by Harlow Stone
Fuck! What have I done?
I never should have started working for this fuck! I should’ve kept my goddamn dick in my pants. Now my actions have caused this fucking shit!
“Now, now Ryder. Unless you want the lady to endure more than a beating you will do as I say. That guard enjoys what he does, enjoys taking advantage of the women who enter the facility, for a fee of course. Or I can tell him not to harm a hair on her head and make sure he is compensated for doing so.
“Now, I don’t like to order people around. Surely we can come to an agreement. I am not one to condone rape, Callaghan. But I’m afraid I can’t stop him once he gets started. Especially with one that looks like your sweet Elle.
“So tell me Ryder, would you be able to live with the fact that she has been taken in every way imaginable? Against her will no less. Or will you be a good soldier and do as I ask. Because all it is going to take is one text or phone call. AH! Here comes another photo now. Keep in mind the first one was sent almost an hour ago.”
He once again holds the phone out in front of me. Denny and Ivan give it their all to hold me back. She has more blood on her beautiful face and there’s a large hand wrapped around her hair, holding her head up. Her fucking shirt is torn.
Hang on beautiful! Don’t let go, just hang the fuck on.
Chapter Thirty-six
Elle
The sound of my raspy voice echoes off the concrete walls. I sing softly, mostly to myself, but for some reason hoping he can hear me. I know the song is roughly five minutes long, so I tell myself if I sing it on a loop it will help me keep track of time.
I don’t know if I’ve been sitting here for five minutes, or five hours. Time travels slowly in the dark, it always has. I know deep down that time is not of importance. But with nothing but my morbid thoughts keeping me company, I know I need something else to focus on.
I’m not sure if it was another man’s hands on me, or the darkness that took over (both literally and figuratively). Either way, I came to the same conclusion.
I’m madly in love with Ryder Callaghan.
I want to see him, smell him and touch him.
I want to feel his arms around me and his voice in my ear telling me to keep him. I want to run my fingers through his hair and tell him I am sorry for doubting his commitment to me.
I want to apologize for running because it took away valuable time we could have spent together.
I just want him.
I pull my legs tighter toward my chest with my shaking arms, trembling inside and out. I ignore all those things and just sing the fitting song by Kings of Leon. For Ryder, for me, for us.
Love is a beautiful thing.
I will not run, hide, or leave him. I will not allow William Becker, Detective Braumer, or anyone else to get in the way of what I know is the last beautiful thing I may ever experience in my life. Regardless of the war going on around us. So I just sing, on a loop, praying he can hear me.
Bite your tongue
Don’t make a scene dear
Everybody's been here
At least once before
But we've been here more
Your heart breaks
Rolls down the window
I've seen it all go
Comeback around
I've heard the sound
The tip of your tongue
The top of your lungs
Is doing my head in
I say love
Don't mean nothing
Left them something
Worth fighting for
It's a beautiful war
When I hold
The warmth of your body
There is nobody
That I'd rather hold
Shattered and cold
The tip of your tongue
The top of your lungs
Is making me crazy
I say love
Don't mean nothing
Left them something
Worth fighting for
It's a beautiful war
I say love
You don't need nothing
Left them something
Worth fighting for
It's a beautiful war
It's a beautiful war
It's a beautiful war
I say love
I say love
Don't need nothing
Left them something,
Worth fighting for
I say love
Don't need nothing
Left them something
Worth fighting for
It's a beautiful war
It's a beautiful war
It's a beautiful war
It's a beautiful war
I feel the words as I sing them. Deep down in my soul and again when I start over. It’s relentless, but therapeutic. I sing in a voice I do not recognize. One I’ve never heard before. It’s new to me, made deeper by my once bruised and battered throat. It’s raspy like Janis Joplin and echoes back from the cold bare walls.
It’s my beautiful melody to the man who I think about. The one person I can focus on that adds some sunlight to my otherwise dark tomb.
I hear the sound of a door opening and see the motion sensor light activate on their arrival. I stopped my singing as soon as I heard the door, not wanting them to be a part of my moment with the person I deeply care about.
Thanks to the light in the hallway, I see the shadow when it stops outside my room. This time, he uses a key to open the door, indicating he locked it on departure. I sit still on my spot in the corner of the small bed, not moving.
He opens the door and once again the light illuminates him from behind. I would say he’s maybe one hundred and ninety pounds. Not in muscle, he has no definition for that. He is just shy of six feet tall and nothing to write home about. His light hair is unkempt. His uniform is ruffled. He’s not handsome, but average. He’s unremarkable and every bit of evil.
He doesn’t shut the door behind him, but moves into the cell. He reaches out and grabs me by the front of my shirt, causing it to rip as he hauls me off the bed. I try to cooperate, not wanting to anger him anymore, but for some reason he still slaps my face when I’m not fast enough.
I’m shoved backward into the cold concrete wall, the force causing the air to whoosh out of my lungs and my trembling legs to weaken. The guard reaches out and grabs a fist full of my hair, holding me upright.
“Stay still.”
I don’t know why he asks, it’s not like I can move. I don’t understand until the flash of the camera blinds me once again. I blink, repeatedly, trying to regain my sense of sight.
“You must be popular, princess. Or worth something, because apparently our little photoshoot is over.”
He releases my hair and I let out the breath I was holding, hoping to hell I can now go above ground and back to my cell. I will my legs to take me there, one foot in front of the other, but his hand moves to my shoulder and his mouth moves to my ear. The sick hushed voice sending chills down my spine.
“That doesn’t mean that I’m done with you.”
He moves away from my ear, remaining close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheeks. Regardless of the lack of light, I don’t miss the evil smirk on his face. The calloused thumb on his left hand moves from my neck into the hollow of my collarbone. He applies enough force in the pressure point, using his hand to push down, leaving me no choice but to drop to my knees.
“Now be a good inmate, number 67413.”
Author Notes
Thank you so much for reading the second book in The Ugly Roses series! If you enjoyed it PLEASE take the time to leave a review.
Here are links to stay up to date on the third book in the series.
www.facebook.com/harlow.stone.author
[email protected]
www.harlowstone.com
Acknowledgements
Thank you so much to everyone who has read my books! To the fans- you guys rock! Without your reviews and c
onstant questioning for book two’s release we would not be here today.
To my momma, as always your support as my number one fan will keep me moving forward.
To my Dad (who calls this venture his retirement fund), thank you for the support to get me where I am today.
Barbi, whether we talked recently or not- either way it doesn’t matter. You still keep me sane and for that I will forever be grateful.
Erin, you’re my rock in this venture. You appreciate my no-nonsense attitude and push me forward. Your criticism is constructive and our mutual love of the written word will always give us something to talk about.
To my beta’s (Jen and Kim) thanks for reading my mess of a manuscript and helping me along the way!
Rachel, my fellow raunchy book lover; thank fuck you’re perceptive!