by Anna Zaires
Besides, despite his need to hurt me, Julian has never truly harmed me—not physically, at least. When he’s in one of his sadistic moods, I end up with marks and bruises on my skin, but those fade quickly. He’s careful never to scar my body, even though I know that blood and tears—my tears—excite him, turn him on.
When I share some of my feelings with Beth, she doesn’t seem surprised in the least.
“I knew the two of you were made for each other from the first moment I saw you together,” she says, giving me a wry look. “When you and Julian are in the same room, the air practically sizzles. I’ve never seen such chemistry between two people before. What you have together is rare and special. Don’t fight it, Nora. He’s your destiny—and you are his.”
She seems completely convinced of that.
* * *
On the night my life irrevocably changes, everything starts out as normal.
Julian is on the island, and we share a delicious meal together before he brings me upstairs for a lengthy lovemaking session. It’s one of those times when he’s gentle, worshipping me with his body like I’m a goddess, and I fall asleep relaxed and satisfied, held tightly in his embrace.
When I wake up in the middle of the night to use the restroom, I become aware of a dull pain near my navel. Relieving myself, I wash my hands and crawl back into bed, stretching out next to Julian’s sleeping form. I feel slightly nauseous too, and I wonder if I’m having indigestion. Could I have gotten food poisoning somehow?
I try to fall asleep, but the pain seems to get worse with every minute that passes. It migrates down into my lower right abdomen, becoming sharp and agonizing. I don’t want to wake up Julian, but I can’t bear it anymore. I need a painkiller of some kind, any kind.
“Julian,” I whisper, reaching for him. “Julian, I think I’m sick.”
He wakes up immediately and sits up in bed, turning on the bedside lamp. There’s no trace of confusion on his face; he’s as alert as if it’s the middle of the day instead of three o’clock in the morning. “What’s wrong?”
I curl into a little ball as the pain intensifies. “I don’t know,” I manage to say. “My stomach hurts.”
His eyebrows snap together. “Where does it hurt, baby?” he says softly, pushing me onto my back.
“My . . . my side,” I gasp, tears of pain starting to roll down my face.
“Here?” he asks, pressing on one side, and I shake my head no.
“Here?”
“Yes!” Somehow he has unerringly found the exact area that’s in agony.
He immediately gets up and starts getting dressed. “Beth!” he yells. “Beth, I need you here right now!”
She runs into the room thirty seconds later, pulling on a bathrobe over her pajamas. “What happened?”
She sounds scared, and I am terrified too. I’ve never seen Julian like this before. He seems almost . . . frightened.
“Get ready,” he says tersely. “I’m taking her to the clinic, and you’re coming with us. It might be her appendix.”
Appendicitis! Now that he said it, I realize it’s the most probable explanation, but it’s beyond scary. I’m no doctor, but I know that if my appendix bursts before they cut it out, I’m pretty much toast. It would be frightening even if I were an hour away from medical attention, but I’m on a private island in the middle of the Pacific. What if I don’t make it to the hospital in time?
Julian must be thinking the same thing because the expression on his face is grim as he wraps me in a robe and picks me up, carrying me out of the room.
“I can walk,” I protest weakly, my stomach roiling as Julian swiftly walks down the stairs.
“Like hell you can.” His tone is unnecessarily harsh, but I don’t take offense. I know he’s worried about me right now, and even with my insides in agony, I feel warmed by the thought.
By the time we reach the hangar, Beth has opened the gates for us and is already waiting in the back of the airplane. Julian straps me into the passenger seat, and I realize that my greatest wish is about to be granted.
I’m getting off the island.
My stomach lurches, and I grab for the brown paper bag that’s lying conveniently in front of me. Sudden hot nausea boils up in my throat, and I vomit into the bag, my entire body sweating and shaking.
I can hear Julian swearing as the plane begins to take off, and I’m so embarrassed I just want to die. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my eyes burning. I have never been so miserable in my entire life.
“It’s all right,” Julian says curtly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Here.” Beth hands me a wet wipe from the back. “This should make you feel a little better.”
But it doesn’t. Instead, as the plane climbs higher, I get nauseous again. Moaning, I clutch at my stomach, the pain in my right side intensifying.
“Fuck,” Julian mutters. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His knuckles are white where he’s clutching the controls.
I vomit again.
“How long until we get there?” Beth’s voice is unusually high-pitched.
“Two hours,” Julian says grimly. “If the wind cooperates.”
Those two hours turn out to be the longest ones of my life. By the time the plane begins its descent, I have thrown up five times and am long past the point of embarrassment. The pain in my stomach has long since morphed into agony, and I’m not cognizant of anything but my own bone-deep misery.
Strong hands reach for me, pulling me out of the airplane, and I am vaguely aware that Julian is carrying me somewhere, holding me cradled against his broad chest. There is a babble of voices speaking in a mixture of English and some foreign language, and then I’m placed on a gurney and wheeled through a long hallway into a white, sterile-looking room.
Several people in white coats bustle around me, one man barking out orders in that same strangely mixed language, and I feel a sharp prick in my arm as an IV needle is attached to my wrist. Dazed, I look up to see Julian standing in the corner, his face oddly pale and his eyes glittering . . . and then the darkness swallows me whole again.
Chapter 20
When I regain consciousness, I am feeling only a little bit better. My head appears to be stuffed with wool, and the nagging pain in my side remains, though it feels different now, less sharp and more like an ache. For a second, I think that I fell asleep feeling sick and dreamed the whole thing, but the smell convinces me otherwise. It’s that unmistakable antiseptic odor that you only encounter in doctor’s offices and hospitals.
That odor means I’m alive . . . and off the island.
My heart starts racing at the thought.
“She’s awake,” an unfamiliar female voice says in accented English, apparently addressing someone else in the room.
I hear footsteps and feel someone sitting down on the side of my bed. Warm fingers reach out and stroke my cheek. “How are you feeling, baby?”
Opening my eyes with some effort, I gaze at Julian’s beautiful features. “Like I’ve been cut open and sewn back together,” I manage to croak out. My throat is so dry and sore that it actually hurts to talk, and I can feel a dull, throbbing ache in my right side.
“Here.” Julian is holding out a cup with a bent straw in it. “You must be thirsty.”
He brings it toward my face, and I obediently close my lips around the straw, sucking down a little water. My mind is still hazy, and for a moment, the wall between the good and the bad memories crumbles. I remember that first day on the island, when Julian had offered me a bottle of water, and an involuntary shiver runs down my spine. In that moment, Julian is not the man I love; he is again my enemy, the one who stole me, the one who made me his against my will.
“Cold?” he asks, taking the cup away before leaning over to pull the blanket higher up, covering my shoulders.
“Um, yeah, a little.” I’m off the island. Oh my God, I’m off the island. My mind is spinning. I feel torn, like I’m two different people—the terrified girl who insist
s this is her chance to escape and the woman who desperately craves Julian’s touch.
“They took out your appendix,” Julian says, brushing back a strand of hair that had been tickling my forehead. “The operation went smoothly, and there shouldn’t be any complications. Isn’t that right, Angela?” He looks up to the left.
“Yes, Mr. Esguerra.”
Esguerra? Is that Julian’s last name? Recognizing the voice from before, I turn my head to see a petite young woman in white scrubs. Her smooth skin is a beautiful light brown color, and her hair and eyes are dark, nearly black. To me, she looks Filipino or maybe Thai—not that I can pretend to be an expert on either nationality.
What I do know is that she’s the first person I’ve seen in fifteen months who is neither Beth nor Julian.
I’m off the island. Oh my God, I’m off the island. For the first time since my abduction, there is a real possibility of escape.
“Where am I?” I ask, staring at the young nurse. I can’t believe Julian is letting someone else see me—me, the girl he kidnapped.
“You’re in a private clinic in the Philippines,” Julian replies when the woman merely smiles at me. “Angela is the nursing assistant who will be looking after you.”
At that moment, the door opens and Beth walks in. “Oh, look who’s awake,” she exclaims, coming up to my bedside. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I think,” I tell her cautiously. Holy shit, I’m off the fucking island.
“They said Julian got you here just in time,” Beth tells me, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to my bed. “Your appendix was getting ready to go. They cut it out and sewed you right back up, so you should be right as rain.”
I let out a nervous chuckle . . . and immediately groan, the movement tugging at the stitches in my side.
“Are you hurting?” Julian gives me a concerned look. Turning to Angela, he orders, “Give her more painkillers.”
“I’m okay, just a little sore,” I try to reassure him. “Seriously, I don’t need any drugs.” The last thing I want is something clouding my mind right now. I’m off the island, and I need to figure out what to do. I’m doing my best to remain calm, but it’s taking all of my willpower not to scream or do something stupid. Freedom is so close, I can practically taste it.
“Of course, Mr. Esguerra.” Angela completely ignores my protests and comes up to the bed, fiddling with the clear bag that’s feeding into my IV tube.
Julian leans over the bed and lightly kisses me on the lips. “You need to rest,” he says softly. “I want you healthy. Do you understand me?”
I nod, my eyelids growing heavy as I feel the medicine beginning to work. For a moment, I feel like I’m floating, all pain gone, and then I’m not aware of anything else.
* * *
When I wake up again, I’m alone in the room. Bright sunlight is streaming through the clear large windows and several plants are blooming merrily on the windowsill. It’s actually quite cozy. If it weren’t for that hospital smell and the various machines and monitors, I would’ve thought I was in someone’s bedroom. Whatever this private clinic is, it’s quite luxurious—a fact that I didn’t have a chance to really appreciate before.
The door opens and Angela walks into the room. Giving me a wide smile, she says in a cheerful voice, “How are you feeling, Nora?”
“Okay,” I reply, a little warily. “Where is Julian?” Something about this woman rubs me the wrong way, and I can’t quite figure out what. I know she’s probably my best chance to escape, but I don’t know if I can trust her. For one thing, she could easily be in Julian’s employ, like Beth.
“Mr. Esguerra had to leave for a couple of hours,” she says, still smiling at me. “Beth is here, however. She just went to the restroom.”
“Oh, good.” I stare at her, trying to gather my courage. I have to tell her that I’ve been kidnapped. I simply have to. This is my one opportunity to escape. She might be loyal to Julian, but I still have to try because I may never get a better shot at freedom.
Angela comes up to the bed and hands me the cup with the bent straw. “Here you go,” she says in that same cheerful voice. “I’ll bring you some food in a bit.”
I lift my arm and take the cup from her, wincing a little as the movement pulls at the stitches. “Thanks,” I say, greedily gulping down the water. I really, really need to tell her to call the police, or whatever the local law enforcement officials are called, but for some reason, I don’t. Instead, I drink the water and watch as she walks out of the room, leaving me alone once again.
I groan mentally. What is wrong with me? Freedom is a real possibility for the first time in over a year, and here I am, waffling and procrastinating. I tell myself it’s because I’m being cautious, because I don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt—not Angela and certainly not anyone back home—but deep inside, I know the truth.
As alluring as freedom seems, it’s also frightening. I’ve been a captive for so long that I actually long for the comfort of my cage; being here in this unfamiliar room makes me stressed, anxious, and there is a part of me that just wants to go back to the island, to my regular routine. Most importantly, however, freedom means leaving Julian, and I can’t bring myself to do that.
I don’t want to leave the man who kidnapped me.
I should be rejoicing at the thought of the police coming to arrest him, but I feel horrified instead. I don’t want Julian behind bars. I don’t want to be separated from him, not even for a minute.
Closing my eyes, I tell myself that I’m a fool, a brainwashed idiot, but it doesn’t matter.
As I lie there in that hospital bed, I come to terms with the fact that I’m no longer an unwilling captive. Instead, I am simply a woman who belongs to Julian—just as he now belongs to me.
* * *
I recuperate in the clinic for the next week. Julian visits me every day, spending several hours by my side, and so does Beth. Angela takes care of me most of the time, although a couple of doctors have dropped by to view my charts and adjust my painkiller dosage.
I still have not told anyone about being a victim of kidnapping, nor am I planning to do so anymore. For one thing, I get the sense that the clinic staff is paid to be discreet. Nobody seems the least bit curious about what an American girl is doing in the Philippines, nor are they inclined to question me in any way. The only thing Angela wants to know is whether I’m in pain, thirsty, hungry, or need to use the bathroom. I’m pretty sure that if I ask her to call the police for me, she would just smile and give me more painkillers.
I have also seen a number of guards stationed in the hallway outside the room. I catch glimpses of them when the door opens. They’re armed to the teeth and look like scary sons of bitches, reminding me of the thug who beat up Jake.
When I ask Julian about them, he freely admits that they’re his employees. “They’re there for your protection,” he explains, sitting down on the side of my bed. “I told you I have enemies, right?”
He did tell me, but I hadn’t grasped the full extent of the danger before. According to Beth, there is a small army of bodyguards stationed at and around the clinic, all protecting us from whatever threat Julian is concerned about.
“What enemies?” I ask curiously, looking at him. “Who is after you?”
He smiles at me. “That’s none of your concern, my pet,” he says gently, but there is something cold and deadly lurking beneath the warmth of his smile. “I will deal with them soon.”
I shudder a little, and hope that Julian doesn’t notice. Sometimes my lover can be very, very scary.
“We’re going home tomorrow,” he says, changing the topic. “The doctors said you’ll need to take it easy for the next few weeks, but there is no need for you to stay here. You can recover at home just as well.”
I nod, my stomach tightening with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Home . . . Home on the island. This strange interlude at the clinic—so close to freedom—is almost over.
Tomorrow my real life begins again.
Chapter 21
Pop! Pop! The explosive sound of a car backfiring jerks me out of sound sleep. My heart hammering, I jackknife up to a sitting position, then clutch at the stitches in my side with a hiss of pain.
Pop! Pop! Pop! The sound continues, and I freeze. No car backfires like that.
I’m hearing gunshots. Gunshots and occasional screams.
It’s dark, the only light coming from the monitors hooked up to me. I’m on the bed in the middle of the room—the first thing someone would see upon opening the door. It occurs to me that I might as well be sitting there with a bull’s eye painted in the middle of my forehead.
Trying to control my ragged breathing, I pull the IV from my arm and get to my feet. It still hurts to walk, but I ignore the pain. I’m certain bullets would hurt a lot worse.
Padding barefoot toward the door, I open it just a tiny bit and peek out into the hallway. My stomach sinks. There isn’t a single bodyguard in sight; the hallway in front of me is completely empty.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Casting a frantic glance around, I look for a hiding spot, but the only cupboard in the room is too small for me to fit into. There is no other place to conceal myself. Staying here would be suicidal. I need to get out, and I need to do so now.
Pulling the hospital gown tighter around myself, I cautiously step out into the hallway. The floor is cold under my bare feet, adding to the icy chill inside me. Out here, I feel even more exposed and vulnerable, and the urge to hide grows stronger. Spotting a bunch of doors on the other end of the hallway, I choose one at random, opening it carefully. To my relief, there is no one inside, and I go in, closing the door quietly behind me.
The sound of gunfire continues at random intervals, coming closer each time. I step into the corner behind the door and plaster myself against the wall, trying to control my rising panic. I have no idea who the gunmen are, but the possibilities that occur to me are not reassuring.