“Thank you, Declan.”
Declan kissed her hair, and then carefully pulled her upright. “Charlotte, go freshen up. Take as long as you need. I don’t want anyone seeing you upset like this. It would raise a lot of questions. As soon as you’re ready, I want you to go back home and rest. I will pick you up after work.”
***
The ride home was uneventful. Was this a bad idea? That’s all she could think about at the moment. A parade could have passed in front of them, and it wouldn’t have caught her attention. Katherine had texted her during the commute, and she asked if Charlie was on her way yet so she could wait across the street for her.
Or rather, she hadn’t asked. She demanded Charlie already be on her way. “You better be on your way or else,” she texted. A brief thought flitted through Charlie’s mind. If she told someone and they caught Katherine across the street, how could she publish the photos to the Internet? The thought dissolved as soon as it had appeared though. Charlie didn’t want to underestimate Katherine. She had no idea if the publishing contract was Katherine’s goal or if it was part of some elaborate scheme. Did she have a partner? What if all it took was a quick phone call to insure the photos went public if something went wrong on Katherine’s end?
“Ms. Flynn,” Declan’s driver said, releasing her from her daydream. “We’re here.”
Charlie snapped to attention, muttering her thanks. “Thank you, Edwards.”
“Shall I see you to the door, Ms. Flynn?”
Charlie shook her head. “It’s not necessary, but thank you.” She took out her phone, composing a short text to Declan. She arranged for the text to arrive on his phone at quarter to five, knowing it would give him enough time to finish his meeting, and also her enough time to cancel the text if her suspicions proved to be unfounded. Her gaze darted to the clock on her phone. It was ten minutes before one. This is it; this is all the time I have.
Half walking and half stumbling up the snowy path, Charlie made her way onto the porch. She put her key in the lock, frowning when she realized Mikki must have forgotten to lock it. They all needed to be more careful. Her sweaty hand touched the doorknob and slid when she first went to open it. Swallowing hard, she wiped her clammy palm on the side of her coat, opening the door. A frown tugged at her lips as she pushed inside, closing and locking the door behind her. The minute she stepped inside the living room, she realized she wasn’t alone.
Charlie’s breath caught when she saw Katherine and Griffin standing, waiting, grim expressions on their faces.
“Nervous are we?” Katherine spoke in a tone that sent shivers down her spine.
Charlie managed to nod. “Yes, a little.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine given you have what I came for. Do you have it?”
Charlie could barely remember if she’d brought the initial agreement with her. Did she even create one? It seemed so long ago even though she’d left the office forty minutes ago. “Yes, I have it with me.”
“Good. Let’s have it.”
Charlie forced herself to smile and nod. She didn’t want Katherine to be able to gauge anything more than a perceived nervousness. “All right.”
“Good job,” Katherine said. “But, I am still not entirely satisfied. There’s one more thing I want you to do for me.”
“Katherine, I did as you asked. I’m not going to manipulate Declan any further.”
“You’re right about that. We are going to make sure you don’t have anything to do with Declan again.”
Charlie was about to answer her when a set of hands reached out, pulling her further into the living room. “Griffin!” she screamed. He sported a giant bandage across his forehead, and he grinned maniacally, pulling her close to him.
“My sweet slave,” he said, breathing harshly into her ear. “You’ll never see that bastard again. He has it coming to him, after what he’s done to Kat and me.” His gaze raked over her body, and he licked his lips. “As for you, my dear, I do believe I still owe you a punishment, don’t I?”
No. No … Katherine and Griffin together? I want to go back and explain everything to Declan and get out of all this, but it was now impossible.
“First things first,” Griffin said, spinning Charlie around and grabbing something off the table. “Put your hands behind your back, you stupid slut.”
Frightened, Charlie did as he asked. Without a moment’s hesitation, Griffin trapped her arms, wrapping her wrists in duct tape. He shoved her onto the couch. She fell, her face pushed into the cushions. Charlie quietly sobbed into the soft material, not wanting to anger Griffin any further, but he saw her and heard her weeping despite her attempts to quell it.
“What the fuck are you crying for?”
“Why … Why are you doing this?” Charlie asked.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Please. Please tell me what I’ve done,” she whispered.
“I am not going to bargain with you. You’re still my slave, and you will do whatever I want, no matter what it is.”
“Please,” Charlie pleaded once more. “Griffin, I … ” Thoughts battled it out in her mind against the horror she felt. “Sir,” she spoke, coughing out the word. “Please?”
Griffin stared at her, eyes dark and malicious. Rubbing the bandage on his forehead, he groaned. “Enough! Kat, I’m sick of her stupid mouth. It’s time we did something about it.”
Before she could demand to know what he was talking about, pain exploded through her body. She lay face down on the couch, utterly bewildered. And then pain, more pain, agonizing, splintering through her body as he meted out his violent punishment.
Charlie couldn’t breathe right, it hurt too much. She couldn’t even scream. She was going to die.
That thought hit her, and she didn’t fight it. She couldn’t fight against anything as the needle pierced the flesh of her arm, cold liquid scorching her veins, whisking her away to a place inside her mind.
***
“Are you ready?” Griffin shoved a cup to her mouth.
Charlie nodded, swilling the last of the water he gave her to drink in her mouth. She wished it were something more potent. Swallowing, Charlie slowly exhaled, “Ready.”
Griffin positioned her sitting astride the ladder-backed dining chair. He curled her arms and legs around its wooden frame as Katherine restrained her with the duct tape once again. The hard wood offered her no solace, no reassurance, just cold inanimate indifference. Griffin traced his fingers along Charlie’s face, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear where it had escaped from her ponytail. They continued along her jaw before brushing gently across her lips. Griffin leaned in, placing a feather light kiss on her lips before pulling another chair closer, tucking it underneath himself.
Charlie tried to focus on the conversation Katherine and Griffin were having, but her mind was too shattered from whatever drug it was they had injected into her arm earlier. She heard some music playing in the background, closing her eyes she let it wash over her and for a moment, she found some stillness in all the chaos.
***
Blistering cold, ice, and latex on her face knocked her back into reality. Charlie flicked her eyelids open to see the calm concentration on Griffin’s face as he prepared her for what was to come. She struggled a bit against her restraints, the anxiety pulsing through her veins like electricity. “Stop, Griffin. Please!” She was unable to discern if she voiced her objections or if they were prisoners in her mind. It didn’t matter. The rapid, loud drumbeats drowned out whatever response Griffin issued.. Had the music changed? Charlie realized that the overpowering sound was her pulse pounding in her ears.
Griffin slid his gloved fingers into Charlie’s mouth, pulling her top lip away from her teeth. “I think we are ready.” He smiled, pressing his fingertips painfully into her flesh. “My lovely whore. I do think this will work wonders for that mouth of yours. Perhaps you’ll keep your mouth shut from now on.”
The first pass of the needle burned
like fire, stealing Charlie’s breath with a gasp. Griffin drew the thread through her flesh with an excruciatingly slow pace.
“Exhale slowly.” Katherine’s voice sounded far away, muffled. Charlie scrunched her eyes closed, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that one of her gel nails peeled away from its bed.
Charlie breathed out tiny little puffs of air that flowed over Griffin’s fingers. They pushed back in her mouth, beginning the second pass of the needle. The pain worsened, spearing, piercing pain radiating out from her bottom lip as it raced along neural pathways to her ears and the hollow of her collarbone. Charlie released a high, nasal squeal, but as the thread passed through her violated flesh, the squeal muted into a mewling whimper.
An odd bubble of laughter wound its way upward through her body, escaping in a hiccup. Memories of catfish and fishing with her father unexpectedly sprang to life. I’m a fish. I’m a bloody catfish. Charlie freed slightly more maniacal giggles before Griffin clamped his hand over her face, pinching her nose, palm pressed into her mouth, crushing angry lips against teeth to focus her attention.
“Calm, girl!” Griffin spat out harshly.
The third pass of the needle came unexpectedly. Outside in, instead of inside out, and it glanced Charlie’s front teeth as it moved, curving through her throbbing lip. The drawing of the thread became barely noticeable as the tears fell slowly, her body began to grow hot and trembled.
Charlie’s mind seemed to open just then, stretching out before her like her favorite stationery store—all sorts of neatly arranged paper—parchment, hand-cut greeting cards, notebooks, pads of exquisite delicate paper as thin as tissue, stationery meant for fountain pens, sturdy cardstock capable of enduring any pen’s torture. Her OCD in reams of writing material. And she wandered. Charlie remained aware of the stabbing, pulling, shooting pain as each stitch pierced her lips.
Words held such a prominent spot in her life. Charlie loved to read, talk, and write. There was always something personal and achingly profound about the words. Words were the commerce Charlie dealt in, in her personal life and professional life. And Griffin worked today to painstakingly remove them from her world. All of them. Her pleasure, her joy, her safety net, her expression, her toolbox—all removed by a madman who had no use for them. Charlie found herself more vulnerable now than she’d ever been before. There were no words that could stop Griffin’s madness.
Finished with his work, Griffin rose from the chair, admiring his handiwork. Charlie knew she looked grotesque. Thick, black thread stitching blood red, swollen lips together, a gash crudely refashioned in Frankenstein fashion.
“You’re welcome.” Griffin grinned, stroking her hair out of her face, his touch something altogether different now. Charlie tried to cry out but the stitching held too tightly, and her lips felt twice their usual size. She ran her tongue delicately around the inside of her mouth, immediately wishing she hadn’t.
Chapter Nineteen
Declan stood in the midst of his office, gathering his belongings to head home for the day. Home to Charlotte. No matter that she wasn’t at his house, despite the trite sounding nature of the sentiment, he truly believed she had become his home. He shut the lights off, prepared to shut the door and leave work behind when his phone beckoned. He fished it from his pants pocket, sliding it on to discover two messages from her. There was an unread one from around one this afternoon.
Charlotte: Please read the manuscript ASAP. I need to give Ms. Rouseault the initial paperwork today.
And another that had just arrived.
Charlotte: Declan, I need help, please.
Declan cursed, placing his hands on his desk, bracing himself against the torrent of fear and anger that gathered inside him. Something was horribly wrong, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Something about Charlotte’s persistence with the particular manuscript must be a clue into what was going on with her.
He noticed the manuscript sitting there. He leafed through the pages, finding only a few of them marked. Words and letters circled here and there. The proofer marks didn’t make any sense. Charlotte wasn’t a proofreader; she was a researcher. Perhaps she’s sending me a message. Quickly he retrieved a pad of paper and a pen from the desk drawer and went to work writing down the circled words and letters. When he finished, the code spelled out the message: By the time you read this, I might already be dead. She will kill me.
Fuck! Who the hell is “she?” Declan knew Ruby Rouseault must be a pen name, but it also sounded familiar, like he had heard it before. It didn’t matter at the moment. He flew out of the office door and ran solidly into Owen.
“What’s wrong?” Owen demanded. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know,” Declan choked out. “She’s hurt. I have to go. She’s at her house.”
“Charlotte? Wait. I’ll go with you,” Owen said grimly as he started down the hall to the bank of elevators.
Not arguing, Declan ran after him, his heart beating like a hammer.
“Fuck!” Declan clipped out.
“It will be okay. We’ll get to her. Charlotte will be okay.”
Declan closed his eyes. Despite taking care of Griffin, he should have kept Charlotte better protected, kept a man on her. What if Griffin had gotten to her?
A half hour later, the car had squealed to a stop in front of Charlotte’s craftsman home, and Declan jumped out, Owen close on his heels. The first thing he noticed when he burst through the door was the metallic smell that filled the room. His heart seized at the sight before him.
“Good God!” Declan choked out.
Charlotte lay in a heap in front of the coffee table. Blood was everywhere. It covered her face.
“Call 911,” Declan barked to Owen. God, he should have already called an ambulance, but he hadn’t been thinking. His only thought was to get to her as soon as possible.
He fled to her side, dropping to his knees, afraid to touch her. Her face was a mess, eyes swollen, blood everywhere, lips sewn together with black thread.
“Charlotte, I’m here. I’ve found you. Wake up please, my love. Please.” He was pleading with her as he placed a shaky finger to her neck to check for a pulse.
She stirred, emitting a moan.
Oh, fuck. Someone had tortured her mercilessly. Rage exploded through Declan’s chest until he couldn’t breathe. His vision dimmed, his pulse pounding almost out of his head. He was falling apart, all semblance of control shattering.
She tried to lift her right hand, and he saw she was holding something. He gently pulled it away. It was a screen shot of a picture posted to the Internet; a picture of her splayed out on his table, naked, hot wax poured onto her beautiful body. A picture he had taken for his private enjoyment. And now it was public. How the hell?
He quickly stuffed the photo into his pocket before anyone could see it. If Michaela arrived and discovered it, she would lose her fucking mind. Right now, the only thing Declan wanted to worry about was Charlotte and getting her to a hospital. He would deal with the picture later.
“Is she okay?” Owen asked as he dropped beside Declan. “My God. She’s obviously not okay. Ambulance is on the way. What the fuck happened?”
The sound of the siren approaching washed relief over Declan. “The ambulance is here, my sweet girl,” he soothed. “They’ll get you to the hospital and I won’t leave your side. Stay with me, Charlotte. I love you. I love you so much.”
The EMTs burst through the door, hurrying into the living room, moving in to assess Charlotte’s condition. Declan moved back so he wouldn’t be a hindrance to their examination.
“Diminished breath sounds on the right,” the taller paramedic reported. “Get the oxygen.”
“How bad is she?” Declan questioned.
The paramedic shook his head. “She’s a mess. A few rib fractures at the least, maybe a punctured lung, dislocated shoulder, and then there’s her mouth. We won’t be able to tell the rest until she gets examined at the ER.”
***
Declan arrived in the emergency room waiting area to find Michaela and Aaron being interviewed by two police officers. Aaron did his best to keep her calm, but given the situation, Charlotte’s sister was a wreck. She alternated between loud, heart-wrenching sobs and shrill screams.
Just when there seemed to be a lull in the cacophony, another sound exploded into the small, cramped room. “What the fuck did you do to Charlie?” a familiar voice roared. Declan’s head jerked up as he saw Emerson Stone standing in the entrance to the waiting area, the elevator doors closing behind him. Declan had been so immersed in the scene between the officers and Michaela that he never heard anyone walk in.
“Pearse! What have you done to my sister?” Emerson’s horrified voice filled the air as he lunged for Declan, his fist connecting with his jaw.
Declan went flying amid Michaela’s screams. He hit the tiled floor, Emerson on top of him. Emerson’s expression was murderous. Fury blazed in his eyes and he punched Declan again.
“How could you do this?” Emerson roared. “You sick son of a bitch! I can’t believe you did this to her!”
“Emerson, for Christ’s sake,” Declan bit out. “I didn’t do this. Let me explain.”
“Shut the fuck up! What the fuck is there to explain? How could you do this, Declan? How could you be so damn sadistic? How could you let things get so out of control?” Emerson raged.
“Enough! Stop it this instant! I’ll send Aaron after the cops if you won’t end this.” There was an edge to Michaela’s voice that told Declan how shaken and angry she was.
Push (Bound #1) Page 20