Defaced: A Dark Romance Novel

by Marissa Farrar

  The hollowness in his stomach wasn’t just due to his hunger. He watched the minutes tick by until the afternoon turned to evening. All he wanted in the world was for the girl to return so she would look at him again, and he could tell her he was sorry.

  But when the door opened that evening, the girl didn’t bring him his meal. Her delicate, beautiful face and honeyed hair had been replaced by a cold man with grey hair and a portly belly who slid Monster’s tray of food toward him with a grunt, as though he’d been feeding the master’s dog instead of his son.

  Five

  Lily allowed the hot water to soak away the pain from her muscles.

  She’d always found baths to be cathartic. Any time she felt sick, or unhappy, or just not herself, she’d immerse herself in the tub. It was like being given a warm hug, the hot water holding her on every side. There was a reason water played such an important part in religion—it had the ability to wash away sins and leave the person feeling whole again.

  The bubbles slowly started to pop, leaving her exposed and naked beneath the now filthy water. Not wanting the man to return and find her in the bath, she rose from the water and grabbed a towel, covering herself. Her head swam at the heat and change in position, lightheaded already from the pain and trauma she’d been through and the lack of food.

  She glanced down at the pile of dirty clothes she’d abandoned on the tiles, and wrinkled her nose. She thought she’d rather stay in the towel than put her urine stained clothes back on. Then she remembered what the man had told her about getting changed. Did that mean there were clean clothes in the room for her?

  Cautiously, she headed into the bedroom. Though she hadn’t heard the man return, her eyes flicked around the room, making sure she was still alone. When she’d ascertained that she was, she scurried over the large wardrobe on the other side of the room and pulled open the door.

  Clothes filled the rail, not the sort of slutty clothes she would have expected a man like this would have provided for a woman he must have bought, but smart pants in toned down colors—black, cream, and grey. She flicked through them, checking the labels. All were in her size.

  Grabbing a pair, she clutched them to her body as she went to the dresser and started to open the drawers. The top drawer held underwear—bras and panties, all sets in various colors. Once more, they were all in her size. The next drawer held t-shirts, the one below, soft sweaters.

  Still warm from her bath, she pulled on a white lace bra and matching panties, followed by the grey pants and a white t-shirt. She felt like she could have been going to the office if her feet weren’t still bare. She hunted around for any shoes, but found none.

  Of course he’s not going to give you shoes, she chided herself. It isn’t as though he’s going to take you out to dinner.

  Plus, she realized, she could use shoes as a weapon, something to kick at him with. And if she did escape, running would be easier if she had shoes on.

  A noise came at the door, and she froze, her eyes widening in that direction. It began to open and she took a couple of stumbled steps back, wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and whoever might be entering.

  The older man walked into the room and shut the door behind him. He turned and used a key to lock it once more. Lily noticed the key wasn’t the only thing he held in his hands. Twin cuffs dangled from a silver chain, and something that looked like a tie was rolled into a ball in his other hand. He lifted up the hand and the material unraveled.

  A blindfold.

  It was made from some kind of silky material, black on one side, and purple on the other. A blindfold—a professional one. Not a piece of cloth that had been cobbled together at the last minute. This had been bought in advance.

  Lily held up her hands. “Please, no. You don’t need to put those on me.”

  “I apologize, but I’m afraid they are necessary.”

  She shook her head and backed away. “No, no, no.” The back of her legs hit the side of the bed. She had nowhere she could go. “Please,” she tried again. “I can’t go anywhere. The door is locked. I’ll behave myself, I promise!”

  The idea of being blindfolded and put back into restraints filled her with terror. What did it mean? Was she going to be moved again, or was the person who’d bought her so perverted he’d only rape her if she was completely helpless and unable to see him?

  She could hold onto the tears no longer. “I just want to go home.”

  He approached and she held out her hands to ward him off. “That’s simply not possible.”

  Only a yard or two separated them. He reached for her, but instead of allowing him to grab her, she threw herself over the side of the king sized bed, putting the item of furniture between them. She glanced around for something to use as a weapon, but the surfaces were cleared of anything she might be able to hit him with or throw. The only things that weren’t stuck down were numerous hardback books lining inbuilt shelves.

  Though she hated the idea of damaging books, she wasn’t in a position to be compassionate. She ran to the shelves and tore out the first book she put her hands on. With a scream of anger and fear, she threw it at the man. The pages fluttered as it flew open. The book hit him on the shoulder and bounced off harmlessly, landing on the floor.

  His forehead wrinkled in a scowl. “Please don’t do that again. Sir won’t appreciate you damaging his books.”

  “Fuck you!” Lily grabbed another book and threw it. This time it hit him in the chest, but he barely flinched. She might as well have thrown a pillow at him.

  “Don’t make this difficult,” he warned. “You have no reason to. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She almost felt like laughing. “No reason to? Only that I’ve been kidnapped and held against my will. No, you’re right. No reason at all.”

  He rounded the bed to stand over her. Lily sank to the floor, her arms huddled into her chest, knees in, as though making herself as small as possible would somehow save her. The fight had gone out of her. She only wanted to disappear.

  The man reached down and yanked her arms, forcing her to her feet. He spun her around and pulled her arms around her back. Cold metal locked around her wrists and the cuffs clicked into place, pinching her skin. Tears streamed down her face. She felt utterly helpless. The blindfold was wrapped around her eyes, shutting off her view of the room. The material was cool and soft against her skin, the main part of the blindfold shaped to fit perfectly around her nose and across her eyes, completely blocking her vision from the light.

  Her tears soaked into the cloth, matting the blindfold to her skin.

  He guided her with almost surprising gentleness to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Please, wait here,” he told her, as though she had any choice. “Sir will be coming to see you shortly.”

  Her heart rate quickened. Who was this ‘sir’ he kept speaking of? No part of her could convince herself he would be a decent man. After all, what kind of person bought women, cuffed and blindfolded them, and had his staff call him nothing but ‘sir’?

  She heard the click of the lock opening, and then quiet footsteps, and the door shutting again. This time, she didn’t hear the lock click into place.

  He doesn’t need to lock it again, she told herself. You’re handcuffed and blindfolded. Where the hell would you go?

  She waited. There was nothing else she could do. Her whole body was tensed and trembling with anticipation, her ears straining for any sound of someone approaching. Her mouth was painfully dry, her lips and tongue sticking to her teeth. She felt exposed and vulnerable, and though she wanted to be angry and snarky toward whoever had taken her—make him realize he hadn’t taken some weak, useless little girl—her fear overwhelmed everything else.

  The sound of footsteps came from down the hall, and Lily froze.

  The footsteps were different from the older man’s. Where his were lighter and more hurried, this new person walked with a heavier gait, slower and with purpose.
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br />   She felt the slight waft of air as the door opened, heard the click as the catch gave way. Her stomach turned, her entire body vibrating with the knowledge the man who owned her now stood in the room. She could sense his presence, a commanding force that drew her focus, even though she was unable to see him.

  Could she hear his breathing? Catch the faint hint of some kind of aftershave or soap on the air? What type of man stood over her? The not knowing was the worst part.

  She waited for him to speak, wanting to hear his voice to try to get an image of him in her mind.

  His footsteps passed in front of her, and to the side. He paused, and then walked back the way he’d just come. She could sense him assessing her, looking her over from each side.

  Even though she’d been expecting it, his voice made her jump. “You’re prettier than I expected.”

  His voice was deep, gravelly, and with a slightly foreign accent. He sounded young, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “You’re as much of a creep as I expected,” she snapped back.

  To her surprise, he laughed. “I can understand that.”

  She shook the cuffs around her wrists. “You need to let me go. People are going to be looking for me, and when they find me you’re going to prison for the rest of your life.”

  He came to a standstill directly in front of her. “I think we both know no one is looking for you, Lily Drayton. That was one of the reasons you were chosen.”

  The sound of her name on his lips was like an electric shock jolting through her system. Once again, the realization that she’d not been taken by accident, that it wasn’t the case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time, hit her. Somehow, that made everything worse. If her abduction was so meticulously planned, there was less chance of them making a stupid mistake and her finding a way to escape.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Monster.”

  Her breath caught, certain she had misheard him. “Master?” Mentally, she’d sought for the closest thing that tied in with the name she’d already heard him called—sir.

  “No. You heard me,” he answered. “My name is Monster.”

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I can’t call you that!” Somehow, giving voice to what he was, to what he wanted her to call him, only served to make this whole thing more terrifying.

  A sudden crack across her face sent her head rocking back on her neck, and her cheek flared with heat and pain. He had slapped her!

  “You will call me whatever I tell you to,” he snarled. “You are mine now.”

  “But … but …”

  She sensed him lean in closer, and his scent wafted over her, sandalwood and musk. Whatever he said, he didn’t smell like a monster. It was the sort of fragrance that would turn her head if they were in a bar, searching for its owner.

  “You will call me Monster. It is what I am. What I am, and what I am becoming more and more with every passing day.”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

  “You’ll find out in time.”

  His deep voice sent shivers running through her.

  And with that, he backed away and left the room, leaving her only with her tears.

  Six

  Within ten minutes, the older man returned and removed her handcuffs and blindfold without saying a word.

  “Please,” she begged him, hoping he might have a softer side buried deep down somewhere. “You have to help me. You have to get me out of here.”

  He gave her a scornful look. “Don’t think for one moment I am the good guy in this situation.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I don’t think either of you are good.”

  His head tilted to one side, as if assessing her. “I’m glad we agree on that.”

  He turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. The book she’d thrown still lay abandoned on its side, and she picked it up and threw it at the door. It smacked against the wood and fell to the floor.

  Lily gave a sob of fear and frustration.

  Her cheek still smarted from where the other man had hit her. Relieved that her hands were no longer cuffed, she lifted her hand to her face and held it against the heated mark. He hadn’t needed to hit her. He had done it to make a point, to make her understand that the rules between respectable adults no longer applied here. At least she was no longer handcuffed and blindfolded.

  With nothing else to do, she sank from the edge of the bed onto the floor and scooted over to grab the book. She checked the spine: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by the Irish author James Joyce. It was certainly more refined than the books she normally picked up, preferring psychological thrillers, but she’d always said she’d read the telephone book if that was all she had available. Why had they left her with reading material, she wondered? Why had the older man been so protective over the book?

  The name her captor had told her to call him rang through her head. Monster. Was that supposed to be a joke? It certainly hadn’t felt like a joke. The tone of his voice, the way he’d said those words about himself, it was as if he’d completely believed them. She’d heard danger in his tone. One moment he could have been the dashing lothario at a European restaurant, the next he’d been the terrifying voice down the end of the telephone line saying he’d been watching you and your life was in danger.

  Why had she been chosen? What made her so special that he’d gone to all this trouble to kidnap her from her workplace and have her travel for hours and hundreds of miles? He’d known her name. He knew exactly who she was.

  And she knew nothing about him.

  Except his name. A shiver, as though someone had walked over her grave, wracked through her. It was one detail she wished she didn’t know.

  He must have been giving her a false name so she’d never know who he was. Perhaps she should take hope in that. In the same way Cigarette Hands had laughed at her because she’d seen his face, had been so cocky about the fact she’d never find help, this man had given her a false name and kept her blindfolded. Perhaps, she dared to hope, his plans also included letting her go once he’d gotten what he wanted.

  Whatever the hell that was.

  A patter of quick, light footsteps came from outside. Before she had time to react, the door opened and a tray was pushed through the gap. The door slammed shut again, the lock clicking into place, and the footsteps ran off.

  Lily frowned. Did they have children here? The light footing and speed made her think it had been a child who’d delivered the tray—it certainly hadn’t been one of the two men.

  But her hunger and thirst didn’t allow her to think it over any further. Her attention moved to the tray. A piece of bread and a plastic cup of water. It was as plain as she could ever imagine, but her hunger turned it into a three course meal.

  Lily dived at the food, not stopping long enough to examine it before tearing off chunks and shoving food into her mouth. She’d not eaten for days, and the bread tasted like fluffy pieces of heaven.

  She finished the bread too quickly and washed the meal down with the water. Her stomach lurched, rolling like suds in a washing machine, and she held her hand to her mouth, certain she would be sick. She didn’t want to lose the food or water. If she was ever going to get out of this situation, she needed to stay strong—both physically and mentally.

  The nausea passed, the meal settling in her stomach, and she was able to relax, at least on that front.

  Lily got to her feet and went to the door. She pressed her ear against the wood to try and get any sense of whether or not someone was out there. She heard no other sounds, but someone might have been sitting silently. Cautiously, she reached out and tried the handle. The handle twisted a fraction and then stopped. Even though she was sure the door had been locked, she pulled on the handle a couple of times and then shoved her shoulder against the wood, hard enough to hurt.

  She lifted her hands and smacked on the d
oor. “Hey! Who’s out there? Someone help me.”

  There were others in the house, other people who worked for the man who called himself Monster. Surely not all of them could be as cruel as he was, willing to keep a woman captive? Someone out there must be willing to help her—she just needed to find a way to reach them.

  She banged on the door and yelled until her throat was sore and her palms smarted. The small amount of energy she’d gained from the bread quickly waned and she placed her forehead against the door, her breath heaving in and out of her lungs.

  “Please,” she said in a tiny voice. “Please, someone help me.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek, and with it her determination and resolve ebbed from her body. She slid down the door to sit on the floor, and rested her head against the wood as she cried.

  ***

  No one came to her.

  The time passed, and she alternated sleeping, curled up on the floor, with raging and banging at the door. She soon worked out that no amount of thumping on the wood and shouting was going to make any difference. All it did was leave her throat sore, her voice croaky, and her hands bruised.

  The meager meal she’d consumed quickly became a distant memory, and pangs of hunger knotted in her stomach once again. Though her mouth and throat were dry, she didn’t know if the water from the faucet was safe to drink, and she did her best to ignore her thirst.

  No clock hung on the wall, and because there were no windows in the room, she had no way of tracking the time. She guessed she’d been here for a whole day and night, but she could have been off by a number of hours.

  Finally, movement came at the door.

  Lily got to her feet as the door opened and the older man entered again. His eyes locked on Lily and he held up the cuffs and blindfold once more.