The complete scars series: Books one-four

by Tonks, Rachael

  “Really?” he smirks. “Never mind, then,” he replies, offering me his hand. “I’m so fucking sorry about your friend.”

  “I need to see him,” I say, my hand covering my mouth as I fight back the overwhelming need to be sick.

  “If only I’d been here a few moments earlier,” Carter sighs. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “How… how did you know?”

  “I was driving past. I saw the bike on the side of the road so I slowed down. That’s when I heard the screams. I ran to find you as soon as I could.”

  “I just wish it was me,” I sob, walking past him, retracing my steps.

  I hear his footsteps following me and I pick up my speed. I have to get to him. I have to hold him one last time.

  Everything deep inside is clenching and my heart pounds so damn hard it hurts to breathe. A million things bustle through my mind. It’s a spinning-out of logic thought that’s filling my head with wildly irrational observations and thoughts, like wanting to scrub my skin clean of the blood that stains it. How I’m worried it might infect me with whatever sick disease those fuckers had. I start to rub my hand across my face, desperate to remove it from my skin.

  “Hey,” Carter calls after me. “What are you doing?” he quizzes, his brows drawn together.

  “I got to get it off me…”

  “What? The blood?”

  “Yes,” I yell loudly. “I gotta get it off. It’s like acid eating away at my skin,” I ramble, knowing my words make no sense, but it’s how I feel. I’m tainted by those bastards; their blood on my hands and arms and face. In fact, it’s everywhere.

  “Oh, God,” I say, rubbing my hands across my bare chest.

  “Stop,” Carter says, resting his hand gently on my broad shoulder. I shrug him off and continue to put one foot in front of the other. The fear inside doesn’t want to see the carnage, but my heart dictates that I have to.

  “Please,” Carter says as he hurries and stands in front of me. “Just stop for a second. Please,” he repeats, his pained, sympathetic face in my line of sight.

  “I can’t,” I dismiss him with a shake of my head, continuing to rub my palms across my skin.

  “Look, kid, I know you’re traumatized by what happened back there, and it’s normal to feel that way, but I need you to calm down a little. Back there is not a pretty sight. I need you to be prepared for what you’re about to see. I’m with you, every step of the way.”

  “How?” I shake my head, my body trembles as I look up through my tear-soaked eyelashes. “How can you be so calm? You just shot three men…”

  “Three men who intended to kill and torture you. The police would have done the same.”

  “But you’re not the police,” I reply.

  “No, no I’m not. But I will call the police,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. “But first, let me get you and your friend to the side of the road where they can find you.”

  “You’re leaving me here?” I gasp, my voice wavering at the sheer thought of being alone with Travis’ dead body.

  “I have to, man.” He sighs, squeezing my arms a little. “I can’t afford to get in trouble for this mess.”

  I nod, understanding how this could look for the man who just saved my life. “You understand, right?” he asks, dipping his head trying to catch my attention.

  “I get it,” I mumble, giving him a nod of acknowledgment.

  “Good. I don’t want to. But I have no choice.”

  “Just help me with Travis. Then you do what the hell you want,” I lash out, pushing him on the chest. He stumbles backward, but doesn’t fight back.

  “Deep breaths,” he whispers as we take small, steady steps. I swallow down the dread that has built in my throat, the sting of acid as bile rises. The urge to cry is overwhelming and despite attempts to fight back the tears, I know I can’t. The tears are chaotic, powerful, as the warmth spills out and across my cheeks. The pain flows through my veins and deadens my mind. I can’t think of anything. Memories flash through my mind like a nightmare returning to haunt me. I blink down hard, trying to get the images out of my mind. But it’s no use.

  I stop at the dead body in front of me, darting my eyes away. I have no desire to look at any of them. They aren’t worthy of my time, or any part of how I’m feeling right now. I flicker my eyes up to the tree, a wail escaping me as I dart over to his lifeless body. I wrap my arms around his torso, crying hysterically as I hold onto his body. I cry out in anguish, cursing over and over as I feel so helpless.

  “Help me,” I sniffle through my tears. “Please, help me get him down.”

  He doesn’t reply, he simply stands beside me, reaching up and cutting the ropes around the branches. I hold his weight as his limp body falls onto me, but my legs finally give way. I drop to the ground with a thud, pulling his body into me. I hold him in my arms like a mother holding a child, rocking back and forth as I let out violent, uncontrollable cries. In this moment, my heart breaks completely. I didn't break quietly. It’s like every atom of my being screams in unison, traumatized that I shall exist without him. How can I continue my life without my best friend? A pain seizes me, one I’m not sure can ever be reversed. I squeeze him tighter, my eyes clamped shut as I try to come to terms with his loss.

  The whole world has vanished, all that is left is the pain. A pain so excruciating that it’s enough to break me, pain enough to change me beyond recognition.

  I cry, as if the ferocity might bring him back. He was my best friend, and I had to watch as he was tortured and killed, the horrendous memories etched in my mind forever. There was nothing anyone could say or do that would undo that pain I felt every time I thought about that day. Grief is such a funny sort of pain. I can only describe the sadness like death by a thousand paper cuts. Every time I remember him, or what I’ve lost by not having him in my life anymore, it’s like another cut to my already damaged mind. None are enough to kill me, but over time their accumulation has bled me of the humanity I once had. I was once happy and gentle in nature, now I’m fucked up and full of hatred. Hatred toward the world and everything it’s taken from me. I run my finger over the scar on my face, the constant reminder of what happened that day.

  “Hey,” her voice catches me off guard. I glance up at Tara standing beside me, her hand resting on my hunched shoulders. I snap my head away, shame coursing through me. “Carter said you’d be here.” She speaks softly; her gentle hand on my back feels comforting. But I don’t want her to see me this way.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” I snarl, keeping my back turned to her.

  “I’m here to help you. Like you helped me.”

  “I don’t need saving,” I growl, snapping my head at her and away again. I rest my hand on the ground, saying my silent goodbye before standing and walking away.

  “Brax, please…” she calls after me, her voice so sweet and genuine sounding.

  “What? What do you want from me Tara…?” I ask, letting my hands fall by my side. “Look at me. I’m weak and pathetic and more fucked up than you could ever possibly imagine.”

  “Aren’t we all?” she replies, dropping her head to one side as she slowly steps closer. “We are just two broken souls, trying to find our way in life.”

  I zone out, the thudding of my heart fills my senses. For all that I don’t want to admit it, this girl gets me fired up. She makes me feel, and in a heart that’s filled with complete and utter numbness, that one small feeling is enough to make me question everything. Why does she make me feel this way? Am I a fool for wanting to give in to my desires?

  “I guess,” I reply, shrugging as I inhale an unsteady breath. “Let’s go,” I instruct with a wave. She doesn’t hesitate, picking up her pace until we are side by side. I turn my head, flashing her a small smile. Reaching up, she hooks her arm through mine.

  I curl in a ball, beaten by the sorrow of the situation. I can’t begin to understand why… the words play over and over in my mind
. Why me? Why is he doing this? Why does he get such a kick out of torturing me? Why, why, why?

  The irrational thoughts swim through my festered mind. My own mind is becoming my worst enemy. It taunts me, making me question everything. But I know it’s the monotony of being isolated in this one room. You would think after the years of being with Dad I’d be used to this.

  But I’m not.

  This is different. So different and so much worse.

  Dad always provided me with books, homeschooling me so that I didn’t completely miss out on the chance to gain an education. And I was thankful. Thankful that I had the time to focus on studying.

  But here, there is nothing. Nothing to help pass the time. The thoughts in my head dominate me.

  I can’t move. My body aches and the multiple cuts and bruises sting like a bitch. I want to shower but I’m not sure I can find the strength to move.

  I roll over, wincing at the pain that surges through me. So many parts of my body hurt, it’s hard to locate the actual source. Part of me wants to remain wallowing in misery, and then another tells me that I should get up and showered in case he comes back.

  Finding me this way will only anger him more.

  I throw back the sheet, clamping my eyes shut as I try to move my leg out of the bed, my foot trying to locate the floor. I push myself to an upright position, ready to attempt to stand. As soon as I try to put weight on my legs, they give way beneath me.

  I collapse onto the floor and instantly curl into a ball. I glance over at the door to the adjoining bathroom, wondering if I can make it over if I crawl across. I growl out in frustration as my body gives up on me. The lack of food and abuse is taking its toll on me.

  My body is weak and broken, but I refuse to give up. Breathing raggedly, I start to crawl, shuffling my naked body across the cold floor. The sound of the door opening instills fear into me, causing me to freeze on the spot. I swallow down, hoping it will ease the tightening feeling around my throat. But it doesn’t. It feels like someone is choking me; the fear taking over my entire body.

  “What are you doing on the floor?” Harlan gasps, racing over to me. I can hear my pulse thudding in my ears and a film of sweat breaks over my skin as he pushes his arms underneath me, lifting me from the floor.

  “Put me down…” I screech, terrified that we will be seen on the security camera. “Someone will see.” I say, looking him deep in the eyes.

  “He’s not here,” he soothes. “Do you think I would risk your safety?”

  “Honestly, I have no idea,” I say, the embarrassment heating my skin as he walks me into the bathroom. I reach out, grabbing a towel to cover my bruised, naked body. “One minute you talk like you want to help me, the next it seems you are on his side. I have absolutely no idea whether I can trust you or not.”

  He sucks in an exaggerated breath as his eyes rake over my body. He places me down, resting my ass on the side of the bathtub.

  “I’m sorry for what he did to you. I tried to calm him down, but he was so damn angry that my words had little effect.”

  “If he’s not here, why can’t you help me? Let me go,” I say, reaching up for his collar. “Please just let me out of here,” I beg of him, but instantly he starts to shake his head.

  “You can,” I continue, “You can help me. I know you care about me, or why else would you be in here, right now.”

  “I am helping you,” he says narrowing his eyes on me. “You just don’t understand, do you?” He blows out an exaggerated breath. “He’s powerful and rich. Without this job, I have nothing.”

  “So, you sold your soul to the devil? Uh?” I push, getting more and more frustrated.

  “It’s not like that,” he growls, pushing his hands through his already messy hair. “I never asked to be part of this. I had no idea what I was getting involved in until it was too late. And now I know too much. If I ever try to leave, he will have me killed. He has made that perfectly clear.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. You have the power to walk away and never come back.”

  “No!” he roars. “He would find me. He will have me killed. You don’t seem to understand. This man is dangerous. So very dangerous.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I say, dropping the towel just enough for him to see the scars on my chest, the initials he carved into my skin. I drop my chin, looking at the marks he left when he scratched repeatedly with the knife against my fair skin. The area red and sore.

  “Scars will heal,” he whispers, his sad eyes fixed on mine. “Just don’t let him get in here,” he taps his finger against the side of my head.

  “It’s too late,” I mumble, sniffing back the tears that force their way into my eyes. “He’s already gotten in my head.”

  “It’s not too late. The only way to survive this, to come out the other side is to remain strong.”

  “How?” I ask, “How can I when he’s broken me, not just physically but mentally. And you talk about coming out of the other side, but we both know there will be no escaping. I will never get out of this endless misery.”

  “Don’t say that,” he reaches his hand toward me, swiping away a tear that rolls down my cheek. His warm but gentle touch causes me to shudder as it lingers against my skin. His warmth is such a stark contrast to that of Sir’s. I jolt back a little, because although it feels good, it also terrifies me.

  “I would never hurt you, Isabelle,” he says. His eyes almost represent sadness. He looks as if I just slapped him across the face.

  “I think you should leave,” I mumble, breaking the eye contact between us. My hands shake as I grip the side of the bath.

  “But you are weak,” he says with a lift of his brow. “At least let me help you bathe, then I can go get you something to eat. Sir will be out for hours. He has back-to-back business meetings.”

  My stomach grumbles at the mention of food. “I could kill for something to eat,” I say with a sad smile.

  He smiles back at me, a wide smile that showcases his full set of shiny white teeth. “Good. Let me run you a bath. You’ll feel better once we have you cleaned up.”

  He fills the bath, taking my ankles and swinging my legs around and dropping them in the warm water. I giggle a little as he wipes the water from his face.

  “Can you lower yourself in?” He asks with concern.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say with a flash of a smile, but it soon fades.

  “Don’t do that.” He steps closer, his eyes fixed on my mouth. I trace my finger across my lips as I ponder his words.

  “Do what?” I quiz with narrowed eyes.

  “Look sad. I like it when you smile.”

  I place one index finger at either side of my cheeks, pulling on them and forcing a smile.

  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” he says pointing his finger and raising one brow. “So, I, um, I’ll go make you some food,” he says a little nervously, tapping his hands on his thigh.

  I nod, pulling my bottom, swollen lip between my teeth, biting down gently as I fight back the flutters in my stomach. I watch as he walks out of the bathroom before dropping the towel to the floor and lowering myself into the water. I suck in a breath, a hiss escaping as the warm water stings between my legs. Tears pool in my eyes at the intensity of the pain. I lay back into the water, splashing it precariously over the skin on my chest.

  “Oh, God,” I mewl, the pain almost unbearable. I hate that he’s done this to me. I hate that I have his initials scribed into my skin. I want to get rid of it, scrub it until the letters are no longer recognizable. I don’t even know my captor’s name, so why he’s done this makes no sense. Despite the pain, the water is a surprising comfort to my skin. I relax into the warmth of the water, wincing every time it makes contact with an area of broken skin. I glance down at my body. It’s barely recognizable. Lumps, bruises, cuts and scars are all I can see. I no longer see the person beneath the evidence of what this monster has done to me. A stranger has touched me in a way no
man should ever touch a woman and a sick feeling rises in my dry throat. I can’t shake the feeling of being violated, that ache that never quite leaves me, as I know this is only the start. He has stripped me of every bit of dignity I ever had.

  I lean my head back, fighting the tears as the same lurid thoughts invade my mind. Would I ever make it out of here alive? What torture will I be subjected to next?

  A gentle tap on the door startles me and I slide upward, my eyes darting over to the door, terrified at who I might see. I hold my hand to my chest, trying to calm my rapid heartbeat as I realize it’s Harlan.

  “Jesus, you gave me a scare…”

  “That was never my intention. Forgive me,” he says, dropping his head a little. “I thought you might like a drink. Your lips look very cracked and sore. You must be dehydrated.”

  “But, I… I’m naked,” I say, blushing as I place my arm across my breasts and pull my leg up in an aim to cover myself.

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” he bumbles, turning his back to me. “I’m not looking. I promise.” He slowly walks backwards, his face never turning from its fixed position against the wall. He stops just beside the bath tub, offering the glass to me.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, taking it from his hand. I gulp down the orange juice, my stomach growls at the satisfaction of having something other than water.

  “I’ll be, uh, out there if you need me,” he says, his voice a stutter.

  I put down the glass and grab the washcloth, quickly finishing up. Part of me is excited to spend more time with the man who appears to want to take a chance on me. But I’m scared. Part of me doesn’t know whether I can truly trust him, whether his intentions are true. I reach over for the towel on the floor, using what little upper body strength I have to pull myself onto the side of the bath. I stop a little, trying to contain my erratic breathing. Frustration boils to the surface as I feel like a damn invalid. I’m weak, my body useless to me in a time when I need to find the strength. My whole life depends on it. Being hungry is a slow pain, eating away at my stomach, leaving me feeling drained and empty.