No wonder I could hear him breathing. The sicko is sitting just inches from me. I watch his eyes search mine as his lips part. I break eye contact to quickly scan the room. It takes me less than a second to confirm that I’m not in my cell. White candles are burning throughout, giving the room a cozy, romantic feel. To top it off, a roaring fire is ablaze in the fireplace directly in front of me. I will my hands to move, but I flinch as pins and needles shoot down my arms. He has me tied to a post on a king-sized bed. I don’t want to know what he may have done to me while I was out cold, but I clench my legs together anyway, to see if I can feel something, signs that he may have violated me. I hold back my sigh of relief when the only pain I feel is in my head, most likely from the drug he shot me up with. I’m also still fully clothed and wearing the same leggings and t-shirt I put on after Griffin and I made love.
My heart breaks at the thought of Griffin coming home and finding me gone. Will he think that I just up and left him? He has to know that I would never do that. That he is what I never knew I needed. No, he knows I love him. He’ll come. Somehow, he’ll find me.
“Welcome home, Bree.”
Bree?
I’m just about to tell this asshole that he has the wrong girl when I remember the conversation I had with Trent last night. Although Trent and Griffin had no evidence that Brady Sullivan could be involved in my kidnapping, he was someone they were planning to look into. Which meant that I demanded Trent tell me everything he knew about Quarry Hill’s chief of police. By the time the grilling was over I learned that Brady had a shitty childhood, an addict for a mother, and had left town with his sister, Bree, to live with his uncle after his mother overdosed.
“You’re safe now. They will never hurt you again. I promise,” Brady says, stroking my hair.
I snap my head to the side and cringe. I hear him growl and rise to his feet. I don’t know what scares me more. His soft, gentle tone or the harsh one. “I love you and you love me, Bree,” he hisses.
Why does he keep calling me Bree?
“You didn’t care about my safety when your men drugged me. You didn’t seem to be all that concerned that one of your men had been moments away from raping me!” I say through clenched teeth.
I feel fingers at my chin as he forces me to look at him. “Who? Who almost touched what’s mine?” His breathing has quickened and his nostrils are flaring. He looks genuinely confused and royally pissed off, which makes no sense.
“The asshole with the spider tattoo. The one I stabbed in the throat. Is he dead? I fucking hope so. I wish I could have stayed and watched him bleed out.”
He doesn’t answer me as he releases my chin. I watch him pace the room and I take the opportunity to shift and try to get some feeling back into my numb limbs.
“Where did you go after you killed Mace?”
My squirming stops and the knots in my stomach tighten. I know he knows that Trent is involved because he snatched me from Trent’s home, but I have no idea if he knows about Griffin. That Griffin is the one who found me, took care and made love to me. “I…just ran. It was raining. I don’t know how long I had been running before I passed out.” It’s a partial lie. I had been running in the rain. And I did pass out that night after I had cracked my head open on a rock.
Brady walks over to the bed and sits next to me. My eyes lock onto his right hand, on the fingers that have landed on my left thigh. He trails them up my leg, hesitates when he reaches the space between my legs and then grips my hip. “Why were you at Trent’s? Did he touch you? Did Griffin McGuire hurt you?”
He knows about Griffin.
I shudder at the crazed look in his eye, the way he practically snarls. For Trent and Griffin’s sakes I lie and say, “They had been out driving and found me on the side of the road, bleeding…from my head and leg. They took me back to Trent’s and stitched me up. I had a concussion and I didn’t remember anything, not right away. That’s where I’ve been all week. Recuperating.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off mine as he digests my lie. His eyes darken and I know he’s not buying it. I panic and say, “I cut my head when I fell. See?” I raise my eyebrows and tilt my chin to try to make his gaze zero in on the cut on my scalp. Griffin took the stitches out two days ago, but the skin is still pink and delicate.
Silence ensues and I watch him clench and unclench his fists. His lips are in a tight line as he roughly breathes in and out. My own breath hitches and in an instant he is on me, straddling me. His hands are around my neck and he’s squeezing the life out of me. “Did you want them? Let them touch you?” he shouts.
I buck off the bed but he doesn’t even budge. I try to tell him to stop, but he continues to cut off my air supply with his thumbs. It’s not until I mouth his name that he releases me. Something resembling regret washes over his face and he dismounts. I’m gasping for air as he tells me he’s sorry and hurriedly unties me from the bed. Seconds later he gathers me into his arms and holds me like a child. “Forgive me, Bree. Say you still need me. Tell me you need me to protect you. Say it, Bree. Tell your brother that he can have you again.” His words are a gruff plea in my hair as he rocks me.
He thinks I’m his dead sister? My body remains perfectly still in his arms as I try to figure out what the hell is happening. “I’ll be gentle the first time. You’ll see. I won’t punish you, I’ll even let you come tonight.”
All this time, I thought I was a victim of human trafficking. Kidnapped for the sole purpose of being sold and made into a sex slave. In my research, I learned how prevalent human trafficking is, not just overseas but in my own country…and apparently in Trent’s own backyard. But as Brady pulls me deeper into his embrace, as he whispers in my ear how good he will make me feel, that he will be better, that I won’t want to fall asleep again, I realize that I was never meant to be sold. Not like Tia was. I was kidnapped for an entirely different reason and it’s no less terrifying. Not only did Brady beat and rape his sister when she was a child, but it’s obvious he is suffering from delusions, some type of psychosis. Because he thinks I’m her. The sister he most likely drove to suicide.
“I know I’ve made you bleed in the past, but I won’t do that right now. Tomorrow we will play, but tonight I’ll make you feel good,” he says, stroking my hair.
I can feel Brady’s erection beneath me as I sit on his lap. Now that I know exactly what he wants and who he thinks he will be raping tonight, panic surges through me and I fight to stay calm. My mind is swirling and I can’t think straight. If I tell him that I’m not his sister, he could snap and kill me. But I can’t give in, either. There’s no way I’m going to let him touch me. Which means I need time. And play along to a point. “I need to use the bathroom…and take a shower,” I say.
“Oh…of course. I’ll take you.” The next thing I know, he’s carrying me into the adjoining bathroom. It’s enormous, almost the size of the bedroom I just left. He sets me on my feet and I watch him lock us both in. I hoped he would have given me a little privacy so I could piss without an audience, but as I watch him cross his arms over his chest and lean against the door, I know he’s not going anywhere.
“Um, I don’t want you to hear me pee,” I say, trying to keep my voice soft and timid.
His eyes narrow and he tilts his head. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard or seen before.” He nods in the direction of the toilet and I slowly make my way over to it.
The last thing I want to do is pull my pants down and let him see me down there, but I have no choice. At the last minute he turns around and faces the wall. Instead of breathing a sigh of relief, I quickly squat over the toilet and do my business. I immediately wipe and pull my pants back up. The sound of the toilet flushing triggers him to turn back around. His gaze drifts from my eyes all the way to my toes and he smiles. “Now it’s time for your shower.”
Chapter Thirty
Chief Brady Sullivan
I can’t believe I lost control. It may have only been for a few seconds, but st
ill. I’m better than that. While Bree and I were apart, I learned how to recognize when I was on the verge of losing my temper and how to rein it in. But all those years of restraint went out the window the second she told me that Mace almost raped her, and I realized that Trent and Griffin may have tried to taint what’s mine.
My anger, my jealousy, almost made me kill my girl. It won’t happen again. Now that I’m calmer I can think. Why would Bree lie to me? She never has before. I can see Mace wanting Bree. Who wouldn’t? She’s beautiful, perfect. And he was a man who would fuck anything in sight. And Bree wouldn’t have stabbed Mace in the throat for no reason. Which means she just told me the truth. And that also means that Trent and McGuire probably were just helping her out. I’m not sure why I didn’t trust my instincts. Trent has always been a straight shooter. He wouldn’t hurt my girl. I’ll let him live for now.
“I do want to take a shower, but I would like to be alone…you know, to take care of things,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. I have no idea what she’s getting at and I am just about to ask when she continues, “I’m kind of in need of a shave and I don’t want you to see me like that.” Her eyes are wide and her lips are all pouty. I can’t take my eyes off them. “I want to be pretty for you.”
I swallow hard and force myself to stay where I am and not fuck her where she stands. I really don’t care how hairy she is, I’ll always want her. But I do want tonight to be perfect. I want her in my bed, her pussy bare like the first time I took it. I quickly make my way over to the linen closet, retrieve a razor and a can of shaving cream and offer them to her. She gives me a smile and reaches for the items, but I immediately snatch them back. Something is off. Something is very wrong. Her smile is…wrong. That is not Bree’s smile.
I shake my head and watch that smile, the one that makes my stomach turn, fade. Her eyes widen and she takes a step back. I throw the shaver and cream to the floor, run up to her and take her by the throat. “You’re not her.” Her hands fly up and clutch my hands, but she continues to gasp and flail about. My eyes start to burn, but I will not let this imposter see me cry, for making me believe that my search was over. Tomorrow I will begin again. The real Bree is out there. But tonight this whore, this manipulative little bitch, will get what she deserves.
• • •
Griffin
We move as quickly as we can through the foot and a half of snow that blankets the acres surrounding Brady’s home. The woods are thick and the moon is concealed by a layer of ominous-looking clouds. We abandoned Trent’s truck a half-mile back to ensure that Brady didn’t catch wind of our presence. I know Trent and I can take him, especially with the sniper rifles we are currently toting and the Glocks at our backs, but he has a hostage and weapons of his own. There is no way to accurately predict what a desperate person will do. Desperation manifests differently in everyone. Some surrender. Some flee. Some attempt to eliminate any and all threats in their path.
Trent and I decided on the way here that as much as we want to shoot to kill, it may be best to take him alive. There are other women out there, women Brady kidnapped and trafficked, women like Tia, and we may need the fucked-up, soon-to-be ex-chief of police to help us find and bring those women home. That’s the plan. But we also agreed that if Clare is in danger and the only way to save her life is by taking his, we wouldn’t hesitate. Brady Sullivan will die tonight if necessary.
Trent and I see it at the same time because we both pick up speed and dart toward that flickering light. We move silently, just like we did in the war-torn villages of Afghanistan and are upon the chief’s house of horrors in seconds. The soft glow coming from the only lit room in the house beckons us to come closer. Trent is pressed up against one side of the window and I’m on the other. Although the curtains on the other side of the window pane have been drawn, I can still see through the white lace material and witness what is happening inside the room. Panic seizes me and I’m just about to aim for the motherfucker’s head when Trent silently lowers my gun with the tip of his.
When I peeked inside, all I could see was Clare, naked, her arms and legs tied to the four-poster bed. I was blinded, so enraged that I didn’t see the machete in Brady’s fist…or the sick, twisted smile on his face. Although there is blood dripping from the knife, Clare is squirming and pulling at her restraints. I can’t see where she is bleeding from, but she is fighting him. My eyes drift back to Brady. He’s shirtless, but his pants are still zipped up. Relief washes over me until I see her thrash once more and I watch a stream of blood flow from her right breast and stain the white sheet beneath her. “Shoot to kill,” Trent grits out before he takes off toward the front door. As I raise my gun, Brady is gripping the knife with one hand and unbuckling his belt with the other.
We’ll find Tia. All the women Brady kidnapped, raped and sold. Together, Clare and I will find justice for each and every one of them. Chief Brady Sullivan’s assistance will not be needed. I take a deep breath, point my weapon and fire.
Epilogue
Griffin
Tonight we will make it to the restaurant.
That’s what I’m silently chanting to myself as I fix my tie in the mirror. But then I see our bed in the reflection and I smile to myself. And think about last night…and this morning.
Nothing last night had turned out the way I’d planned. Clare wasn’t due back from class for at least another hour, so I thought I had time to take a shower, get dressed in my best suit and stare at the ring that had been burning a hole in my pocket for the past two days. So, it surprised the shit out of me when the little vixen silently entered the bathroom and slipped into the shower behind me. Her arms wove around my waist and she held me. I felt her lips feather my back and then with a contented sigh she told me she missed me.
Things have been a little crazy. A little over a month ago we moved into our new apartment in the Old City section of Philadelphia, just a block away from where Clare lived after she was adopted. When Clare told me that she wanted to go back to college and pursue a degree in counseling, I was so proud of her.
She wants to help other women, women who are victims of abuse, women who have survived and need the encouragement and tools to continue to fight and not let their pasts dictate their futures. Women like Tia and the fifty-seven other women Brady Sullivan and the monsters that worked for him kidnapped and sold.
Tia.
I know her face still haunts Clare. Clare has never come out and told me, but that woman, the only woman we haven’t been able to locate and bring home, is one of the main reasons my fiancée abandoned her initial aspirations of being a high school math teacher. Tia unknowingly lit a fire under Clare. In addition to being a full-time graduate student, Clare volunteers every chance she can get at a woman’s shelter two streets over.
Thanks to Clare’s detailed description given to one of the FBI’s sketch artists, Tia’s face was plastered all over social media and news outlets. As a result, someone Tia knew at the restaurant where she worked as a waitress recognized her and called in. That tip gave us Tia’s last name and last known address. Strangely enough, Tia’s small apartment is located a few blocks from where Clare and I now live.
The FBI told us that they have some leads and are actively searching for Tia, but I’m not confident that they will bring her home alive. It’s been months. Months of living in captivity, being abused by her tormentor. I can’t help but wonder if Tia would be safe and sound right now if I hadn’t shot and killed Brady Sullivan that night. I know I was cleared of all charges and found not guilty by a judge and jury, but the fact of the matter remains. Tia is still missing.
All the other women, along with the monsters who purchased them, were listed on a spreadsheet and saved to a hard drive in the basement of Brady’s home. It was clear that Brady thought he would never get caught or even be suspected of such a crime. It was also an indicator of how sick he actually was. I shake my head and try to dispel the thought, at least for the time being. Because all I want
to think about tonight is me and Clare. And the fact that the woman I love agreed to marry me, even after I botched the proposal.
The second Clare told me she missed me, as she held me in our shower, I lost it. I turned around, took her in my arms and kissed her like a man possessed. I then hopped out of the shower, almost slipped and faceplanted on the wet floor, ran into our bedroom, and returned to Clare with the ring. Naked and dripping, I dropped to my knees and begged this woman who owned me already to be my wife. She nodded through her tears and screamed, “Yes!” I quickly slipped that ring on her finger, stood and dragged her out of the shower and to our bed, where we stayed the rest of the night.
Clare is going to marry me.
With that thought, I smile and finish getting dressed. I’m making my way to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of wine to bring to dinner when I hear a key in the door.
• • •
Clare
“Are you sure you don’t want to be there when I tell him the news?” I ask.
Trent looks at me with a raised brow and then shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell. He’s going to want some alone time with you when you tell him what we did today…trust me.”
I feel my face burning up and I give Trent’s shoulder a swat. “Fine. But we’ll call you later. Maybe we can grab a beer at the Plough and watch the game. I want to see the Phillies trounce the Mets tonight.”
Trent gives me a look that tells me he’s not believing for a second that I’m going to be stepping foot out of my apartment tonight. But I have to make an extra-special effort and not give in to my hormones. As much as I would love to stay in bed all evening with Griffin, Trent is only in town for the night. Since we’ve moved to the city we haven’t seen Trent. I know Griffin misses him and so do I. We’ve become close over the last few months, and Griffin and I miss just being able to stop into town and raid his bachelor pad when the need arises. Trent was the main reason I almost changed my mind and withdrew my college application. The other reason that almost kept me in Quarry Hill was the cabin.
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