned. “In any event, I’ll be in Washington for a few weeks representing this great state of ours, but I’ll be in touch,” he said, raising his hand in the air to say good-bye as he left.

  Brandon followed his father inside and closed the door behind him. His father was the reason Sam Addison had been a seated senator for three terms now. Addison had been his father’s attorney for years, before deciding to run for office, and Lars Degan was the first to get on the Addison bandwagon, contributing heavily to his campaign. The two were as thick as thieves, old and dear friends who would do just about anything for each other.

  * * *

  “Reputations are fragile things,” Brandon’s father said, standing at the massive window of his study and looking out over acres of his land. “Especially for men like us.” He sighed slowly, deeply, and then turned to face Brandon sitting across the room from him.

  “Everybody’s protesting every damn thing these days,” Lars said, taking his seat behind his desk. “You have to wonder how anybody’s able to get things done anymore when every move a man makes is considered a sin against God, nature, and mankind.” He shook his head.

  Brandon had studied his father his whole life, going out of his way to take heed of every action, every word. And yet being conscious not to digest those things about the man that he found to be the most reprehensible, like his racism, misogyny, and endless affairs. His father was the man he’d looked up to and even feared, but he never wanted to be like him, and yet he found himself in the position now of becoming exactly that.

  “This pipeline will have the name Gatewood all over it after he signs those contracts,” he reminded Brandon. “And just like that, his righteous black ass will become public enemy number one, his golden reputation tarnished. The indigenous will hate him and blame him. Liberals will shun him. Investors will pull out of business dealings with him, and magically”—his eyes twinkled as he stared at Brandon—“that empire of his falls.”

  The old man gloated as if this whole idea of getting Gatewood to invest in the pipeline was his idea. And like the good and devoted son he was, Brandon let him believe that it was. Or was Brandon just too damn cowardly to stand up to his father?

  “When did you say he’d have the contract?” Lars probed.

  “In two days.”

  “What’s taking so damn long?”

  “Verbiage,” he simply stated. “Gatewood will be the lead investor, but we have to be sure that he gets no return on his investment and that there are no loopholes to allow for any. And if Congress does shut down the project, we have to be sure that there’s no way he can recoup losses. We’re pushing this to get it done so quickly, but it has to be an airtight contract, Dad, one that will hold up in any court, because he will try to fight it, and if we’re not careful, he’ll win.”

  Lars sighed. “He’ll try. I’m sick of that sonofabitch winning,” he said with disgust. “Right now, we have all the leverage,” he said as an afterthought. “As long as he believes she’s alive and that we have her, he’ll do as he’s told.”

  “She is alive,” Brandon responded with an unexpected air of surprise at his father’s statement.

  Lars glared at him. “Still?”

  “Yes, sir. Why is that a problem?”

  The hardened expression sent a cold warning to Brandon.

  “She is, as you say, leverage. We need to keep her until the very end,” he said carefully. “It’s the sensible thing to do.”

  Brandon didn’t like thinking about the fate of Abby Rhodes. “He’s asked for proof that she’s alive. I had a feeling that he might, so keeping her safe plays in our favor.”

  Lars nodded slowly. “Good. Send him his proof and then do what you have to do.”

  * * *

  Brandon made a call to Bianca as soon as he left his father’s house. “Have one of them photograph her and then send it to him.”

  “I’ll have it to him by morning,” she said before hanging up.

  Brandon rode in the back of his limousine to company headquarters, gathering his thoughts on the man he’d become. Had it happened overnight, or had he been groomed for this since he was born? It was strange. He had always been aware of his father’s manipulative
ways, and yet he’d always fallen into place with them, sort of like a twig floating on the surface of a river rushing downstream. Through the years, he’d promised himself that he’d break free of his father’s influence and become the man he knew that he could be. But despite that promise, Brandon now realized that he was indeed his father’s son, and that he’d inherited some of the man’s worst qualities, despite his best efforts not to.

  Jordan Gatewood had always been someone Brandon had admired: strong, powerful, and confident. He’d always considered Jordan fortunate that his father had died and Jordan was left to run the company on his own, his way. Julian Gatewood might’ve started Gatewood Industries, but Jordan had overshadowed his father long ago. And he’d done it on his own terms, in his own way, to hell with Julian’s ideas or ideals.

  He was a man standing on the precipice of destruction now. Jordan was about to lose everything he’d worked so hard to build, and he was about to lose the one thing that meant more to him than even his corporation or his reputation. Love, the kind that was true and pure, and was nearly impossible to come by. Brandon knew that better than anyone. He’d been married and divorced twice and had never been convinced that either of his wives loved him for who he was. It was his money that they loved. Brandon saw how Jordan looked at Abby; he saw that what the two of them had transcended money and status. It was old-fashioned and sweet and enviable. Brandon could take Gatewood’s business, his money, and not lose a minute’s sleep over it, but to take her from him—Brandon would probably never forgive himself for that. She was innocent in all of this. Abby Rhodes was guilty only of loving the wrong man at the wrong time. For her to have to die because of it, because of a silly old man with a silly grudge, reserved a special place in hell for the Degan family.

  Too Afraid to Lose It

  ABBY SHIVERED IN THE CORNER of that cold room, with her knees to her chest, covered by the blanket the woman had left her. Abby listened for any sounds coming from outside warning her that he might be coming back.

  She’d been naïve to believe that rape looked a certain kind of way. Ultimately, though, no matter how it presented itself, rape was violation, pure and simple. He’d raped her. She’d been sitting here for hours coming to terms with the fact that it was true. No, he hadn’t penetrated her with his penis, but he’d still taken from her, her body, and her will, without her permission. Rape was stolen power, freedom, and choice.

  Pride always overshadowed ignorance when it came to her and how she viewed the world. Abby was an engineer. Her very profession, her nature at its core, was ruled by science, mathematical equations, and absolutes. How could she be so smart and yet be so dumb at the same time? A penis was a weapon in rape. But so were fingers and tongues and force. She couldn’t have stopped him no matter how hard she’d fought or screamed. And that revelation shook her to the core.

  She let her eyes close, only for a moment, but she knew that he wasn’t finished with her. Bile rose in the back of her throat at the thought of him touching her again.

  She had been left shattered after he left. A part of her turned in on herself, trying to void her mind, body, and soul from the residual of his touch. But after some time, the truth gradually settled in, forcing her to begin to accept the one thing she’d been fighting against since they’d taken her from her home.

  Would they really let her go? Tears fell as hope sank to someplace dark inside her. Abby had always been a realist, facing the challenges in front of her head-on, prepared to take on whatever came her way. Would they let her go, or was Abby going to die?

  She didn’t want to die. And she didn’t want that man to come back and put his damn hands on her. She didn’t want to spend one more night in this cold and dark room. She didn’t want to keep eating food that got stuck in the back of her throat. Abby wanted more than anything to be home, to be with Jordan and in his arms. Oh, God. The thought of never seeing him again, of never seeing her family again, was devastating.

  She’d spent years working with men, trying to get them to understand that being a woman didn’t make her less valuable than any of them, or weak or inadequate. And because she was a woman, she worked doubly hard to earn their respect and to get them to have as much faith in her abilities as she did. Abby had stood toe to toe to men half a body taller than her, cussing them out until they looked like they would cry, proving the point that she was no pushover. It had taken years to gain the respect of her peers, but she’d done it. What would any of them think of her now, seeing her cowering in the corner of this room, shivering and vulnerable? Abby had been afraid since they’d taken her, but he’d left her feeling something more than fear, a disgusting and ugly thing with no name.

  If this was just about money then why was she still here? Had they even contacted Jordan? He had to know that she was missing. They spoke every single day, several times a day, especially when they weren’t together. Of course, he’d give them money if he knew, if they’d told him that that’s what they wanted. Wouldn’t he? Abby shook her head against doubts starting to creep into her thoughts. She had money, too. Not as much as he did and she had no idea how much they’d demanded for her safe return, but Jordan wouldn’t hesitate to pay it. And she’d pay him back. Maybe not overnight, but damn if she’d be bought and sold like property. He just needed to do what had to be done to get her out of here.

  The tears fell. “I’m so scared, Jordan,” she whispered.

  She could count on one hand how many times she’d been crippled by fear in her life, and this was most certainly one of those times. They were never going to let her go. If somehow she couldn’t find a way out, or if by some crazy long shot of a chance Jordan couldn’t meet their demands, she knew deep down that she wouldn’t get out of here alive. And she could sit here in the dark crying about it, or she could try to figure out a way to save her life.

  Sometimes, finding the solution to a problem was as simple as shifting perspectives. Abby had been looking for flaws in this predicament from one angle, the most obvious one. So far she’d been wrong. Maybe, it wasn’t that woman who was the crack in the façade of this crew. Maybe it was him. While that idiot was being led around by his dick she had to keep her wits about her and to find a way to use his weakness against him. What was his weakness? It was Abby.

  She pulled the flattened plastic bottle out from underneath the mat. The seams on that door were too tight to even slip a piece of plastic through, but maybe she could use it as a wedge to keep the lock from engaging completely after it was closed. She needed to soften the material; using heat and pressure, she needed to open the bottle until it was flat, like paper. That would take time and it would help her to stay awake.

  Love, Please Let Me Be

  IT WAS AFTER TWO IN THE MORNING and Jordan sat slumped on the side of the bed, feeling every second of his age. May 18, Jordan turned fifty and he’d celebrated the milestone with her.

  He stood on the balcony of his stateroom, freshly showered, dressed, and looking out over the Mediterranean, watching the sun set as the yacht he’d chartered slowly pulled into port in Malta while Abby slept soundly in bed behind him. Coming to terms with having lived half a century was beyond surreal. Jordan remembered a time, not so long ago, when he considered anyone who was fifty a senior citizen. He didn’t feel old, though. He felt as if he was getting his second wind, ready to embark on the next half of his life, the half that mattered because she was a part of it.

  “What time is it?” she asked sleepily.

  He turned to face Abby sitting up in bed, holding the sheet against her with one hand and rubbing sleep from her eyes with the other.

  “Doesn’t matter, dahlin’,” he said, making his way over to her and sitting on the side of the bed. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Jordan leaned in close and kissed her. He had promised her once that he wanted forever with her, and not just a lifetime. He’d never been so certain about another human being in his life.

  “You smell good,” she sai
d, flashing that gorgeous smile of hers.

  “You smell like us.” He grinned.

  Abby laughed. “Everybody probably thinks we fell overboard.”

  Everybody was the ten other people, people he didn’t mind spending a week with, whom he’d invited on this trip to celebrate his birthday.

  “Yeah, well, I’m going to head down to let them know that we’ve been here all along.”

  “Okay,” she said, planting a sweet peck on his lips. “I’ll be down shortly.”

  “No rush, sugah.”

  * * *

  “Darlene Johnson.”

  That was a name he hadn’t heard since his freshman year in college.

  “Darlene Johnson?” Jordan repeated, looking back at the man like he’d lost his mind.

  Jordan and Ron Davis had played football together and became hard-and-fast friends the first time Ron tackled Jordan after he’d made a catch causing him to fumble. Ron went on to play pro ball for fifteen years before finally retiring.

  “Why the hell are you bringing her up?” Jordan asked, incredulous.

  Ron laughed. “You got stupid over that girl.”

  Jordan immediately became defensive. “I didn’t get stupid.”

  “Nah, man. You got dumb. Only girl, until now, that I’ve ever seen you get dumb over.”

  Dumb? Was he dumb over Abby?

  Ron seemed to have read his mind. “I remember you stalking Darlene.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You stalked her, Jordan. Followed her to every class.”

  “I walked her to her classes, Ron. That’s not stalking.”

  “You walked her to class and skipped your own, waiting on her to get out of hers, so that you could walk her to the next one. Even waited for her to finish cheerleading practice and debate practice. That’s akin to stalking, at the risk of your education, I might add.”

  “She liked it,” Jordan retorted.

  “Her friends tried talking her into reporting you to campus security.”

  “But she didn’t.”