Now to escape. Night had fallen, so she’d apparently been unconscious for several hours. She had no idea where anyone was, but hoped and prayed they were asleep and wouldn’t come looking for her until daylight. Why they hadn’t tied her up was something she couldn’t figure out, so she didn’t try. This might be her only opportunity to get out and she was going to take it.
Easing the door open, she stuck her head outside for a quick peek. Silence. The entire place was pitch-black. She knew she should be thankful for that since hiding from them would be much easier, but it would be nice if she could see to escape. However, going into a dark, unknown forest was much more desirable than staying here with these lunatics. Samara gingerly hobbled from the porch and took off.
Mitch pulled a beer from his private stash and took a long swallow. The bitch was hiding something. He’d seen it in her eyes, smelled it on her skin. His daddy had taught him lots of useful things, and one of them was how to detect a liar. She was tough, though, he had to give her that. After being stripped and mauled by three men, she hadn’t given them anything.
As they’d thrown her around the room, his dick suddenly noticed what his eyes had appreciated all along. The girl might look skinny in her clothes, but naked she had a nice form. Sweet, juicy-looking tits, firm, squeezable ass, and those soft, smooth thighs would make for a long, sweet ride. He’d just been ready to go in for a taste when she’d slammed her foot into Richard’s gonads. Idiot had reacted before he thought, which was pretty typical for the moron. He’d knocked the hell out of the girl and then that was that.
Mitch thought about punishing Richard, but seeing the poor bastard’s tears, he figured he’d been punished enough. Besides, a man had a right to protect his privates, didn’t he?
She’d wake up eventually and then if a good, hard screwing didn’t get the truth out of her, he’d see if his other men wanted to give her a try. After five or ten went at her, she’d be singing a whole new tune. Once he got what he wanted, the bitch would die. No way in hell was he leaving her alive to spill her guts. Nor could he take her to Bennett. By the time he got what he was after, she wouldn’t be much to look at. If there was one thing Bennett liked, it was to have the girls nice and fresh. This bitch might have looked good when she arrived, but that wouldn’t last long.
Samara barely noticed the rocks and sticks poking and cutting her bare feet. Arms extended in front of her, she ran slower than she would have liked. Besides getting caught, or eaten by a wild animal, she also feared running smack into a tree, ending any chance of escape. If she could get at least a couple of miles away before dawn, she’d have a better chance of succeeding.
A muffled sound caused her to stop abruptly and sink to her knees. Rapid thumps of her heart and breath wheezing from her lungs drowned out the sound. Samara forced her breathing to slow as her ears strained to listen. Was someone behind her? Maybe an animal in the brush? Holding her breath, she listened.
A feminine sob. The sound unmistakable and heart wrenching. No matter how desperately she wanted to escape, Samara knew she couldn’t leave without trying to help. Standing again, she squinted through the darkness. But where was the girl?
Just as she took a step toward the sound, the moon passed beyond a cloud, illuminating the entire area and highlighting a small cabin hidden almost totally in the trees. Sending up a prayer of thanksgiving, Samara dashed toward the cabin. Within a few yards, she stopped to check her surroundings. She hadn’t been guarded, but it didn’t mean this girl wasn’t. She heard and saw no one.
Tiptoeing up on the porch, wincing with every creak, she eased the door open. Two young girls sat on a cot, holding each other, naked and no doubt terrified. Their heads jerked around when the door opened, fear and horror etched on their faces. Sweet God. Ashley Mason and Courtney Nixon … she recognized them from the pictures Noah had shown her.
Samara raised a finger to her lips, indicating they should keep quiet. Her eyes searched the dimly lit room but found no one else. Ignoring her throbbing and bleeding feet, she tiptoed to their bed and whispered, “Can you run?”
Anxious eyes gleaming with gratitude, they both nodded and stood. Samara’s heart twisted and then cracked. They were handcuffed together and then cuffed to the bed. How the hell was she going to free them?
Her eyes searched wildly for anything she could use. The room was devoid of everything but the cot, a small lantern, a bedpan, and some scattered clothing.
She pulled hard on the handcuffs attached to the bed, already knowing they would be secure. Panicked frustration set in and she fought the urge to sit down and have a good cry. Running her fingers through her mass of tangles, her mind desperately searched for an answer. She winced as her hand caught on something, yanking at her scalp. Her fingers pulled it away from her knotted hair, and she looked at what she held. Her heart kicked up with an optimistic beat. Her barrette. Using her teeth, she quickly stripped the rubber from around the stem, sat down, and began to work.
The girls remained quiet and Samara could feel waves of desperation bouncing from them. With shaking hands and absolutely no knowledge of how to pick a lock, she probed and prodded the small opening. With one small poke and a twist, she heard a soft click. They were free!
Though both girls looked too weak and traumatized to do a lot of running, she knew from experience that fear was an excellent motivator.
Pointing to the discarded clothing on the floor, she kept her voice as low and soundless as possible. “Get your clothes on. Quick.”
While the girls dressed, Samara kept a lookout at the window. Her heart was racing full speed. The longer they stayed here, the better their chances of getting caught. Something inside her told her they had to leave … now! She turned to see that most of the clothing they’d put on was nothing more than rags. Most likely their clothes had been cut off of them, as hers had been.
Forcing the terror and fury back, Samara concentrated on the task ahead of them. Gesturing with her hand, she indicated they should join her at the door. Barefoot and barely clothed, relief and gratitude on their terrified faces, they moved quickly to stand behind her.
With as much stealth as time would allow, Samara eased the door open again. Still clear. And thank God, the moon still glowed. They stepped from the porch and began to run. Earlier she tried to run as quietly as possible, but had been more than aware of the noise she’d made. Her feet had crumpled and shuffled dried leaves with an almost unearthly loudness, at least to her ears. Now, with three of them running, a herd of galloping horses would probably be quieter. Since there was nothing they could do about that, she forced herself to forget about the sounds and run all the faster.
They ran perhaps half a mile when one of the girls cried out. Samara turned in time to see Ashley fall face-first onto the ground. She dropped to her knees beside her. “Are you all right?”
Gasping and wheezing, Ashley nodded and scrambled to her feet. Waves of admiration for these two young girls almost overwhelmed her. What had they suffered from those brutes? Since sympathy would do nothing for them right now, Samara jumped up and took off running again, looking frequently over her shoulder to make sure they were still behind her.
About a mile from the cabin, Samara stopped for a new reason. A cessation of sound. Other than their pounding feet and harsh breathing, silence surrounded them. The creatures of the night, crickets, frogs, and owls, were quiet and still. Why? They’d been happily chirping, croaking, and screeching only seconds before.
“What’s wrong? Why did we—”
Samara raised her hand for silence. Something was off. Using her God-given instincts and remembering Noah’s and Eden’s words, Samara knew someone was out there, watching them. Mitchell and his men?
Nothing moved. No sound was made. Samara knew that even if they were being watched, they still had to make a run for it. If even one of the girls made it out, it was better than nothing. With that thought, she forced her body to move forward.
She took two steps.
Mitchell stepped out from behind a tree.
“Well, well, well. Looks like I found me some escapees.”
Nails extended like claws, Samara threw herself at Mitchell and screamed, “Run!”
ten
Kicking the door open with his foot, Mitchell threw Samara into the cabin she’d escaped from only hours ago. Landing on the floor with a hard crash, she lay there panting, cursing, and hurting like hell. Still, triumph raged through her. The girls had gotten away. Mitchell had been by himself and her distraction provided exactly what they’d needed. Now she just prayed they were able to find help or else all her efforts would have been wasted.
Mitchell stood at the door and shouted, “Richard, get in here … now!”
From her experience yesterday, Samara knew Richard was the largest of the men who’d abducted her … and she suspected the dumbest.
The thump-thump of heavy booted feet came closer. “Yeah, boss?” The big man sounded timid and scared. Samara couldn’t help but be happy that one of them knew that feeling, too.
“You were supposed to be watching her. What happened?”
Raising her head, Samara was shocked to see tears pooling in Richard’s eyes. He was more than just scared, he was terrified.
“I just went for some coffee.”
“To Tupelo?” Mitchell bellowed.
“No … I … uh … she was unconscious and I …”
Mitchell grabbed Samara’s arm and yanked her up from the floor. “This bitch weighs a third of what you do and has three times the brains.”
“I’m sorry, boss. I’ll be more careful.”
“I know you will.”
Surprised at Mitchell’s soft, almost conciliatory tone, she jerked her head up to look at the two men. Perhaps Mitchell had some kind of humanity in him after all. Neither looked any happier. Richard was literally shaking in his giant boots and Mitchell’s cold face had Samara shivering.
Pulling Samara with him, Mitchell growled, “Come on.”
He pushed her outside, onto the porch, and then down the steps. The moon now glowed with bright intensity above them, illuminating the small grassy area. Several men stood around, none of them meeting Mitchell’s eyes. Richard stood in front of his boss. The fear on his face almost, but not quite, made her feel sorry for him.
“Everybody, listen up,” Mitchell’s voice boomed. “We got two girls running loose. Find them. I want them alive. If you have to rough ’em up a little, that’ll be overlooked. No sampling the merchandise, though. Understood?”
Everyone, including Richard, nodded but remained in place, obviously waiting for their boss to issue further orders.
“Brady, you organize the search. Take everybody but Vince and Stephen.”
“You want me to stay here too, boss?”
Mitchell turned to Richard and smiled. Then, as casually as one would scratch an itch, he pulled a gun from his pocket and fired into Richard’s face. Blood, bone, and brain matter splattered everything within five feet of the dead man.
Horrified, Samara stared at the man lying on the ground, not two feet from where she stood. A foul odor permeated the area. Her face and body felt wet. A quick glance down at her shirt had her stomach revolting. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Sobbing … gagging, she turned and vomited. Since there was little to throw up, dry heaves attacked. She fell to her knees, her legs no longer able to hold her up.
A distant part of her brain heard Mitchell order his men to remove Richard’s carcass. Then he grabbed her arm and pushed her back into the cabin.
Flinging her into a small corner of the room, she watched as he pulled a beer from a cooler on the counter and pulled a chicken leg from a bucket on the table. He sat at the table, took a swig of beer, a giant bite off the leg, and grinned. “Bet you’re hungry.”
After what she’d just witnessed? She had serious doubts of ever being able to eat again. Samara had never seen a human being killed. Actually, the nearest she’d come to seeing something killed was perhaps a spider and that was probably only because one of her brothers had killed it for her.
She closed her eyes. God, she’d been so protected, so cosseted. Had stupidly believed she could handle herself, defend herself against an attacker. Now she felt furious with her own inadequacies. After this was over, and by God, she would survive, never again would she be this helpless and vulnerable. No one would ever get a chance to do this to her again.
Though her shirt was splattered with blood and other things, she had to get Richard’s remains off her skin. Twisting the back of the shirt around, she found a relatively clean spot and rubbed her face, almost gagging again when she saw the results. A wave of dizziness washed over her. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes as consciousness floated away.
A loud belch woke her. Blinking, she looked up to see Mitchell staring at her, and still eating his chicken.
“Bet you’re thirsty. It’s been almost two days since you had anything to eat and drink. You give me something on Noah McCall and I’ll get you some water and food.”
Samara tried to swallow and found she couldn’t. Her tongue was swollen, her mouth burned and stung. When she put her tongue to her chapped lips, all she could taste was dried blood. She refused to wonder if the blood was hers or Richard’s.
Yes, she was thirsty … thirstier than she’d ever been in her life. But not enough to betray Noah.
“I don’t know Noah McCall, but he evidently scares you shitless.” After witnessing the cruel brutality of Mitchell, and knowing firsthand he was a cold-blooded, ruthless killer, she could barely believe those taunting words had come from her mouth.
Black eyes narrowed, glittering with cold finality. A slow smile spread over his face. Sick dread filled her. He’d looked like that right before he blasted Richard’s head off.
Mitchell pulled his big body from the chair and unbuckled his belt.
A panicked gasp of air wheezed through her dry mouth. Was this it? Had she enraged him enough that though his men had been warned not to rape the girls, he was willing to break his own rules?
When the belt whisked out of the loops and without warning whipped against her bare skin, Samara squealed in pain and grabbed her stinging leg. The belt whooshed toward her again, licking like fire over her face. She doubled over, her arms covering her head. As the leather ripped into her flesh, she wondered bitterly if this would satisfy him or if he had something more planned for her. That was her last coherent thought.
Again and again Mitchell swung the belt at every angle over her body. Samara curled up into a ball, the thin shirt she wore providing no protection from the biting sting of leather.
Sobs ripped and exploded from her lungs, the pain burning and intense. She tried to force her mind to focus on something besides her agony and had little luck. With one last vicious sting against her shoulder, he stopped.
Almost unconscious from the searing pain, Samara gritted her teeth to keep from passing out. The rasp of a zipper told her he hadn’t finished. Biting her lip to keep from screaming, blood filled her mouth. She braced herself for the coming event … determined to fight him no matter what. She waited till he reached for her. With the last bit of strength, she sprang to her feet, grabbed a chair, and swung it at him. “Bastard!”
With a surprised laugh, he batted the chair away. Having nothing else to fight with, she jumped at him. One fist glanced his chin. He caught the other one with his hand and bent it back behind her.
Samara squealed with pain and fury … helplessness.
An expression of shocked amusement covered his face. “Damn, bitch. For such a little thing, you got spunk.” Shoving her onto the floor, he followed her down. Pinning her arms above her head, he spread her legs. Hot, fetid breath washed over her face. “Fight me, baby. It’s my favorite kind of fuck.”
Screaming, crying, cursing, she bucked and squirmed, trying with all her might to dislodge him. Everything within her screamed denial. This couldn’t be happening. … She couldn’t let it h
appen.
His erection pressed against the inside of her thigh.
Samara screamed, “No!”
Someone pounded on the door. “Hey, boss.”
“I’m busy,” Mitchell shouted.
“You might want to put that on hold, boss. We got a situation here.”
Breath sloughed through her lungs like an asthmatic marathon runner. His image wavy and surreal above her, and then the heavy, smothering weight of his body lifted off her.
Blowing out a deep sigh, Mitchell stomped to the door and flung it open. “What the hell is it?”
“We got company.”
“Who?”
“There’s a man at the gate … looks just like you … says he’s your twin brother.”
“You don’t say? Well, bring him on in here.”
While they talked, Samara rolled over and crawled into her corner. She didn’t look up when the door slammed shut, but she knew Mitchell hadn’t left. She was afraid to look at him. If he saw the excitement and joy in her expression, Noah would never make it past the door alive.
The clomp-clomp of big feet came toward her. He stopped in front of her, pulled her up by her hair, and smirked. “Later, bitch.”
A fist slammed into her jaw.
Mitchell leaned against the doorjamb and forced a welcoming smile on his face. “Well, well, well, the prodigal brother returns.”
Michael had changed, that was for damn sure. Last time Mitch saw him, tears had streamed down his skinny face as they’d trotted him off to jail. Now the face that looked so much like his was granite hard, his eyes as cold as a January deep freeze. As usual, Daddy had been right. Michael going to prison had been the right thing to do. Nothing like a solid dose of badasses to toughen a guy up. His pansy-assed brother didn’t exist anymore.
Funny, but Mitch realized he still hated him. Some things would never change.
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