by Skye Warren
DON’T LET GO
coming 2013
ESCAPE
Included here is a bonus short story set in the same Dark Erotica world as Hear Me. The protagonist of this story was held captive in the same location. This was her escape.
Tiffany crawled over the damp concrete, ignoring the thick moldy grime beneath her hands and knees. Ignoring the way her torn skin and cramped muscles screamed at her to stop. None of it mattered when her life was at stake.
She would not cower. She would not break.
Even though her plan had worked, she was far from safe.
Safety had become a foreign concept exactly four weeks and three days ago. The cab she’d taken from the airport in Cancun had driven her, not to her hotel, but to a warehouse. From that moment, her life was over, but the pain never stopped.
After the four agonizing months of training, her captors were moving her and the other women. For two weeks she’d scraped and dug into the crumbly rock behind the metal toilet. It would never lead outside, but the hole was big enough for her to crawl into, and that’s what she’d done as the men swept through the cells.
She’d mouthed off the night before and landed in the infirmary. Then she pretended to be fine, almost killing herself in the process, just so they’d release her back into her cell. She counted on the confusion about her actual location and the bustle of the transit.
Shockingly, it worked. They opened her door and glanced inside, and then moved on, leaving the door open.
She felt bad about the muffled cries of the other women, but she couldn’t help them, not when she could barely help herself.
The whole thing had been a massive risk. Not only could they have found her, but they might have left the cell door locked. She’d have preferred to starve than go with them.
Tiffany huddled in the wall for hours after the last ringing footsteps had faded, sure that they would realize their mistake and come back for her. Or maybe they’d jump out at her from the walls once she emerged, laughing at the futility of her hope.
The halls were empty.
The sound of her ragged breathing and her skin dragging across the floor intruded on the stillness. She passed each cell as if she were still a prisoner – with her eyes straight ahead. She didn’t want to see the small, barren cells with the thin, infested bedrolls. She didn’t want to wonder about the dark spots staining the concrete.
Light leaked through the doorframe, blinding her. Sunlight so thick she thought she’d have been able to taste it if it weren’t for the dank remains of stale bodily fluids lining her mouth.
Her body vibrated, as if her very bones felt the imminence of freedom. She had no idea where the warehouse was located or if she could survive long enough to find help, but even if she died, she’d die free.
The door creaked open at the touch of her fingertips. She managed to stand, slowly, shakily, and take a step out into the bright white ether. She savored the heat on her upturned face, the light wind that stroked her greasy hair. She’d made it.
The approaching rumble of a motor snapped her from euphoria. She darted for a copse of trees and made it inside just as an open topped jeep skidded in front of the building. Armed men burst from the vehicle before it was even fully stopped. Their guns were drawn as they entered the empty building.
Oh God. They must have realized she was missing and come back for her.
She didn’t recognize the men or the vehicle, but that didn’t mean anything at all. It would take them only minutes to realize she wasn’t in the warehouse and then they would look outside.
Tiffany turned and crashed through the brush. Branches whipped at her legs and grabbed at her hair, but she tore through them like the hunted animal she was. Footsteps pounded behind her, giving her a last burst of speed.
“Wait! Stop,” a voice called, but she would rather die.
* * *
The wood split beneath his axe with a satisfying crack. Alex wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. He welcomed the small pain as his due and only wiped it so he wouldn’t send the axe into his foot next. Although maybe that was what he needed. Maybe that would finally be enough.
But he knew it wouldn’t.
There was no amount of pain he could inflict on himself that would equal what those women had gone through. Even if he tried, none of it would help them.
Nothing would help them. He’d seen that himself when he’d sat helplessly at Tiffany Scott’s bedside. Even under heavy sedation she’d screamed and thrashed from the pain or the nightmares. He hadn’t been able to do anything for her but badger and bully the doctor for higher doses until the man had threatened to have his visitation rights removed.
Naïve bastard that he’d been, Alex hadn’t been discouraged when he’d found her bruised and broken body at that hellhole. At least she was alive, he told himself. She would heal; he would make sure of it. Maybe that would help atone for what she’d gone through. Maybe if he helped her, it would begin to undo the damage.
Only fair, considering it was his fault she’d been abducted.
Her family had called in the missing persons report three weeks ago, frantic that their daughter, a grad student at NYU, hadn’t called them since she’d landed in Cabo. It was supposed to be a vacation, a payoff for the years of grueling studies. One last hurrah before she officially entered the working world.
When the cops had been useless, her father had called him. He had done everything in his power, some of it questionable in its legality, to track her down and get her out, but none of it could assuage his guilt. He had used her, desperate to find the compound where the women were being held. Well, he’d found it all right.
Even though he’d been too late to protect her, Tiffany had found a way to escape. It should have been a happy ending. Certainly her family had cried happy tears and given him hugs, proclaiming him a hero. They didn’t know what he had done, and he hadn’t the courage to tell them. He didn’t have the heart to break her father, because that’s what the knowledge would have done.
The crunch of tires on gravel warned him of an intruder. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt and grabbed his gun from the table on his way out front.
He didn’t anticipate trouble out here at his log cabin, but anyone who invaded his privacy was unwelcome. The green sedan—a rental—rolled to a halt. The door opened, and a woman stepped out. Alex blinked and wiped his eyes again, sure that the sweat and exertion had driven him to hallucinations.
She wasn’t bloody or dirty the way he’d found her. Nor was she delirious and sweaty, caught in a nightmarish haze as she was when he’d sat beside her hospital bed those many weeks. Not even the laughing high school senior he’d glimpsed years ago.
This Tiffany was solemn, beautiful, and coming toward him. He’d hoped never to see her again, but he couldn’t deny the lick of pleasure at the sight of her—strong and healthy. Maybe that was worst part, the things she stirred in him, dark and carnal.
“Are you going to use that, mister?” she asked.
He glanced at his hand, which had pointed the gun at the ground. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He didn’t know why he was gruff with her. Sure, he didn’t want people bugging him, but she didn’t count. She could bother him any way she wanted and he would deserve it. The scary part, the part that made him scowl, was that he’d probably enjoy it anyway.
“I thought maybe we could talk.” She bit her lip and her eyes flicked over to the leaning-sideways shanty that he now called home.
“Fine.” He wanted to say no, to tell her to leave, but he couldn’t. He led her inside without another word, shoving the gun onto a high shelf.
She sat on the lumpy futon carefully, as if it might give in any second. She probably didn’t realize that he slept right there every night, and if his 200-pound frame couldn’t do the thing in, her dainty self wasn’t going to do the trick either.
She had definitely gained weight from the gaunt figure she’d been in the hospi
tal bed, but she still looked too slim. Fragile. What was she doing driving through the mountains alone?
“What do you want?” he asked, too loudly.
His heart squeezed as she winced. He should be able to control himself better than that, but he’d misplaced his control after seeing her broken and begging and hadn’t found it since.
She looked down at her folded hands then back up at him. “I need to thank you. My parents told me what you did for me. I know that you saved me. I also know you stayed beside me at the hospital before my parents got there.” She frowned. “I can’t remember most of it, but just knowing that someone cared enough to do that… well, it means a lot to me.”
“I got paid for it,” he said. “That’s why I did it.”
“You didn’t get paid for sitting with me,” she reminded him without missing a beat.
She misunderstood. She thought he meant her parents paying him to locate her. “That was just—” He cleared his throat against the thickness. “I’m the reason you were chosen.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m a… well, I was a DEA agent, investigating some of the men involved. The trafficking thing wasn’t our jurisdiction; we couldn’t touch it.” He shook his head, trying to explain how it had killed him to turn over the evidence to the FBI and watch them do nothing. “So I forced their hand: I planted evidence that the head office couldn’t ignore. They green-lighted a raid, and so we went in.”
“But I was already there. So you couldn’t have had anything to do with me getting chosen.” She looked perplexed, hopeful—and without an ounce of recognition.
“It was a trap. They were fucking with—” He caught himself. “Pardon me.”
She gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. My dad’s a cop, so I’m used to it.”
“That’s right. Drug task force.”
Her smile slipped. “How do you know that?”
“I worked with them. We do a lot of crossover stuff. Local intel contributing to the larger cases, that sort of thing. Your dad was part of a major bust two years ago, but I’ve been working with him since before then. I even met you once, when I happened to be in town for your big July 4th party. You were younger then, and I didn’t have this.” He waved at the beard that had grown in since he’d stopped giving a shit.
Abruptly, she stood and went to the door, but he got the idea that she needed air more than escape. “You think it’s related,” she said in a thin voice.
“I know it is. There was a note left in your hotel room saying so.” There had been no written note, just a leather whip laced with blood, but she didn’t need to know that detail.
“But if you and my dad helped catch the guys two years ago, then how…”
“These men are like insects. You destroy the hive and they just build another, only bigger. That combined agency taskforce caught the low-hanging fruit, while everyone important got away. This time was even worse. Between the FBI blocking us and the usual red tape, they couldn’t get permission for a raid.” He shook his head, pushing away all the illegal shit he’d pulled just to get her location, trying to forget the pain of arriving there only to find it empty. Luckily he’d had some basic skills in tracking and had found the trail of a single person, barefoot—her.
“If this is all true, then why didn’t my father tell me?”
“He doesn’t know. That was years ago, there was no reason to link the two except for the note. Then you were free and he needed to be there to help you heal. It’s up to you, but I’d prefer you don’t tell him. The guilt…” It was like ice, cutting him open and keeping him that way, frozen. But how could he complain to her after what she had been through? He couldn’t. “…it wouldn’t be good for him.”
Her eyes narrowed, as if maybe she heard thoughts left unspoken. “It wasn’t his fault. Or yours. You were just doing your job. No.” She put a hand to her forehead, the gesture at once emphasizing her fragility and underscoring her strength. “You were doing the right thing. I would never wish for someone to be stuck there, not if there was a chance of you getting them free. You saved those women before. You saved me.”
Her unbending belief in him threatened to undo him. “If I had been there in time… If I had known...” He’d been too late, but like a miracle, she stood before him, patiently waiting for his answer. “I saw what they did to you and how you couldn’t sleep, refused to eat.”
The bright sheen of tears covered her eyes, but still she went on. “I would be dead now if not for you.”
“That’s right,” he said, willing to lay everything out if she’d only understand. “You’re alive now because of me. You asked me…you begged me to let you die. To help you do it while you were trapped in that hospital room, but I couldn’t. That was my raid, my responsibility, and you were targeted as a result of that. I wanted to be a fucking savior, and I was willing to let you suffer to accomplish it.”
His voice was hoarse by the time he finished. The words flayed him in a way that months of self-enforced exile and backbreaking physical labor never had. The guilt taunted him. She had been out there, alive and suffering.
Then Tiffany was standing in front of him, her cheeks wet with tears, but her eyes focused. “I’m glad you didn’t help me do that,” she said fiercely. “I am better. Not completely and probably I never will be, but I’m alive. I’m free. Maybe I had my weak moments, but I’m even more grateful now that you were there to keep me from letting them win.”
She took his hands, her touch warm and soothing. “You did the right thing.”
The crack in his guilt wound its way through his body, just that small sliver allowing him to see light again, to imagine a future. She was so strong to have survived, to have escaped. Strong enough to come and break him out of his own self-imposed prison. He was the one in awe. He looked down at their linked hands and gently squeezed. Thank you.
THE END
Also by Skye Warren:
TRUST IN ME
Mia longs for the daily torture to end, but one last task keeps her holding on. In a betrayal of the crime lord who pulled her from the gutter, she’ll free the shipment of human cargo, and if she’s lucky, die in the process. The alternative is unfathomable, even to a woman well-versed in erotic torture. But luck abandons her yet again when she meets the security expert in charge of the shipment and finds herself face to face with her childhood crush. The man she once begged for help. The man who failed her.
Tyler Martinez is an undercover FBI agent with one chance to right the wrongs of his past. Thrust deep into the seedy world of human trafficking, he must put aside his guilt over abandoning Mia all those years ago in order to save her now.
Someone’s pulling the strings in this sadistic play on trust, but Tyler and Mia may not live long enough to see the curtain fall. Trust in Me is a story of erotic pain and incipient romance, spiraling ever faster toward betrayal or redemption.
WARNING:
This book contains explicit scenes of dubious consent, graphic violence and sex. It also depicts abuse and captivity situations. Not appropriate for anyone uncomfortable with these situations or anyone under the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction.
“Dark, disturbing, haunting, and beautiful, Skye Warren will take you into the depths of depravity but bring you home, safe in the end.”
- Kitty Thomas, author of Comfort Food
KEEP ME SAFE
When Rachel is abducted by a group of thugs, one man steps in. Zachary wants her for himself, and she has no choice but to trust this stranger to keep her safe. When danger strikes again, Rachel’s body may endure the pain, but will their tenuous bond survive the abuse?
WARNING:
This book contains explicit scenes of dubious consent, graphic violence and sex. Also depicts abuse and captivity situations. Not appropriate for anyone uncomfortable with these situations or anyone under the age of eighteen. This is a work of fiction.
“…their first scene together was ‘dubious conse
nt’ perfection. Very hot. But, just when I think I’ve got it figured out, the story takes an even darker and twisted path.”
- Diana from The Forbidden Bookshelf
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Skye Warren writes unapologetic erotica, including power play or erotic pain and sometimes dubious consent. There’s struggle in the sex. There’s pain in the relationships. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.
Visit Skye’s website for her current booklist, free reads, giveaways, goodies and more:
http://skyewarren.com/
Follow Skye Warren on Twitter:
https://twitter.com/skye_warren
Skye welcomes reader feedback:
[email protected]
ISBN: 9780988363205
HEAR ME
Copyright © 2012 by Skye Warren
All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author does not condone sexual acts without consent.
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