Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2)

by Manda Mellett

  Present day

  My phone buzzes. I’m right in the middle of answering an email, so I curse the interruption, tempted to ignore it and continue what I was doing before I lose my train of thought. But a glance at the screen shows it’s Sean. Without delay, and with a sense of foreboding, I accept the call. “Hi, Sean, what’s up?”

  I’ve barely got the words out before he’s interrupted me. “She’s gone!”

  “What?” I don’t remember getting to my feet, but I’m standing up, all other work is forgotten. Unnoticed, papers fly out of the file I’d been referring to, as it gets knocked off the desk and drops on the floor, landing in a mess. “What the fuck you talking about?” I’ve gone cold. He can’t mean Mia’s missing. Anything but that!

  “She went into the changing room, Jon, but she didn’t fucking come out.” Sean’s voice is full of panic. “She’d taken armfuls of clothes in so I didn’t worry for a while, but after a bit, I went back into check. The clothes she was wearing are all there, Jon. The fire escape door was open, the alarm disabled.”

  My hand runs through my hair, and I realise I’m shaking. “Didn’t you check the fucking alarm?” It doesn’t seem credible he’d make such an elementary mistake.

  “Of course, I did! Someone must have disabled it after.” Sean’s indignation comes clearly down the line. “But how the fuck could he have known where she’d be, Jon? No one knew where we were going, and up to this morning, even we didn’t have a clue where we’d end up today.”

  That was a question that would need to be answered, but right now there was a more important one. Where the fuck was Mia now? “Vanessa!” I turn away from the phone and yell. “Can you activate Mia’s tracking device?”

  “On it!” Her reply shows she’s getting right down to it and not stopping to ask questions.

  “Most of the tracking devices are here – her bag, her clothes.”

  “She’s got one in her shoes. Were her shoes there?”

  “I’ve got a trace now. She’s about five miles away and moving fast.” Sean doesn’t have to answer; the fact Vanessa can track her means she’s still wearing them. I send up a quick prayer of thanks.

  Turning back to the phone, I’m having difficulty keeping my voice calm as I tell Sean, “I’m out of here. I’ll bring Ben. Vanessa will conference call us all in and give us directions.”

  Disconnecting the call, I grab my keys and rush out into the corridor, skidding to a halt in front of, and then opening the main conference room door. I don’t need to say anything, just gesture I need him. Now. One look at my face and Ben stands, excusing himself with a quickly mumbled apology and joins me, racing towards the lift without asking questions until we’re on the way down. He holds back any comment when I explain the situation; his look of horror confirms he knows this is the time for action, not discussion. We take the McClaren; it’s faster than his car. Once out of the garage Ben answers the incoming call, and we’re all in contact. Vanessa’s giving us directions.

  I hear Ryan’s voice. “There was a fucking tracker on the SUV, Jon.”

  “What?” I’m incredulous. “Why the fuck didn’t you check it?”

  “I did,” he replied, “When we left the house.” He pauses before he admits, “But not before we left her cottage.”

  “How the fuck did someone get a fucking tracker on the car there without you seeing them?” Jeez, am I surrounded by idiots? I thump the steering wheel in my disgust. And I’ve let Mia down again!

  Sheepishly, he replies. “While Mia and Sean were in the house; a girl came past walking a dog. She bent down by the car. Naturally, I checked what she was doing; she was picking up dog shit in one of those little black baggie things. I thought nothing of it. I’m so fucking sorry, Jon. She must have been working with him. Only way I think it could have been put there. It had to have been her.”

  No time now to berate him for his carelessness. “Description!” I snap.

  “Petite, not much over five foot, light frame. Pretty oval face, brown eyes and brown hair in a bob. Wearing jeans, and a pink sweatshirt. She barely looked out of her teens.”

  “Shit!” Sean breaks in. “I saw her come into the shop. She was browsing while Mia was looking round. Then she made a quick phone call and left when Mia went into the changing room.”

  It’s evident she was an accomplice. I wonder how someone as evil as Hatcher had got her onside, but people do strange things. That isn’t the issue right now. Now we have to find Mia.

  “Tracker’s stopped,” Vanessa informs us. I appreciate her ability to keep calm in a crisis as she gives us directions in an unemotional voice, telling us our destination is an abandoned warehouse.

  Chapter 27

  Mia

  Six years ago

  Life changed for me after the attack. At first, I withdrew completely into my shell, nervous of any interaction with strangers, particularly males. The daily rantings and lectures from my mum ground me down even further until I started to wonder why I bothered to stay alive. I knew I had to escape, one way or another.

  To escape from the thoughts in my head and the ravings of my mother, I buried myself in my school work resulting in excellent A level grades, easily sufficient to get into the Uni of my choice. Shortly after my eighteenth birthday I accepted a place in Halls on campus and moved out of my mother’s house and out of her sphere of influence. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was never to go back. It was either get out and live, or give up and die. More than once I contemplated suicide.

  Moving away was the best thing I’d ever done. Nervous at first, I soon settled in, making friends with several girls, but continuing to avoid the opposite sex like the plague. If there were rumours that I was a lesbian I didn’t mind at all. I spent a lot of time by myself, reading both books for my course work and novels for my entertainment. Many, many novels. Mainly romance.

  I saw life, I read about fantasy, I began to heal, and reached the point where I started to think about things in a different way, at last becoming able to counteract my mother’s brainwashing. Finally, I saw the truth. I was not to blame for my attack. I had been the victim of a vicious, abusive crime.

  Present day

  When I come to, I don’t know where I am but feel groggy and ill. With frightening déjà vu, as my senses return I quickly realise I’m in a moving van, my hands are handcuffed to something on the side, and there are more cuffs around my ankles preventing me from moving. I struggle to come to full consciousness and twist my head to try and see the man driving. I don’t recognise him, but I know exactly who he is, his body odour triggering memories I’d rather not remember. Closing my eyes, I try and buy more time before he knows I’m awake. Panic starts to rise, but I try to force my terror back down. I’m not a seventeen-year-old girl anymore, but a twenty-four-year-old woman and this time I’m going to fight. I will not let this happen again! This time, I suspect he won’t leave me alive. But Jon will be coming for me. I know he’ll come for me, he won’t desert me now. That thought is all I’ve got to hang onto.

  Summoning up a mental image of the man, who these desperate circumstances now allow me to admit that I love, I try to let it comfort me. For days my efforts have been to keep him out of my head, but now I’m trying to remember all I can about him, his unique scent, his touch. Anything to drown out what’s currently happening. He’ll try and find me, won’t he? He vowed to protect me; he’ll come. He has to.

  Having stripped off in the dressing room, I’m next to naked wearing only bra and pants making me feel even more vulnerable. Then I look down and see I’ve still got on my shoes. And there’s a tracker in them! They’re tracing me and will be on their way now. Sean won’t have wasted time sounding the alarm. All I have to do is to hang on until they find me.

  The lurching of the van and whatever he used to knock me out is making me feel very queasy, and the violent motion throwing me side to side is not helping, escalating my nausea as well as pulling on my arms and making my muscles scream
. I can’t hold back, and I retch noisily, vomit spewing from my mouth.

  “Fucking dirty cunt!” He looks back over his shoulder and sees me, his face creasing with disgust. “Fucking filthy bitch pig. I’m going to punish you for that!” He curses at me loudly.

  Suddenly we take a turn off the main road, and after a couple of moments of bumping over rough ground, the van comes to a jolting halt. He jumps out, next I hear him around the back, and see the rear doors wrenched open. I shrink away, automatically trying to make myself as small as possible, and am alarmed when he pulls out an evil looking knife. It’s the first time I’ve been face to face with my abuser, but for now, I’m focusing on the weapon he’s brandishing, rather than familiarising myself with his appearance. But I can see the intense lecherous expression on his face, and I become very afraid.

  “I’m not stupid, bitch. You’ve probably got a tracker on you.” He reaches over and slices through my bra straps, and then the front so he can quickly pull it away. He does the same to my knickers and then sits back a moment as if appreciating the view. I shudder, partly in humiliation at my nakedness, and in anticipation of the pain to come. “Not bad, bitch. Seven extra years look good on you.” He chuckles, a sound which sends shivers down my spine and not in any pleasant way. “Be better if you weren’t covered in puke, though.”

  He hasn’t touched my shoes. Don’t touch my shoes. If he takes them off, no one will know have any ideas where I am. Making sure I keep my eyes averted from them; I look anywhere but at my feet. He’s standing, considering me, and then he’s there beside me, pulling at my hair and ripping off the velvet band that I used to secure my ponytail, taking a clump of my hair with it. My hair falls around my shoulders, and he reaches out to stroke it. There’s madness in his eyes. Suddenly he gives a wicked laugh and reaches for my shoes. Now a sob escapes, as I know my last chance of rescue is quickly fading.

  He throws the scraps of material, all that’s left of my clothing out of the van, along with my footwear. I realise he’s left them here for a false trail and presume we’ll be moving on. I stare at him, fearing the predatory expression coming over his face as he grabs hold of me, forcing my legs apart as far as the cuffs will allow and without any preparation shoves his fingers inside me. I’m dry and it hurts and is degrading.

  “Got a tracker up there, bitch? Got to find out, you know.” Next, he rolls me over, and his fingers are probing at my rear entrance. “Still as tight as fuck,” he groans in annoyance. “But this time, I’ll just work harder on that.” Then, thank God, his fingers are gone, but as I turn the sight of him pulling them into his mouth and licking them looking like he’s relishing the taste. “Hmm, nice. Got to get moving now, bitch, but don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ll be able to take my time with you later.”

  Instead of returning to the driver’s side, he climbs in beside me and un-cuffs me from the side of the van, refastens my hands, now together behind my back and picks me up. “Fuck, why did you have to puke?” I take some perverse comfort that he can’t avoid getting my vomit on his shirt. Roughly, he pulls me round and forces a ball gag into my mouth. “Just don’t fucking puke again with that in. I don’t want you stealing my fun by fucking choking and dying. Well,” he smirks, “Not until my cock’s inside you, anyway.” He lifts me out of the van and dumps me in the boot of a car. When he closes it claustrophobia hits, and I try to scream, but the gag stops the sound. He’s right; I could choke if I’m sick again, and that thought terrifies me too.

  There’s no room to kick, and with my hands and feet cuffed I’m completely helpless. I try to control my rising terror knowing no one can track where he’s taking me. But I’ve got to keep hoping. Somehow force myself to remain positive. Jon’s got to find me, somehow. Grade A won’t give up; I know they won’t give up! I keep repeating it to myself, trying to believe it, clinging to that fast disappearing bit of hope!

  I try to brace myself as the motion of the car flings me from side to side, but something keeps bruising my back. My vagina is burning and stinging from his rude intrusion earlier, and then to add to my misery, my hair catches on a sharp piece of metal. When I try to get free, I feel my scalp tear as another handful is pulled out. Already I’m hurting all over, but unable to kid myself there’s not worse to come. Trying to control my breathing, to stay calm and strong, I keep telling myself that I’m not the weak girl I was, and renew my resolve to fight. And if the worst comes to the worst, I survived last time, and I can get through this again and come out the other side. I’ve done it before. As long as he doesn’t kill me. Shit, I can’t give up. Anger rises in me; I’ve wasted so much time over the last seven years letting what this bastard did to me ruin my life. If I get out of this, I won’t live a half-life anymore. I’m going to live life to the fucking full!

  The journey seems to go on forever. It’s hard to breathe as the boot seems small and airless, but I haven’t suffocated by the time we start bouncing up a bumpy track, the lurching throwing me this way and that, making me bang into the sides as if I needed any more bumps and bruises. Then the car suddenly stops. For a second, all goes quiet, and I hear birdsong outside. Then the boot is opened. He’s brutal and uncaring as he lifts me out.

  “Stinking bitch! Christ, I don’t even want to touch you like that.”

  He catches my bruised back as he lifts me and I wince, but he takes no notice of my discomfort. Quickly, I look around me to see if I know where we are, but I don’t recognise this place at all. We’re outside a decaying wooden shack, a barn perhaps, with old rusty machinery around it. There’s a rotting pile of logs, but nothing else of note. We seem to be in the middle of nowhere, trees all around, sunlight only just dappling through.

  He half carries, half drags me to the side of the building and then throws me down. I’m still bound, so can do nothing but watch as he goes to a tap on the wall with a hose attached. He turns it on, full force, and a blast of icy cold water hits me. He hoses me down, thoroughly. I try to struggle to my feet, but he kicks me over and blasts me the other side. The hose is so powerful it’s impossible to get away from it.

  Eventually, he seems happy he’s removed all evidence of vomit, and he turns it off. With a vicious tug, he pulls me to my feet. I’m drenched and shivering, cold water drips off me, my wet hair hanging long and heavy on my back.

  As he hauls me inside the building my feet trail across the rough ground, but he’s uncaring of the skin being scrapped off my toes. Pausing for a second, he extracts a key from his pocket, then opens a padlock, undoes it and pushes the door open. It’s in that moment I know where I am. I’ve never seen the place before; I was always kept blindfolded. But I remember the smell. God, do I remember that smell; mould, decay, sweat and blood. I stiffen as blind terror sweeps through me. I’ve been thrown back in time to seven years ago, and I’m about to lose my virginity in the worst possible way.

  As if he senses I know where I am, he pulls me to the middle of the room and forces me to look around, holding my head and twisting it this way and that. Swallowing hard, I try to stave off a panic attack.

  “Good to be back?” he asks me, confirming what I already know. He laughs loudly, the evil sound and triggering shivers down my back. “I’ve remodelled a bit; I don’t have to improvise now.” As he talks, he removes his dirty shirt but thankfully leaves on the rest of his clothes. His chest is covered with dark, wiry hair, and he’s out of condition, rolls of fat quiver over the top of his belt.

  I look away and take in my surroundings as it’s a slightly better option than looking at my abductor. Shuddering, I realise what he means about the renovations. Fuck, he’s created a dungeon. My gaze travels around all the equipment; the spanking bench, St Andrew’s Cross, some things I don’t recognise as well as old rusting machinery which was obviously part of the original building, but now adding to the gruesome atmosphere. Whips, canes, and floggers cover the walls. It’s dark and cold and looks like a torture chamber. My torture chamber. For a few seconds, I forget
to breathe.

  He lets out a sigh, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to get you back here, to continue what we started.” His words come out almost wistfully.

  I realise that if I keep him talking it might delay the inevitable and buy me some time, time for any rescuers to discover my whereabouts. “Why? Why me?”

  “Why you, bitch?” He walks around in front of me, still holding me up. Just in case I get out alive, I start to memorise his features, but as he hasn’t blindfolded me, this time, I doubt he’ll be letting me go. His eyes are a dull blue; his pupils dilated as though he’s on something. He’s almost bald and in need of a shave. His nose is crooked as though it’s been broken at some point. I hope it hurt. I can’t move away from him as he hasn’t untied my legs; I’d fall if he let me go. So I’m forced to breathe in his foul breath and stale sweat, recognising personal hygiene is way down on his list of priorities. He watches me looking at him with a sneer and finally, answers my question. “Why you? Huh!” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I gave you everything!”

  What? “You gave me nothing. You took everything from me. You raped me, abused me.” I spit out.

  Another harsh laugh. “You must have loved it! The way you write about the things I did to you. Everything that happened here, you’ve written about, and your characters all love it. Being tied up, spanked. You’ve made money out of the experiences I gave you. I know you enjoyed yourself last time, bitch. Now we get to do it all over again.”

  He’s mad. He must be!

  He pulls me brutally again, this time towards a bed-like contraption in the middle of the room and forcibly pushes me down until I’m sitting on it. Then he takes a step back and stares at me. “And at first I didn’t mind, it even amused me. I bought all your books, became your greatest fan! Every word you wrote I imagined doing that to you, every man you described was me, wasn’t it? The man wielding the whip, the crop, was always me.”