by Melissa Jane
Chapter Twenty-Six
Laila
Fuck me!
My head hurt like nothing I had ever experienced before. The dull throbbing was so intense it was agonizing to even blink. Tentatively touching the back of my head where I had been hit, I could feel the stickiness of blood. Hardly surprising given the force used. There was, however, a bigger issue to contend with and that was how the hell I was going to get out of this trunk and survive Juan yet again.
I couldn’t be certain how long we had been driving or where in fact we were driving to. The trunk was a Fort Knox. The emergency release latch glowed dimly in the darkness, but it had been disabled and flopped about uselessly. There was no attainable tire jacks or objects I could use as a weapon. I would have to endure the rest of the trip and then face whatever demons lay waiting for me at the end.
The car came to a stop perhaps only half an hour after I woke. Doors slammed shut and seconds later the trunk opened. The heat bearing down on the car had made the small space I was in like a sauna. I was dripping with heavy beads of sweat, my hair plastering itself to my face.
Juan’s face looked down at me from above, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
“Not a fan of the heat?”
“Please, I need some water,” I practically begged.
Positioning a cigarette between his lips, Juan retrieved a lighter from his back pocket and lit the end of the paper. “I like the heat,” he said, ignoring my pleas. He blew the smoke from his exhale straight down into my face, increasing my desperate need for water. “There is something about it I find rather a turn-on.”
Of course he would think that.
“Perhaps it’s that I get to watch as beads of sweat drip down your neck and over your breasts. Pools of it making you wet between the legs.” His eyes narrowed, taking in my stricken state. “Or maybe it’s the fact that it has you begging like you need me.”
I gave him no response because, like everything he said and did to me, he made me feel physically ill.
Taking another drag on his cigarette, Juan nodded to someone out of my view and moments later he was holding a half-filled water bottle.
My mouth was salivating just at the sight of it. He held it down to me and as I reached for it he pulled away, tut-tutting at me.
“Get out of the trunk,” he ordered. My heart thumped heavily against my chest. I knew that voice. He was in the mood for hurting and I would be on the receiving end of a world of pain.
“Now!” Juan ordered, his voice stern.
I noted the challenge in his eyes, one I wasn’t willing to accept. Unsteadily, I sat up in the trunk, my stomach growing nauseous with the sudden movement but he didn’t seem to care about my state of health. Moving too slow for his sinister purposes, I found Juan gripping my upper arm, his fingers digging deep into my muscles. Yanking me up and out, I fell on the dry earth beneath me.
“On your knees.”
His voice was chillingly calm.
Doing as he said, I ignored the jarred sensation in my wrists caused by the ungainly fall.
“Open.”
Looking to him for some indication, I saw he had unscrewed the cap and was tilting the bottle.
With a sickening dread, my body began to shake, the tremble only making me more vulnerable to a man who was set on degrading and controlling me until, in the end, he would destroy me.
This was what he considered fun. This was what he got off on.
Juan’s finger tenderly tilted my chin upwards, my eyes immediately blinded by the midday sun. Warm water fell into my mouth and I gulped greedily, some spilling over chin and down my neck. It felt heavenly as it wet my dry throat, but he knew when to stop before I was satisfied.
Handing the bottle to a rather scary-looking man with stretchers in his ears, Juan extended his hand for me to take while flicking his butt to the side. It was a gentlemanly gesture, but I knew better and refused. Raising his eyebrows at my audacity, he considered me for a moment before a sinister smirk twisted his lips.
“I like when you put up a fight, bonita.” Fisting my hair, he pulled me to my feet, drawing me close to him. I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh and my stomach sank with dread.
“Walk.”
He turned me in the direction of a dilapidated two-story house. It had long been neglected and looked like a place even squatters would avoid. The paint was peeling from the rotting wood and every single window I could see had been smashed in.
“Why are we here?” I asked, fearful this would be the place of my death. No one would ever think to find me here in this filthy dump.
“I’m not going to kill you if that’s what you are thinking.” Somehow his reassurance did little to settle my nerves. His violence was something I feared even more than death itself. “We are here waiting for your lover to play catch up.”
A part of me died.
They were waiting to ambush Aiden. The rational side of me knew he would be expecting the confrontation. That’s if he actually knew where to find me.
The three of us walked up the rickety stairs to the porch and through the front door. Someone had obviously been living here as old-style furniture littered certain rooms and food scraps were still lying on the coffee table. I was escorted past all the downstairs rooms, but not before I counted at least five other men in the house.
“Up the stairs,” Juan ordered.
On the second floor, he guided me to a bedroom and released my hair.
“Get on the bed.”
“No,” I said, disgusted.
“I don’t know where you get the idea it was up for debate. Get on the fucking bed!”
I watched, nauseous, my gut churning as Juan pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. He advanced forward, taking a few easy strides, his hand pushing against my chest until I stumbled against the edge of the bed.
“Get the fuck on.”
I shook my head in defiance, unwilling to become his victim again.
He cocked an eyebrow in response, then licked his lips in a slow show of intimidation. Hooking his hands under my arms, Juan through me like a rag doll on the mattress before climbing on top of me. Clasping my hand, he wrapped one of the cuffs around my wrist before attaching the other end to the metal bed frame.
A knock sounded at the door and I was grateful for the interruption.
“What?” Juan barked, annoyed.
“We need you to see something downstairs,” the man said, uncertainty in his voice as he opened the door slightly.
“Can it fucking wait? I’m busy.”
“No, I don’t think it can.”
Juan turned to face the man and, after a few seconds, he looked back to me. Something was going on that had suddenly made him very smug and I knew he felt he had one up on the situation.
He stroked my face with his knuckles before climbing off the bed.
“It’s all coming together, bonita. I can’t wait for you to see what I have planned.”
***
Time was of the essence.
As soon as the door closed, I sat awkwardly on the bed studying my surroundings. There was no other furniture in the medium-sized room other than the piece I was on. Lying on my stomach, I stretched my arm as far as it would go given the cuff’s restriction and peered over the side of the thick mattress. I could just see beneath, my hand screaming in pain as the metal shackle dug sharp into my skin.
Besides rotting floor boards and two inches of dust there was nothing that could help me.
Except one thing.
The skirting under the head of the bed was broken and pulling away from the wall. A length around fourteen inches looked in good enough shape to use and it was only hanging on by one almost completely exposed rusted nail. Crawling to the top of the bed, I squeezed my free hand down the small gap offered between the head frame and the wall. With my ass in the air and my face pressed against the cold rungs, I could feel the skirting at my fingertips. Using my cuffed hand, I pressed my weight on the
edge of the mattress to cause a dip, lowering me the tiniest bit closer to the floor. After a few attempts at bouncing my weight, my hand finally wrapped around the small piece of broken wood. With all the strength I possessed, I freed the skirting from the wall, the nail clinking against the floor.
Holding on tight, I knew if I dropped it, the noise would arouse suspicion downstairs. Threading it carefully through the gaps in the bedhead, I hid the wood under the thin, filthy pillow.
Heavy footsteps sounded from the hall, beating along with the angry pounding of my heart. I threw myself down, feigning compliance, praying he wouldn’t see through my fear.
The door swung open and Juan sauntered his way back over to the bed.
“Good news, mamasita.”
He sounded jovial, proud almost. But why? I hated not knowing.
When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Seems your lover is quicker at tracking us than I gave him credit for.”
I couldn’t hide the smile reaching my eyes. I loved that he underestimated Aiden. It meant Juan would always be behind the eight ball.
“You seem happy?” His eyes narrowed and smile faded. “This just means I have to speed up the process.”
A lump lodged itself firmly in my throat and I was struggling to breathe. History was repeating itself and I didn’t know if I had what it took to stop it. Undoing his belt buckle, he knelt on the bed trapping my legs between his knees.
“I never did get around to revisiting you, did I?” The fucker was referring to when he first assaulted me back at the mansion. It felt like only yesterday he had laid a hand on my body, broken me. Yet here we were in the same predicament and I felt like vomiting at the thought of him doing it again.
Pulling his black shirt over his head, Juan winked at me, satisfied he was finally getting what he wanted. Without a doubt, the man was a head case. I couldn’t comprehend his sickening hatred driving his passion. He continued searching my eyes looking for something that would just fuel his anger, his spite.
He fell over the top of me, his right arm propping himself up for support, his left hand gripping my chin, tilting my face
“Why do you want to destroy me?” I whispered.
“Because you look so beautiful while I’m doing it.”
Cruelly, Juan’s lips claimed mine, his groin thrusting against me. Gasping for air I did the only thing I could do. I bit down hard on his bottom lip until he grunted in pain and released my chin. Tasting his blood in my mouth, I let him go. He fell back on his haunches, his tongue gently feeling for the wound.
“You do have a death wish, don’t you?” He growled.
“No, I don’t have a death wish. I just can’t stand the touch of you.”
Juan scoffed, his eyes filled with pure loathing, burning holes through mine. He fell back over me, his hand gripping my jaw, holding my head in place.
“I’ve never forgotten the way you taste, the way you feel around me.” His eyes were alight with a challenge, daring me to take the bait he so I could then suffer the consequences. “Been waiting a long time for a girl like you, mamasita.”
Juan laughed at my new silent resolve, his hand forcing my face to the side while he viciously bit and sucked on my neck. His free hand roamed my body, snaking its way under my shirt, squeezing my breast. Frantically reaching under the pillow, I grasped the piece of skirting, holding it as tightly as I could with my weakening strength. My heart was thudding hard in my chest and I knew you he could feel it against his. I also knew time was working against me, but I had to wait until he moved his face away from mine. The last thing I wanted to do was knock myself out in the same swing.
As it happened, luck was finally shining down on me. Juan righted himself while straddling my waist, his fingers working furiously to unbutton my jeans. I was quick, the skirting swinging from the right, connecting with his temple. He had seen it coming, but his response wasn’t fast enough to block the full force of it.
“Fuck!” he roared in obvious pain that I delighted in. Now a trickle of blood ran down his cheek, fingers feeling the wound. His nostrils flared, teeth bared, eyes filled with the promise of destruction.
“You’re a tricky bitch, aren’t you?” he snarled. I wasn’t even given the opportunity to respond. My face was flung violently to the right as Juan’s fist smashed into my lip. I groaned in agony, swallowing blood. My mouth was on fire and throbbing like crazy, the pain bringing tears to my eyes. Pinning me down so I couldn’t move, Juan’s face lowered to mine, a knife blade pressed against my cheek.
“Why would you do that, Laila? I have only ever been good to you.” I couldn’t recall the last time Juan had called me by my actual name. That meant he was beyond furious. He could feel himself losing control of the situation and was out for more blood.
“You consider treating me like this as good?” I was determined to stay strong, but my words came out as a whimper.
He laughed and the knife pressed deeper into my skin. “You should see the girls I didn’t treat well. Then you would know just how special you are to me.”
“You’re fucking crazy! Although it’s hardly unexpected given who your father is.”
“Feeling brave are you, mamasita? You wanna pull that head fucking shit on me?”
“I’m not pulling anything on you. It’s the truth. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Juan inhaled noisily, exasperated with the conversation. The knife he held, sliced through my skin, my eyes squeezing closed against the searing pain. I screamed loud, uncaring that it made me look weak as he continued to drag the blade along my cheekbone, the wound opening further.
“This is for us, carina. I own you. Every time you look at yourself in the mirror, you will see me and remember all that I have done to your sweet body. Every time I look at your beautiful face I will see how I’ve marked you, how I have made you mine.”
“Don’t do this, Juan.”
“It’s too late. When all this is over, it will be just you and me. I will take you to a place far away from here, where no one can hear you scream. Where I can do what I want to you.” He brought the knife in front of me, my own blood staining the shiny metal blade.
“You need to stop this game.” Maybe there was still hope I could convince him. It was worth a shot.
He stilled, his eyes distant. He looked fucking crazy. “This game will never end. You are my poison, mamasita,” Juan said, sounding almost remorseful, “but I can’t get enough of you.”
Wiping the blood on the pillow next to me, he turned my face ready to cut my other cheekbone. A thumping on the door stopped him in his tracks.
“What?” he yelled, enraged by the interruption.
“We gotta go,” answered the man behind the door.
Juan’s face returned to mine, a disturbing gleam in his eye.
“Showtime, my love.”
“What’s happening?” I asked as he unlocked the cuff connecting me to the bed.
His hand gripped the back of head, pulling me to him until our mouths smashed against each other’s, his lips ravaging mine in a sickening display of ownership.
“You are about to witness your lover's death.”
***
“Hurry up,” Juan barked as he ushered me down the stairs. I could feel the blood from my cut cheek dripping my chin and onto my dress. My lip throbbed like all hell and I had a sinking feeling in my gut that made me want to vomit. Six burly men stood by the door, watching us with ill-disguised curiosity, taking in my dishevelled, bloodied state, my legs failing to move, frozen with fear. “Don’t waste my time, mamasita,” Juan said, giving me another sharp jab in back.
Hooking his arm through mine, he escorted me to the car we had arrived in.
“Get in,” he ordered, releasing my arm and gesturing toward the trunk. I shook my head vehemently, pleading for some mercy. I didn’t want to be locked away again. Not in the darkness and raging heat.
“Don’t make me get in there, please.”
Juan disappeared
as a hessian bag covered my face, its opening pulling closed around my neck. Rough hands grabbed mine, yanking them behind my back, tying my wrists together with rope. I struggled against the men restraining me, but I was no match as they lifted me screaming off the ground and lowered me into the trunk.
Sunlight penetrated the tiny holes of the hessian, but disappeared as a figure hovered over the top of me. A hand came to rest on my breast and I awkwardly attempted to wiggle my body away.
“You and me, mamasita. Very soon.”
The trunk lid slammed closed, leaving me in my confined blackened hole.
The itchy fabric around my face felt like it was digging into my wounds, sticking to the drying blood.
I was seeing a different side of Juan. A side that sent fear rattling through me more than ever before. He had a renewed intensity, a gleam in his eye that told me just how unstable he was. Juan wasn’t just the son of a cartel operator. He was a man who had been fucked up by the life he had been made to live. I didn’t feel sorry for him. How could I after everything he had done and still threatened to do? I was terrified no one would be able to stop him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Laila
The car left the smoothness of the tarmac and gravel battered the wheel arches as we sped along a dirt road. Not long after that, the terrain changed yet again and I was being tossed around the trunk as the driver navigated a minefield of dips and bumps. Fortunately, after almost ten minutes of this, the car finally came to a stop and I could catch my breath. The engine cut out and car doors slammed shut. The trunk lid flew open and the sun was once again blocked out by a man’s figure.
“And here we are again, mamasita,” came Juan’s self-righteous voice. “You should consider yourself lucky.”
“Oh, how so?” I sounded through a croaky voice, wishing I could get rid of the hessian bag.
“I’ve already told you, not every girl I like gets this kind of treatment. I mean, I have travelled two countries for you. That’s two more than any other girl and now I am about to put on a show for you. I’m sure you will love every moment of it.”