Soul

by Audrey Carlan

  Agent Brennen opens the door to the motor home and goes in, Thomas hot on his heels. Nothing moves. Jack and I are dead silent waiting for something…anything to happen. I caress the trigger of my gun and lift it high, pointing directly at the motor home’s door. A figure emerges, my heart feels like it’s going to jackhammer out of my chest until the form enters the light of the moon. Thomas. His gun is down and he’s shaking his head. I slump against the tree I was standing near and take a few deep breaths. Jack is already in motion running across the overgrown grass.

  When I meet up with them Thomas’s shoulders are slumped and he’s pushing a shaky hand through his hair. “He’s not here, but it looks as though he’s been here recently. There’s food in a cooler that’s still on ice. Someone has definitely been here and may come back. We need to head out, set up a perimeter. It could be anyone. A squatter or someone he’s renting the land to.”

  “Wouldn’t there be records of that?” I ask.

  “Not if he takes payment in cash. We need to look into this, notify the authorities in the area, find out if the motor home is in his name,” Agent Brennen adds. “and the rest of you need to fucking sleep.”

  “Yeah, man, when was the last time you got some shut-eye?” Thomas adds.

  “None of your goddamned business. Jack, let’s get a hotel. We’re coming back at first light to search this place.”

  Jack tips his chin up and follows me back out of the woods.

  The closest hotel is a shit hole, but I imagine it’s a hundred times better than what Gillian could be living in. Jack insists on connecting rooms. Says he has a bad feeling, and I’ve learned not to question those.

  Jack enters the room and sets two pills on the sideboard, along with a bottle of water and a sandwich wrapped in plastic. Looks like the same sandwich I didn’t eat on the plane. “I’m not hungry,” I say even though my stomach growls loudly.

  His eyes narrow. “You need to eat, drink the water, and sleep.”

  “I told you, Jack, I’m not fucking hungry.”

  Jack grips my shoulders hard and brings his face closer to mine, closer than he’s ever come at me before. “Look, you know I’m not usually the type to tell you what to do,”—his mouth pinches tight and his lips turn white—“but if you have any hope of bringing her home, you need to take care of yourself. Eat, take the fucking pills, and sleep it off. At first light we’re back on that land and smoking out whoever has been staying in the motor home. Got it?” He shakes my shoulders as if he was shaking sense into me.

  I grit my teeth and look hard into his eyes. They are ebony holes of anger, not at me but for me. I give a tight nod, pick up the pills, and chug back the water. In what feels like a minute, I’ve demolished the sandwich never having tasted it.

  Daniel

  She better be clean and dressed for me. I can’t wait to burn that disgusting wedding gown. Today I’ll build a bonfire, shackle her, and have her watch while it goes up in smoke just like the memory of the rich fucker. Then, I’ll bring her into my motor home and prove how much I’ve missed having her body under mine. It will be perfect. I’ll kiss every bruise, cut, and scrape, showing her that I can worship her again. Just like before, only this time she’ll know the real me. Maybe I’ll even tell her my real name. She’d like that. Something no one else knows.

  Kissing her yesterday was close to perfection until she bit me. Of course, that was because she was overtaken with lust. It has been well over a year since I’ve put my lips on her pretty pink ones. And her scent. Fucking hell, that vanilla lingers even after four days. Maybe she’s just that sweet, her body naturally creating the nectar to drive me wild.

  I wade through the backside of the woods from my property. I’ve got my car hidden in a dilapidated barn on the abandoned lot next to mine. You can never be too careful. And now that she’s been missing for four full days, I’m sure all resources are being put to finding her. I smile to myself knowing they never will. If they didn’t figure out who I was before the wedding, they most certainly wouldn’t have since.

  As I’m walking through the woods, the moisture from the early morning dew mists across my face keeping me cool. The trees give the air a rich, natural, woodsy scent. Reminds me of the good parts of my childhood. Running through the trees, climbing them, hiding from my father. The memories of him are always hiding just under the surface and being here has not helped me to forget.

  My father and I used to shoot paintball guns in these woods. At seven years old, I was a professional. My father was better and ruthless. He didn’t allow me to wear protective gear. Said that I needed to learn how to be a real man. After a session of paintball in the woods, I’d barely be able to crawl home. Mom wasn’t much help. She’d clean me up, of course, or she’d end up getting smacked around, but she didn’t care that her child was hurt. I’d stand there naked, embarrassed, my entire body covered in black and blue bruises, red welts, and open sores. My father liked to use the stronger bullets and higher air speed toward the end of our game. A game. Shooting your seven-year-old repeatedly with hundreds of paintballs, was a game to him. One I lost every time, but not before getting in several of my own shots.

  When I was ten, we stopped playing. I’d gotten as good as he was, and he ended up receiving as many hits as I did. One of the best days of my life was seeing my dad walking as if he was a cripple back to our home. Only my mother didn’t fare so well that night. He beat the shit of her, which she then took out on me the next day. Back then, I’d never hit a woman. Now, I know what women are. All useless holes to fuck, to shoot your wad in as many times as a wet pussy could take. Not my princess though. Her skin is white like an Angel’s. Her pussy is soft, pink, and snug. I shake with desire, recalling the last time I was inside her tight sheath.

  Thinking of my princess reminds me of the satchel on my back. Gillian’s going to love the things I’ve brought her this morning. Fresh fruit—she seemed to like that apple yesterday—bakery bread, butter, and a decadent dessert. I remember how much she loves to end a meal with a sweet. I’ll show her just how thoughtful I can be if she’ll let me. Eventually though, I’ll have her back, wanting me, making love to me willingly. Tonight though, I’m going to have to take her even if I need to tie her down and make love to her struggling form. If she screams, I’ll just gag her. If it takes all night, I’ll love on her, make her feel so good until she forgets any other man who came before me.

  The rope in my bag will do just fine. My dick stirs in my pants, reminding me I haven’t fucked a woman in a few days. That Dana bitch was a nice hole, pretty enough face when I opened my eyes. Most of the time I fucked her with her face pressed into the mattress and her ass in the air. The same way Gillian wanted me to fuck her that one time. No. I won’t fuck my perfect girl like a whore. Only the empty holes of the faceless women could be fucked like that. Gillian deserves more, and tonight, I’ll give it to her. One way or another, she is going to have her legs spread wide, her arms open in invitation and her body bared to me. Only me.

  I make it close to my home and hear voices. Silently, I set down the heavy weight of the pack I carried leaning it against a tree. Slinking closer, I can see that pig cop Thomas Redding and a gray haired man scanning the ground around my motor home.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  I reach into the back of my pants and pull out my gun. I can take them out one by one without anyone being the wiser. Just as I get Thomas’s head in my sights and my finger pressing ever so slightly on the trigger, I hear it. A voice. Scanning to the exact place I don’t want anyone to go, I find Jack Porter’s large form. He is at least fifty yards from where I stand, but I know he’s found it. The storm shelter. I watch, with a lethal shot pointed at his head, as he waves. Then the bane of my fucking existence is running toward him. Chase Motherfucking Davis.

  Goddammit!

  How the fuck did they find this place? Seething anger rips through my body and tears along the edges of my skin. I grind down on my teeth as I see Jack Porter s
catter the leaves I have used to hide my storm shelter. They’re going to find her. A gunshot rings out, the lock probably blasted into pieces. I watch in sick fascination as they open the latch, and Jack’s frame followed by Chase’s disappear down the stairs. Seeing Thomas and the gray haired guy running across the clearing, I run back down the opposite side of the mountain.

  Gillian

  The sound of a gunshot pierces the silence of my tiny cell. I wake with a start, pull my knees into my chest, and press as far as I can against the cold cinderblock. There isn’t anywhere else I can go.

  “Get away from the door, we’re coming in,” a man’s muffled voice says through the door. Then, another gunshot.

  I scream and cower into the corner, my shackles cutting painfully into my wrists and ankles. I can hear sounds in the dark until the light blazes like the sun into the room. I shut my eyes and hide my face.

  “Baby, oh my God, Gillian!” The voice is Chase’s, but I don’t believe it. He didn’t come for me. It’s a trick. My mind is playing tricks on me. I’ll throw my arms around him, and I’ll wake up, and it will be Danny all over again, groping me, touching me, kissing me. Violent sobs wrack my frame as I hold onto my knees.

  Hands are pulling at the blanket covering me then at my shackled hands. “No, no, don’t touch me!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Please God, someone hear me. Get him off me. “Chase!” I yell as loud as I can, hoping anyone, someone, will hear me.

  “It’s me, Gillian. Baby, it’s Chase.” Fingers are on my face, light caresses, much softer than Daniel has touched me. “I’m here. We got you.” He presses his forehead against mine and the scent of sandalwood and citrus enters my nostrils. I open my eyes and stare into the stunning Caribbean blue eyes. Tears fill those ocean-colored orbs and fall down the sides of his cheeks.

  “Chase,” I croak, my gaze cataloging every feature, every nuance. “You came,” I whisper, tears pouring down my cheeks. His hands gently clasp my battered face, his thumbs swiping along the apples of my cheekbones.

  “What did he do to you?” His voice is hoarse, full of emotion.

  I shake my head and watch as he does his own examination. His thumbs pet my busted lips, the bruises over my face. Based on the way his jaw gets tighter, I know it’s bad. The fact that I can barely feel the pain anymore, due to being so cold, I know I’m in a state of severe shock.

  A man I don’t recognize comes over to me. “I’m Agent Brennen, Mrs. Davis.” Mrs. Davis. He called me Mrs. Davis. More tears slide down my cheeks. “I’ve got a medical chopper on its way. We have to get you out of these chains. Can you stand?” Chase stands close helping me up. The chains shriek along the pulley system.

  “What the fuck is this?” Chase traces a hand up the thick, rusted, iron chains attached to my wrists and feet. I stand barefoot in the pasty vomit, which hasn’t even completely dried from last night, but I could care less. He is here. Chase found me. “I want her out of here now.” His tone is a deep protective growl.

  Jack comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. I cower into Chase. “Let me see your wrist.” Chase grabs my hand and holds it out. “I found this in that closet at the top of the stairs.” He pushes a heavy looking metal key into the lock at my wrist and turns. The shackle drops to the ground with a bang. I jump at the noise but allow Chase to maneuver my other hand to get that bond off. Jack pushes aside the toile of the bottom half of my wedding dress and unhooks the remaining bands. I wince as each one is removed.

  The big bodyguard breathes in deep. “She’s bleeding around each ankle and wrist. The wounds on her ankles are showing signs of advanced infection,” he says but I can barely hear him. “Get her out of here.”

  Instantly, the world turns upside down. Lights and sounds move in a swirl in a dizzying motion through my vision. The light gets brighter as I am carried up what I think are a set of stairs. Ice-cold air hits the bare arms of my skin, and I shiver, my teeth chattering automatically. A whirring sound gets louder and louder, and I’m bounced up and down. I hold on tight to Chase, focus on his scent, his heartbeat and his warmth. Nothing can touch me if I am with him. Just him. Surrounded by his love.

  Vaguely, I realize I am being laid down, and a woman and man are barking orders. The whirring sound is so loud, and I’m beyond freezing. So cold. Only one point on my body is warm, and that’s my hand, because Chase holds it tight, never letting me go.

  “You found me,” I say, trying to get my eyes to stop rolling around.

  “I’ll always find you and bring you back to me,” he promises, his lips pressing down against my cracked lips in a feather-light touch. For the first time in four days, I close my eyes and am blessedly free. Chase has me, and I know he will never let me go.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gillian

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “Chase, baby, turn off the alarm,” I mumble. Turning my head, I feel scratchy linen against the tender skin of my cheek. “Ouch, burns,” I turn my head to the other side and feel the same gritty fabric, only this time, it’s coupled with a zing of pain which makes me open my eyes. The room is fuzzy, hazy even as I attempt to adjust to my surroundings. White. Everything is white. I scan the room while opening and closing my eyes. The process takes a great deal of effort because my eyelids feel like they have tiny chains weighing down each one making it almost impossible to keep them open.

  Finally, I turn my head all the way to the right and find the most beautiful face known to mankind. Eyes so blue I can swim in them, and I do, often. A slow, painful smile slips across my face as I take in every feature. His thick, coffee-colored hair is a mess of layers falling along the sides of his temples and forehead. A testament to how many times he’s likely brushed his fingers through it or given it a good tugging. He’s sporting a few days beard growth, more than I’ve ever seen. Makes him look more rugged and dangerous. I quite like it. Instead of the ever-present tick in his jaw he’s sporting a huge, toothy grin.

  It takes me a moment, but I notice that I’m holding his hand. The happiness I see in his eyes and the strength with which he holds my hand tells me everything I need to know. I’m safe and I’m home.

  “How do you feel?” he asks and leans a hip on the bed. While I take stock of my body, he places kisses all over my palm. He closes his eyes, pressing my hand to his cheek. I push back appreciating the gentle caress.

  I point my toes and rivers of tension and a burning sensation trail up my legs. Sucking in a breath, I let the air flow between my teeth until the pain subsides. Squeezing my hands into fists, I find I can barely lift my own arms. It’s as if I’m lying in quicksand, my body having succumbed completely to the pressure and ache deep within my bones. “I’ll survive. Seeing you, though, makes it better.” His eyebrows furrow, but I look away. Scanning the room, I see all the flowers and cards. Three sets of perfect white daisies perch prettily along the window, proving my soul sisters have been here.

  Seeing those flowers is when it all comes crashing down. “Oh my God, are the girls okay? Did he hurt them?”

  Chase shakes his head and leans forward, cupping my cheeks so softly I can barely tell they are there. “No, Baby, no. They’re all fine. Phillip, too.”

  His eyes search mine. Then it hits me. Tears fall unchecked down my cheeks. “What’s the matter? Gillian? Are you in pain?” His face twists into a grimace. “I’ll get the doctor.” He moves to stand, but I hold him in place.

  “Chase, your mom. I’m so sorry…” I choke out the rest of what I need to say. “It’s m-my f-fault,” I shudder as tears fall in a deluge of sorrow.

  “No, no, no, nuh-uh. Do not even start with that. You did nothing wrong. It’s that sick fuck who did all of this.” Chase kisses my forehead and whispers against it. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just so thankful, so happy to have you home. Gillian, God…I’m nothing without you.”

  I hold his cheeks as he places kisses all over my face. I know it’s bruised, but the meds they’ve got me on are masking any seriou
s pain. “I thought I’d never see you again.” I admit, the grief and residual fear cropping up to dig gnarly claws into my psyche.

  “Baby, there’s nothing that could ever keep me from you. Don’t you know that by now?” I smile and he wipes away my tears because I do know that. He’s proven more than once that he’ll do anything, pay any price to take care of me. Only none of us were prepared for the stalker to be my ex-boyfriend, Daniel McBride. It never once dawned on me that he could have a nefarious and demented side to him. During our relationship, he’d been nothing but kind, generous and sweet. Treated me like a queen. Always. Even helped me get that restraining order against Justin when I needed one.

  Justin. Another pawn in Danny’s game. Made me wonder if he did have something to do with Justin’s death. I’d bet money on it. Justin was not the type of man to take his own life, especially without leaving some type of manifesto or legacy behind. Plus, the cops found no suicide note.

  “How long have I been out?” I push into the mattress and try to sit up. My muscles ache and lock in protest.

  “Two days.” Chase’s voice is heavy, as if he’s been carrying around an anvil the last couple days. I close my eyes and try not to let that destroy the warm feeling I have being here, safe, and with the man I love. The man I’m meant to love.

  “You’ve been worried.” It’s a rhetorical statement. I can see the shadows underneath his eyes, the gray pallor to his usually tanned skin, and the weight he’s lost. At least ten pounds in the past week. Though I’m absolutely certain I look no better. Before the wedding, I’d lost a lot of weight. Worrying about Phillip, then Bree, and the attack by Justin, and planning our wedding. Add abduction to that list, and you’ve got a woman who’s normally a curvy, size eight who’s now probably a size two.

  “I’m just elated you’re back, that you’re awake and on the mend.”

  I scooch as much as I can to the side even though my limbs and muscles protest aggressively, sending lightning bolts of pain throughout my body. Clenching my teeth, I move to the side. “Get in. I can feel my eyes getting heavy, and you look dead on your feet.”