by Keri Lake
When I was twelve years old, my father had defended a man accused of sexually abusing his own fifteen-year-old son. The man had been set free after prosecutors claimed there wasn’t enough evidence, along with the contradictory evidence in the victim’s statement. Three years later, I’d just gotten out of dance class, and was waiting outside for my dad’s secretary to pick me up, when a young guy forced me, at gunpoint, to get in the trunk of his car and drove me around Detroit for an hour. When he’d finally let me out, I’d learned he was the boy who’d been molested. He’d blamed my father for letting his abuser walk free, and believed that kidnapping me would show Karl Kutscher how it felt to have someone he loved ravaged so sadistically.
He’d grievously overestimated my father’s love for me.
Although he’d managed to disfigure me with a scar that mirrored his own, he ultimately didn’t rape me, as he’d planned. Instead, in the empty lot where he’d parked, he moved to the backseat of the car and blew his own brains out in front of me.
Years of therapy couldn’t erase the visuals that would stick with me for the rest of my life, making backseats as frightening to me as an opened closet door at bedtime.
Yet another consequence of being the daughter of a bastard.
I hated that I was expected to follow in my father’s crook-coddling footsteps by pursuing Criminal Defense Law. I’d had my own personal experience to know that innocent until proven guilty sometimes resulted in a tragic perversion of justice.
However, despite the trauma of that day, I never really hated the kid for what he did to me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the hell inside his mind, the truth that’d lain in bits and fragments across the rear window.
After firing up the Jetta, I headed back toward my own apartment. No doubt, the parking lot would be packed with all the students returning from the weekend—the only thing that sucked about living closer to campus, which was why I’d opted for public transportation everywhere else. I’d managed to score a front row spot the first week, but no way it’d be there so late on a Sunday.
Pulling into the parking structure, I groaned at the cars already filled in the front spaces on the first level, and drove to the second level, then the third, until I found a space in the back.
The creepiest part about the garage was the closed stairwell, lit by what felt like a twenty-watt lightbulb. After parking, I slipped my bag over my shoulder and weaved my keys between my knuckles, before opening the door. Nerves primed and attention wired, I scampered down the two flights of stairs until I reached the main level, and once out on the street, I made my way up the sidewalk toward the apartment building.
I skidded to a halt at movement within the apartment entrance.
With a smile plastered on his face, Dane pushed through the door toward me, as if he were a welcomed sight.
“What are you doing here?” Jesus Christ, I hoped he hadn’t moved in, or something.
“I just popped in to see you. Your roommate’s a real charmer,” he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder as if she stood behind him.
I glanced up toward the apartment, where Bea peered out of the window, the upturn of her brows telling me she was uneasy about something. “She let you in? What did you say to her?”
He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets like a kid who’d been caught stealing a porn mag—devious and fighting the urge to laugh it off. “I just said I was an old friend who’d come by to say hello.”
No. No, no, no. “I told you. We’re over. Stay away from me. You have a girlfriend, remember?”
With a troubled expression, his lips flattened in some dramatic display that could’ve earned him an Oscar, and he cleared his throat. “We broke it off.”
More like, he’d lied.
This isn’t my first rodeo, asshole.
“I realized when I saw you the other night, I’m miserable. And I’ve changed.” He stepped toward me, and the moment his hand touched my elbow, I drew back. I didn’t necessarily intend to draw a fist, but I did, and as his eyes dipped toward my balled hands and back, the amused grin on his face taunted me to hammer forward and knock those perfect white teeth from his mouth. “Y’gonna hit me, Sera? Tough girl with the big bad boyfriend in black?”
“Leave me alone. Don’t call. Don’t text. And don’t come here again, or I’m calling the police.”
“Fine. If that’s what you want.” His lips peeled back into a snarl, and he lurched toward me.
“Is there a problem here?” Ty’s voice from behind didn’t strike me as any more welcome, and I skirted around Dane, putting the apartment at my back and keeping both men in sight.
“Both of you. Stay the fuck away from me!” I inched toward the door, my knuckles still divided by the keys.
“Sera?” The confusion on Ty’s face didn’t match the smug smirk of Dane’s. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll see you around, Sera,” Dane said, heading toward the street.
Ty grabbed him by the arm as he passed, but Dane wrenched his arm back and stepped forward, in his opponent’s face.
Without so much as a flinch, Ty smiled back at him. “You’re asking for trouble, and trouble will inevitably answer.”
Standing slightly shorter, and a little less composed, Dane grinned. “Oh, yeah? What’s a lowly construction worker going to do, huh? You touch me, and I’ll have a lawsuit on your ass so quick, it’ll make your fucking hardhat spin.”
Ty just chuckled and shook his head, never breaking eye contact as the two of them continued to face off like a pair of stubborn bulls.
“I’m done. I’m done with both of you. Leave me alone, or I’ll have a restraining order slapped on both your asses.” I spun around, pushing through the entrance on a determined path to the elevator, and up to the third floor.
Not even two steps in the door, and Bea came around the corner, pale and shaken. “Is he gone?” she asked, her cigarette dangling from her fingertips, which told me she’d been rattled, because she didn’t usually smoke in the apartment.
“What happened? What did he say?”
“It’s not what he said.” She pointed past me, and for one split paranoid-filled second, I glanced back to make sure he wasn’t standing behind me. “That’s the guy who fucking punched me the night at the Savarine! He’s the one who got into a fight with Theo!”
“What?”
“That crazy asshole came up here, claiming to be your boyfriend! Please tell me that isn’t true, because that motherfucker is off his rocker, and I’ll have to move—”
“No. Hell, fucking no, he isn’t my boyfriend. We dated in high school, and I ditched him because he’s psycho.” I lodged my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of everything as I made my way past her and dumped my bag beside the couch. “He’s been following me all along! Jesus Christ, he was at the party that night.”
“Yeah, that’s not all. Loverboy told me that, if I said anything to you? He’d make it round two for me.” She stuck her finger up as though flipping me off. “Fuck him. I’m not some meek little bitch who lays down for a man. Fuck. Him.”
“I’m sorry, Bea. I didn’t mean to tangle you up in my shit.” Slapping a hand to my forehead, I fell onto the couch, and at the prod of the TV remote hitting my ass, I winced and pulled it out from under me. “Ty had nothing to do with any of this, then.”
Wearing a confused expression, she shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“I got a text yesterday. Stalkerish. Anyway, he claimed to be Ty. And I believed him, because he mentioned the Savarine and riding on Ty’s Ducati. He knew things, ya know?”
“Ty rides a Ducati? Fuck me. Is there anything not hot about him?”
“No. But it doesn’t matter, because I told him—”
A knock at the door skated down my nerves, and both Bea and I shot a glance toward the door and back to each other. Finger pressed to my lips, I gestured for her to be quiet, and grabbed my phone just in case, tiptoeing toward the entranc
e. Through the peephole, Ty stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, those blue eyes burning holes into my conscience, and I glanced back at Bea, shaking my head to let her know it wasn’t Dane.
With remorse needling my stomach, I took a breath, opened the door, and jumped head first into my apology. “I’m sorry. I … thought.” I tapped the phone to my forehead, to settle the jumbling of words in my skull. “I got a text yesterday. A scary one. I thought you sent it.”
“You never gave me your phone number.”
“How did you … get in? By the way?”
“Another student let me in.”
I shook my head, and folded my arms over my chest. “Just like that? Just … let a complete stranger into the building?”
He shrugged and licked his lips, before they widened into a wolfish grin. “I told her that I had to make things right with my girl.”
“Your girl?” Brow cocked, I kicked my head to the side, slanting him a narrow-eyed look. “That’s a bit fast, don’t you think?”
“I had to make it convincing. Woulda sounded like an asshole if I’d have called you some chick that was grinding all over me at the club.”
I bit my cheek to stifle a smile and slapped his arm. “I was not grinding on you. Other way around, as I recall.”
With a step closer, he leaned against the doorframe and stared down at me. Crossing his arms brought the bulge of his biceps to my attention, and the memory of those guns wrapped around me at the club. “So, you giving it to me? Your phone number?”
“Is that why you came here? Following me again?”
“I didn’t follow you. I came here to ask you out.”
I was certain the dimples popped out on my cheeks, as I shook my head. “You’re persistent.”
“I prefer tenacious. Sounds better.”
I chewed on my lip, arms crossed. “And if I said yes, where would you take me?”
“Someplace you’ve never been before.”
“What makes you so sure I’ve not been there?”
“If you have, I’d be pretty surprised.” His hand disappeared inside his pants pocket, and he pulled out his phone. “What’s your phone number?”
“What’s yours?”
Brow cocked, he stood with his thumb hovering over the screen, ready to punch in the number. “Ladies first.”
I rattled off the seven digits, and he added me to his contacts. “Do I get yours?”
“I’ll text you.” Eyes on me, he slid the phone back into his pocket.
“If I get any more creepy texts from here on out, you’re considered a suspect until I know your number. Just letting you know.”
“What qualifies as creepy?”
“Pictures of the back of my head, or of me sleeping. And dick pics.”
His mouth stretched to a roguish smile that crinkled his eyes, and holy hell, it was perfect. I wanted to snap a pic of him, just so I could study all the finer details my eyes weren’t even picking up on in all that brilliance. “I’ll save the dick pics for when you’re feeling up to them.” He leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll pick you up Friday at five.”
“Wow. An early date?”
His tongue traced his lips, and I watched, mesmerized by the wet sheen. “I’ve got a lot of things planned for you.”
11
Jameson
Nine years ago …
Blood-chilling cold.
An ache in my jaw pulled me from the wooziness that’d settled over me. When I opened my eyes, though, the darkness didn’t go away. I double blinked, only the flapping of my lashes across my cheekbone telling me I was awake. Blackness surrounded me, where I lay against what felt like cold metal grates pressing into my muscles, the sharp, protruding prongs scraping across my skin.
Sickness churned in my stomach, like when I’d spend too much time outside and forget to drink water. I jerked my arm, rattling a chain attached to my right wrist, the cuff of it biting into my bones. With a shaky hand, I followed the path of the chain in darkness, locating the end of it bolted to the metal frame beneath me.
Finding my left hand unbound, I patted along my body, taking comfort in knowing I was clothed, in spite of the chill humming along my bones. Though, I’d no idea what they’d done to me after I’d passed out—a thought that balled my stomach into tight knots of terror.
I pushed up, and the hard crack against my skull knocked me back down again. I reached out, palpating hard metal grates, and up along the side of what felt like wooden planks. The surface pricked my finger. I drew back and blindly finger-tweezed a sharp nettle of wood from the source of pain. Careful the second time, I reached again and tapped my fingers across the wood in front of me, the warped curves of it offering gaps, through which I could slip my hand up to my palm.
I pawed at the floor again, my mind scrambling to puzzle my surroundings together. A metallic scent, like old tools, suggested some kind of storage space, and the damp, moldy undertones hinted I was in a basement. But what the hell were the metal grates beneath me? Some kind of cage inside a pantry? I kicked out my feet, rattling the metal, only to find the space accommodated no more than my bent form.
Over the swishing of blood in my ears, voices emerged. Laughing. More than one. Two. No, three distinct voices.
“Help! Help me!” I slammed my feet and hands against the metal to make noise.
“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, James. Oh, fuck.” Eli’s voice, even brimming with terror, offered a small comfort in the surrounding blackness.
“Can you see anything?”
“No. Nothing.” His quiet whimper escalated into a squeal of panic. “Those cocksuckers put us in a cage!”
“A closet, or something,” I corrected. “And some kind of metal floor.” I tried to make sense of its purpose, based on what I’d unseeingly touched.
“They’re going to kill us. They’re gonna fucking kill us in this shithole, and nobody will find us, Jay.”
“Just … let me think.”
A creaking sound broke my thoughts.
A bright yellowish glow bled through the wide gaps of the door, allowing me to see that they were, in fact, wooden planks, the slats so worn down and misshapen, they failed to serve as a barrier. Through the chinks in the wood, I could see a room with brown pools of water scattered over the concrete floor, in the center of which sat a box shape, draped in a black curtain. I lifted my head, staring at it, studying its purpose—or, more importantly, what might be in it.
“You see that box?” I called out to Eli, hoping to get some idea of where he sat.
“Yeah. I see it.”
The door to the room beyond must’ve sat somewhere to my right, because shadows danced across the water-stained cement walls in front of me, melding into the dark parts of the room, warning me we were no longer alone. My nerves flared as I sat forward, searching through the gaps for who had entered the room.
Cold black eyes, like two empty graves, peered in from outside the door, and I kicked myself away from Fox. With his face shining beneath the penetrating light, the warped barrier between us wasn’t enough to shield me from his curious stare. “Hello, sleepy head,” he said. “Right about now, you’re probably wondering what the hell is going on. Why you’re in here.” His gaze shifted to my left and back to me. “You boys don’t hold your liquor very well.” From somewhere beside him, he produced a flip phone, holding it up so I could just make out the back of my head, as I sat slung over a dirty toilet seat.
Flashes of memory flickered like snapshots through my mind. Being forced to drink. The room spinning. Burns searing into my skin. Feeling sick. The blackness settling over me.
He pulled the phone back and chuckled, looking down at the glowing screen. “Here’s another one.”
My teeth chattered with the tension in my jaw, as I stared at a picture of Eli passed out and sprawled across a couch, completely naked. “You sick fucks.” I turned my attention away from it, unable to look at his helplessness.
“Oh, don
’t you worry, son. Nobody touched you, or your pansy little boyfriend.”
“Why are you doing this?” I gritted out, and hammered my foot against the door, kicking Fox backward.
Jaw shifting, he spat onto the floor and shook his head. “We don’t tolerate that shit, boy. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine.” He waved his hand to the side, and another face appeared through the cracks. “Joey Trevisano, Trevi for short, but we like to call ‘im the Fat Italian Bastard.”
The new man’s size dwarfed Fox—a disgusting pig of a man, with tattoos crawling up his neck. “Look at that pretty face just itching to be bruised up.”
I clenched my teeth, hands balled into tight fists, as I refused to break eye contact with him.
“Now don’t be intimidated by this one. He’s nothing but a big … fat teddy bear.” With an obnoxious laugh, Fox slammed a hand against the fat guy’s back. “This one’s quite the Joker. Tell ‘im a joke, Trevi.”
Trevi smirked, holding eye contact with me.
“C’mon, just one,” Fox persisted. “Make the kid feel more at home.”
Trevi stroked his chin, bringing into view a snake tattoo that wrapped around the back of his palm, across his knuckles. “Okay, so what’s the difference between a rabbi and a priest, huh?" He only paused a moment, glancing toward Fox then back to me. “A rabbi cuts them off and a priest sucks them off.”
Both men kicked their heads back, laughing at his joke, and Fox grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “See? Funny as a motherfucker, this one! Tell ‘im another one, Trevi.”
“Let us go, you fucking twats!” The wobble in Eli’s voice signaled he was on the brink of tears, while still holding some of the blistering anger inside of him.
“Excuse me.” Both men disappeared from view, and I lurched forward, twisting myself awkwardly over the metal springs that squeaked beneath me.
I peered through the gaps, my pulse pounding with every thud of their boots across the floor.
They disappeared into the shadowy areas to the left. Only the stuttering moron from before stood where I could still see him, his eyes focused somewhere to the left of me, where I assumed Eli might be.