Luke, himself, had put a bullet in the back of a guy’s head as if he does it every day. He doesn’t, he usually gets one of his baboons to do the hurting, keeping his hands unsoiled. The lifeless body slumps forward, like a sack of shit, his brain matter splattering against the front section of the desk.
‘We need to send out a message,’ Luke is beyond pissed, ‘this is going to happen to every single dealer if they renege on the contract. No second chances, no extensions, they take the merchandise, they pay the fucking price. I have had enough of being taken the piss out of, get rid of that.’ He nods to the lifeless body, ‘discard of it somewhere that will send a message, you hear me?’ He roars. There is a scurrying of suits before a plastic sheet is laid down, gloves put on and the body wrapped, then they begin the clean-up of the remnants of body matter from the area.
I stand, observing, feeling disconnected from the situation, the only sign of stress being the frantic beating of my heart within my chest.
‘Get over here, Sophie,’ Luke growls, his voice warning that I am going to suffer the consequences of his bad deal.
Fuck! My body trembles. On this occasion, I can’t contain the shaking. I have rooted to the spot. I watch him glance up at my disobedience. ‘I said, get the fuck over here!’ He shouts, the gun still grasped firmly in his hand.
I physically jump at the venom in his tone, and I notice a couple of the suits eyes me with sympathy. I will my body to move, but it refuses my instruction.
He turns to face me, I sense Kane’s presence and flicker a glance at him. He is assessing the situation while helping in the clean-up operation.
Luke is raging, not only is he mad at me for defying him, but he is mad at me defying him in front of his suits. He makes his way towards me, the menacing look on his face the ugliest thing I have ever seen.
The only thought that enters my mind is, this is it, he’s going to kill me. I know why this information doesn’t alarm me as it should. It means I am finally going to be free of the constant abuse.
He grasps me by the hair and drags me over to the desk, pushing my face down against the hard surface. A sound emits from my mouth, similar to that of an injured animal.
‘She’s in shock man!’ Kane argues against his treatment of me. In my head I am shouting for Kane to stop, he will get himself killed.
‘What the fuck did you say, you fucking cunt. I’ve been watching you, your eyes all over my woman,’ Luke accuses.
I am whimpering, my body shuddering in fear, when I hear a commotion in the hallway.
‘What the fuck?’ Luke growls, his attention distracted as the suits scatter outside, guns at the ready.
Kane lifts his gun, but instead of pointing outside the door, he points it directly at Luke. Right between the eyes.
‘Let her go, you, filthy piece of shit!’ Kane roars.
I feel Luke tense. ‘What, you want her for yourself?’ he laughs, as if this idea is hilarious. ‘You think you could handle a woman like her?’ He sneers, pulling me up from the desk, ‘she likes it often man, like all day every day and she likes it hard,’ he laughs. ‘She’s addicted to my dick, can’t get enough,’ he continues.
His arm wraps around my neck holding me tightly against him. It’s then that I realise he is using me as a human shield, his other arm moves up, the gun still in his grasp as he directs it at my temple. I relax, finally foreseeing a way out of this living nightmare, the shaking stops, an inner calm surrounding me as my eyes find Kane’s.
A bullet is released from Kane’s gun and whooshes past my head to hit Luke’s shoulder, the side he is holding the gun. I hear the bullet tear through the flesh as a sound omits from between Luke’s lips. His arm drops, the gun falling to the floor with a thud.
‘You will regret that,’ he hisses between his teeth, edging me around the desk. ‘Robson!’ He calls, but Robson is evidently busy outside of the office as more gunshots can be heard flying back and forth. Kane’s gun remains trained on Luke as he drags me around towards the door.
‘Let her go, asshole,’ Kane, growls.
‘Fuck you! She belongs to me. If I can’t have her, no one will,’ Luke spits, vehemently.
‘Sophie,’ Kane’s voice drops to a tone that suggests he knows I am barely holding it together. ‘I need for you to move, honey, can you do that.’ Luke’s arm tightens to a painful level at Kane’s request.
‘She’s not going anywhere,’ I can hardly breathe at the force of his arm crooked around my neck, crushing my windpipe. I paw at his arm, urging him to loosen it, he ignores me.
I fail to distinguish the next gunshot, I am too busy trying to fight for oxygen, but I feel the flinch of Luke’s body as it hits. His arm remains tight as he pulls me to the floor with him, blood oozing out onto my green dress.
‘Sophie!’ I hear Nates voice in the distance, but I am desperately trying to get away from Luke, jerking his arm away, sobbing as blood seeps through my clothes. When I finally manage to disentangle myself from his grasp, I turn back and stare at him. The bullet must have killed him on impact, the gaping bloody hole where his eye used to sit, almost making me vomit.
‘Soph, babe,’ Nates voice is closer, but I don’t see him. I only see the bullet hole in Luke’s face. I jolt when someone gently touches me, ‘I’ve got you, babe,’ he whispers, I feel something go around my shoulders and realise that my body is shivering again.
I hear his voice, but can’t comprehend his words as he guides me outside of the office to another scene of devastation. There are numerous suits scattered around the floor, some with wounds, others with their hands cuffed behind their backs. None of this information actually penetrates my brain, it’s just a sight that hits my eyes.
It isn’t until I am downstairs, sitting in an ambulance that I suddenly realise the implications of the past twenty minutes.
I am finally free, free to live my life.
Then why am I devastated?
********
Chapter Seventeen
‘Stockholm Syndrome is a recognised condition, which sometimes happens when an individual is abducted or put into a traumatic situation. You admitted yourself that you knew you were facing a scenario that was incredibly precarious. You played nice, or you died.’ Dr. Philips explained logically. ‘You chose to play nice, regardless of the fact the consequences weren’t very appealing. I’d say you fought for survival.’
‘But I love Nate,’ I reply, quietly. I know this, I may not feel it right now, but I know deep down inside, I love Nate.
‘Stockholm Syndrome can be as debilitating as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, some of the symptoms almost identical, insomnia, confusion, flashbacks, lack of sex drive.’
‘How long will it last?’ I ask, disappointed that he can’t just provide me a pill and be done with it.
‘How long is a piece of string?’ He shrugs, ‘you were abducted from your nearest and dearest, and spent almost three months being used purely for sexual gratification of your capturer. Give yourself time, Sophie, it’s been two weeks.’
‘I so desperately want to get back to normal, to feel again,’ I admit.
‘There’s no magic cure here, Sophie,’ his voice is soft, but I am so frustrated with myself. How can I miss Luke? I despised Luke, he stole me from Nate, robbed us of our dreams for the future. How can I be sad that he is no longer on this planet? He abused me, daily, fleeced me of my dignity as well as everything else? It makes no sense.
The past two weeks have been horrendous. After witnessing the shootings and death of Lucas Ericson, I have been a complete mess. After the event, I had been immediately whisked away in an ambulance, for a check-up at the hospital. I was then admitted to the psychiatric wing for further evaluation. I had been non-responsive, in shock, my mouth unable to form a full sentence.
I was sedated, my exhausted body craving rest, and spent the next thirty-six hours not knowing whether it was night or day.
When, eventually, I had woken, Nate had been stationed at m
y bedside, his hand holding mine, his face pale and drawn.
‘Hi,’ I had croaked.
Nate’s face relaxed, and he edged closer, his lips touching our joined hands.
‘How are you doing, babe?’ He murmured, his sapphire eyes dulled by tiredness.
‘Not so good, Nate,’ I had whispered.
He nodded, his eyes closed, pain etching his gorgeous features. ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you, Sophie,’ he murmured, softly.
I had gazed at his haunted, tortured face; he looked exhausted. ‘You never gave up,’ I marvel. He shakes his head obstinately, his lips again moving to kiss across my knuckles.
‘Go home, Nate,’ I instruct.
His eyes flinch at my words. ‘What?’
‘I am damaged,’ my voice is empty, void of emotion. ‘You deserve someone that can give themselves to you, all of them. I don’t know how, or if I will ever, recover from this,’ I confess.
‘I can handle it,’ Nate insists. ‘I haven’t waited three months for you, to walk away now, Sophie,’ his voice holds a strength.
‘I don’t know if I am capable of giving you anything, right now, Nate,’ a silent tear rolls down my cheek, but there is no emotion attached to it, just fact.
His thumb had wiped it away, his face close. ‘Then I’ll wait even longer. I happen to believe you are worth the wait, London. I am here, waiting patiently for you to heal, for us to return to where we were. No woman has ever made me feel the way you do. Your boxes are staying in our loft until you come home to me. You promised us a life. We have a life to rebuild.’
‘Nate!’ I had called, sad for his grief. ‘I haven’t the strength to worry about you too, I have to focus on getting back to me,’ I whisper.
‘No!’ the stubbornness was evident in his tone, ‘I am going nowhere.’
‘You have to let me go,’ I murmured sleepily.
‘Never!’ He had growled, his jaw tightening.
‘This,’ I roll my eyes to my surroundings, ‘is all you will see when you look at me,’ I insist. ‘I am broken so badly, Nate.’
‘We can fix you, we need time that is all,’ he announces.
I know deep in my heart that isn’t true. This isn’t a car accident where the broken bones can be fixed, this is deep routed destruction. If Nate thought I was damaged before, nothing could prepare him for the depth of the fuckedupness now.
‘Nate, if you love me you have to let me go,’ my eyes flicker. The last thing I remember is the pain apparent in the entrancing blue eyes of the man I gave my life for.
When I woke, Nate was gone.
I was ignorant to whether he was gone for good, taking me at my word, or whether he was providing me the desired space to heal. What I did know was that nothing was ever going to be the same again.
He never returned.
********
Surprisingly, it was my dad that came to my aid in the end. Nate had been conversing with him, updating him with any information he and his brother, Kyle had learned. When I had been found, my father had arranged and funded a rehabilitation centre for me to stay in Boston. He had waited until the doctors notified him I was well enough before he sent Kris to escort me on the flight over.
Kris was quiet and unobtrusive, and I felt relatively safe in his company, although I still found I was constantly looking over my shoulder. It’s incredible how after only a few months of dominance, I struggled to make the smallest of decisions. When faced with a choice, I would glance around to check with someone, anyone, as to whether my verdict was acceptable.
I hadn’t made a decision for myself in three months, apart from the one that resulted in the love of my life to walk from my life and never come back.
I didn’t want Nate to leave, I didn’t want to send him away, but I wasn’t the person he fell in love with and didn’t know if I could ever be that person. I was a far reach from the Sophie Parker who rocked up to Krystal determined to find her brother’s murderer. My brother and his drug issues were the farthest things from my mind. I hated that he had caused me all this pain. I hated that his death encouraged me to visit his hometown and fall in love with the sapphire blue eyed man that I had no doubt I have crushed with my rejection.
My father’s car had collected us from the airport and drove us to the rehab centre, which was the equivalent of a five-star hotel, nothing like I had first imagined. I had a suite, which also had a panic button installed in every corner, the only sign that it was a medical establishment. My dad had sent everything I needed, included a new wardrobe of clothes, as I had no intention of ever wearing any of the things that had been brought from Luke’s mansion, plus all the toiletries a woman could possibly need. I hadn’t spoken to him, we conversed only through others whether it be the therapist in Denver, or now Kris, who informed him of our safe arrival.
Kane had been granted immunity, down to his compliance with the authorities at the time of my recapture, and was now working with Nate’s brother forming a business of PI security work. Initially, I had assumed it was Kane who delivered the final shot to Luke, it was, in fact, Nate, who appeared at the doorway as Luke’s hand was directing his held gun towards my temple. He saved me and in the process killed the man who was abusing me.
I still struggle to come to terms with the fact that they call it abused when I had experienced an orgasm, sometimes several, during the sexual exploits we shared. But, apparently, it is common, the body is a complex machine, push the right buttons and it will react how it is intended. Besides, I had been aware that failure to climax would have meant longer and more torturous behaviour. Luke would have become more and more brutal until I came, hard, this I know. I still have the scars to prove it.
Here I am now, at my first counselling session. Dr. Philips is incredibly calm, not in the least bit astounded by the information I have shared with him. I find myself confiding more and more shocking incidents with him with the pure intention of causing a reaction, but he merely nods and scribbles notes down on his notebook totally unfazed.
‘Contrary to what you believe, you are doing remarkably well, Sophie,’ Dr. Philips, stated earnestly.
‘Then why isn’t everything slotting into place?’ I question, frustrated.
‘Because to leave it behind, we have first to address the issues, comprehend them and then lay them to rest. It’s going to be a painful process, but we will get through it,’ Dr. philips promises me.
As I gaze at the serious, slightly crinkled face of the man beside me it’s hard to believe that I will ever feel any different than I currently do, but I know I have no choice but to take him at his word.
********
Three months later
Walking into my flat after being away for a total of eight months, it was hard to grasp the fact that the recent dramas had actually occurred. After three months of intense therapy, I had woken abruptly yesterday morning and decided to discharge myself from rehab. Although I had faced the challenges of my recovery head on, I felt as if I could no longer benefit from the therapy provided. This, then begged the question of why I remained in Boston with a father I despised and a country that had brought me nothing but misery?
I had informed no one of my departure, my father had released Kris from his body guarding duties once I was established in rehab, so I simply picked up my belongings, bought a one-way ticket and left for home.
I had heard nothing from Nate since I ordered him to forget me at the hospital three months ago. Not that I should have expected to, I brought him nothing but pain and heartbreak, I know this. However, this didn’t prevent me from thinking of him every single day wishing things had ended differently.
Half of me hoped that he had found his forever with someone worthy of his love, the other hoped to God that he couldn’t replace me. I was being selfish, but the heart feels what the heart feels, as they say.
After not having felt anything for months, I awoke two days ago with an intense ache deep in the left side of my chest. I felt as if I was
going to die as I gasped frantically for breath, Dr Philips had explained that what I was experiencing was a panic attack. This, in his mind, was a good thing as it signified my body returning to the here and now rather than living in the fear of the past. To me, it was more painful than anything I had ever experienced, and I had felt a lot of pain.
I suffered the desperate loss of a conceivable future with the only man I would ever love.
It was at that point that I boarded the plane to Heathrow, to escape the temptation of locating Nate and begging him to take me back. I couldn’t do that to him, the baggage I had acquired I wouldn’t enforce on any human being, especially someone I loved so fiercely.
I ensured that I had a full script for the anti-depressants I required, thanked Dr. Philips for his time and left in the clothes I stood in. I had money in the bank from the salon in London, that I hadn’t touched in almost six months, I would purchase a new wardrobe when I arrived home.
Although the estate agent had in fact sold my property, the potential purchasers had bailed out of the deal when no one could locate me to sign the relevant paperwork. Therefore, it looked precisely as it had all those months ago when I had excitedly left it behind eager to commence my new life with Nate in Denver.
I glance around at the bare rooms, the majority of the furniture remained, but all of my personal items were currently in Nate’s loft. Or were, what he has decided to do with them since I expelled him from my life is anyone’s guess. Thankfully, I had decided to keep the furniture in situ, until such time that I exchanged on the property, believing a lived in house looked more appealing than an empty shell.
I stripped the sheets off of the bed and throw them in the washing machine, grateful that I had a few cleaning products stashed under the sink until such time as I could replenish the supplies, cleaned the bathroom and turned on my mobile phone.
‘I can’t breathe, Shauna,’ my voice muffles as it presses against the jumper of my best friend.
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