Deliverance (The LockDown Series Book 1)

by Dobson, Shannon

  I start to struggle as my jeans are torn from my body, no matter how much I resist or cry or plead they still end up in a crumpled pile on the floor.

  The leader steps a little closer, pressing the blade to my collarbone, the metal slightly slicing the skin. Only surface level but it still sends a pain zapping through me.

  “Please, don’t! Please stop!” I scream loudly, trying to appeal to their moral side, but the only answer I get is a cloth pressed to my face. I start to become hazy and tired. As I feel I’m going to pass out they remove it, and then a hand slaps lightly to my face waking me up.

  “You continue making that God awful noise and I will be forced to shut you up entirely. You have two options; number 1,” he holds up his index finger. “You let me leave this message for your fiancé wherever I deem suitable, and then we will leave and you may or may not hear of us again. Or option 2, and my favourite option in my opinion, I tear this cunt apart.” He brings the blade to my cotton concealed vagina, swiping it down the length of my grove cutting me lightly once again. I can feel the tiny trickles of blood soaking my knickers. “I will fuck you, and then he will fuck you and then he will fuck you as well,” he says, pointing to the two cronies. “And then just for the fun of it I will fuck you once again. I will make you bleed; I will make you cry and beg, and I will make you scream for a real fucking reason and then, I will slit your fucking throat and leave you and that spawn of Saturn in there to fucking die because quite honestly, this world doesn’t need any more whores than it already has. So what’s it going to be, 1 or 2?” He holds up one finger then a second to indicate the options. I feel cold, almost dead inside until those tiny little baby flutters happen, reminding me it isn’t only me here.

  “One, please one. Just please don’t hurt my baby,” I beg. I coach myself in my head of what to do. Remain calm, let them do everything they need to and then let them leave and never speak of this again.

  “Oh, well that’s a shame sweetness; I was very much looking forward to feeling how tight you are. But I suppose if you’re like any of his other sluts you’ve probably had half of London.”

  “So boys, where should I leave this message?” he asks them, all three men now stood in front of me analysing their canvas.

  They all stand huddled together for a few seconds with the occasional nods and ah-hums before turning and heading back my way. “So, princess, we have a few things we’d like to say, so we might need a little more than just you. But we’ll start here,” pointing to my chest, “and we’ll see where it takes us okay?” He taps my cheek patronisingly. “This might hurt so here’s a little something to help.” He places the same cloth over my face until I am nearly unconscious and barely coherent.

  In my head I am fighting, I am pulling and pushing at them to stop the torture as time and time again their knife penetrates my skin. Every inch of my body has a mark; well that’s what it feels like anyway.

  I scream through my haze as the knife for the second time attacks my crotch. The pain is unlike anything else I have ever felt. Forget anything my father has done, forget the streets, forget the emotional pain of Leighton betraying me, because as I feel the agonising tear of that blade ripping me apart I want to die. I want to be gone from this world and away from any more suffering.

  “That’s looking mighty artistic boss,” one of the voices says.

  I can feel the hot fresh blood pouring from the wound, drowning my thighs and the chair.

  “Let’s finish this boys,” I hear the leader say, as I am untied and thrown to the floor haphazardly. I can feel the warmth of a human body, then the smell that isn’t my Leighton, it is a stranger and my body doesn’t want it.

  I wish to God I had a knife in my clutch right now because I want to end this, end everything as I feel something slip inside of my vagina.

  “Just how I like it, tight and bloody,” one of them says as that cloth is once again placed hard and forcefully over my mouth, this time sending me into an appreciated and welcomed coma.

  “Abbi, God Abbi. Jesus Christ. Wake up Angel.” It is my Tom; he is here to keep me company. Heaven is a God awful quiet place you know. “ANT!” I hear him shout, and I am happy he has come too. All I hope now is my Leighton will join our little gathering here beyond the pearly gates to hold me when the clouds become too soft to handle. All though right now, these clouds are rock fucking solid.

  “Fucking Hell.” I hear the words leave Antonio’s perfect mouth and it makes me smile.

  “DON’T JUST FUCKING STAND THERE, CALL AN AMBULANCE, SHE’S FUCKING BLEEDING YOU DICKHEAD. AND CALL LEIGHTON!” Thomas screams loud and angry. It makes me want to shy away a little, well if I can, I do try moving but nothing happens. “Hold on baby girl, hold on. Please Abigail, don’t leave me. Hold the fuck on.” I can hear him crying and I wonder what the hell is going on.

  I feel myself closing off again, drifting away once more.

  “No, stay with me,” Tom says one last time before everything is black again.

  I hear an annoying beep, beep, beep of something around me, my head and thoughts cloudy. I hear the muffled voices around me.

  “Is she going to be okay Doc? Please tell me she’ll be ok?” I hear Leighton worried and panicking beside me. I try my hardest to open my eyes and search for him but they refuse to shift. The feeling of staples holding them together, fusing the lids to one another makes it impossible to open them.

  “Sir, please, calm down. We need to take her to theatre. You need to stay here.” What the hell is wrong with me, I feel no pain, no tension, just nothing.

  “Calm down? Calm the fuck down? Somebody has fucking mutilated my fiancé. Do not tell me to calm the fuck down. I won’t fucking leave her on her own again.” I can physically feel the rage pouring from my fiancée. I want to sit up, open my eyes and tell him I am fine, but I know deep down inside my foggy mind that I’m not fine, I am obviously in hospital, why? I have no clue.

  “Sir, you need to leave, we have to get her to surgery now, I will call security if I have to. So please just go. We’ll find you when we have some news.” The doctor sounds calm and collected trying to reason with Leighton.

  “Okay, I’ll go, but please fix her, help her, she can’t die.” I can hear the anger turning to pain. I feel his fingertips brush my cheek. I want to place my hand to his or turn and kiss his palm, anything to calm him down.

  “Sir, it’s not that serious, looks as though she will just need a skin graft, a few stitches here and there and maybe some back muscle to repair. I’m going to prepare her for surgery now, so if you would like to go and take a rest in the visitors lounge hopefully she won’t be more than a few hours. I’m sorry this has happened; I want to get herself looking back to her again. I’ll do my best okay.” The doctor and Leighton have both calmed down.

  “Okay I’m going. I need to make some calls anyway. Please just tell me as soon as she’s out.” I feel him kiss my forehead. “God baby, I’m so sorry, I love you,” I hear him say in my ear, I feel his wet tears slide down his cheek and onto mine.

  I feel my arms being prodded and poked, liquid gushing into my veins. Then I really fall asleep. No dreaming, no feeling or hearing anything, completely and utterly comatose.

  I see the lights overhead flickering in and out of my view, my bed moving. My eyes feel heavy, lead weights holding them closed.

  When we arrive into another room, my bed is situated, the breaks applied and then the tube in my throat removed. I can feel the rubber as it brushes every inch of my esophagus on removal. The movement causes a horrendous gag in my throat; my body turns to the side and proceeds to expel my stomach contents, which isn’t a lot, mainly air, which in turn feels agonising on my stomach.

  After what seems like an eternity, I finally manage to open my eyes completely, the lights in the room blinding me. I flinch and hiss as the fluorescents hurt my aching eyes.

  “Good to see you awake Miss Adams. You’re in the hospital. How are
we feeling?” God I hate when doctors speak to you in the third person, what was I, three years of age?

  “Shit.” My one word croaky reply sums up my whole being. All I can feel everywhere in my body is pain, from the tip of my head to my aching and sore feet.

  “As expected my dear. Now tell me Abigail, do you remember anything.” Do I? I ask myself, because pretty much most of whatever happened to me is a complete and utter blur, I only remember snippets.

  “Some of it. I remember waiting for Leighton to get home, I remember three men in my home. Then I remember the pain.” Oh God the pain, my baby. Please NOOOOO! I reach my hands down to grab my stomach, finding the huge thing still sticking out from beneath my hospital gown. The sigh of relief is probably louder than I expect it to be.

  “Your baby is absolutely fine Miss Adams, luckily. You pulled a few of your back muscles, so you’ll have to take it very easy as the weight of the baby could make them worse and tear them completely. You’ll be on house rest until the birth. We have skin grafted your chest; hopefully only minor scaring will be visible after it has settled down. We have stitched up your other bodily wounds and facial injuries; they should heal fine, within a few months you won’t even know they were there. You also had a small bleed within your brain from the bang you took to the head, but we’ve fixed that all up. You will be very sore in your genital area for a few weeks at least, there was some substantial damage done there but we have managed to fix it and it should heal fine sweetheart. You’ve just got to rest to allow yourself to heal properly.”

  “Thank you; can I see my fiancé please?” I ask him timidly, I just want his arms around me, keeping me safe.

  “Of course. I’ll go and tell him you’re awake and expecting him, he’s been here for six hours.” The doctor walks from the room. My hand moves up to my chest, seeking the cuts I know are there. I only find thick dressings covering my flesh, the skin underneath the padding tender and sore.

  I rub my aching jaw finding it sore as fuck. My eyebrows sport stitches, as well as the back of my head where I had smacked it on brick walling around the fire place in the lounge.

  My nerves at seeing Leighton are sky rocketing. I feel so many different emotions towards him at this present moment in time, I don’t know how to deal with them all.

  I feel physically sick at the thought of what has occurred, angry at him for provoking them enough that they could have killed me and his child. Angry that he was with her, her of all people whilst I was being attacked to an extent I still don’t comprehend. Sad that he would have felt helpless to do anything, petrified that it wasn’t the end of it, that it was just the beginning of the war, and that any day they could reappear and things could be even worse. That next time he would keep to his threat.

  When he walks through the door, he looks like shit. His normal pristine work shirt is creased, his hair is tousled and wild, his eyes are heavy and tired and his jaw is scattered in scruff that desperately needs shaving off.

  He looks to me with his sad puppy dog moss green eyes. They scan me from my head down to my waist before they dip beneath the hospital white sheets. His chest heaves in a huge lungful of air and then the tears in his eyes pour. I have never seen a full grown man break down so badly. He collapses to the floor, his face in his hands and sobs tear from within him.

  My own tears begin to drop onto my hospital blanket, soaking the material. These are tears for the loss of whatever I had gained. All of my self-control, pride, strength, independence and faith, gone, stolen, lost at the push of a simple button.

  I am already preparing myself for the night terrors that will come, they always do whenever I face trauma.

  Leighton hears my own heartbreak, and lifts his head from his hands, his blotchy scruffy face staring at me. “I’m so sorry Angel. This is my entire fault. God I’m such a fucking idiot. I could have lost you, they could have killed you.” He stands and moves closer to the bed. Wrapping his arms around me as he pulls me into him, my chest to his. The pain at the pressure he is applying to my wound tears through me. I flinch at the pain.

  “Shit, sorry. God what they did to you, I’ll never forgive myself.” He traces the dressings there, scribbling something with his fingertips. I try to work out what he is writing.

  “What did they write there?” I ask him, not a hundred percent sure I actually want to know but I need to.

  “Abbi,” he says sympathetically. “They didn’t write anything sweetheart, just cut you is all.”

  “Leighton please tell me everything that happened to me?” I ask him, a tiny sob like hiccup still arising from within my chest. I need to know the extent of the damage done to my body, what those animals have done to me.

  “Baby, it’s done, finished. We don’t even know who done this. All that is important is that you’re safe, alive and recovering,” I don’t know why in my head his reply sounds patronising but it does.

  “I need to fucking know Leighton, me, for my fucking sanity. Tell me what they did to me,” I command him. He shies away like a scorned school child.

  “Are you sure Abbi?” he asks me quietly.

  “Of course I’m sure. But regardless of my emotional state I need to know.” I am trying to stop myself from breaking. I still feel so heartbroken and angry at his betrayal, but I need to get myself through my physical injuries before I even begin to approach the truth of the past night.

  “Okay. Well I’m sure the doc told you about the graft to your chest, they cut pretty deep, they took a chunk out so the doctor had to use skin from your bottom and inner thighs to fill and replace the missing tissue.” I cringe at the very thought of any of it. “You also have about ten smaller inch long cuts on your legs and arms that have been stitched and dressed, the split in your eyebrow and cut on your lip, and then there’s that.” He points to my blanket covered lower half.

  “There’s what Leighton?” I ask nastily, my anger and hate at not only him, but myself, manifesting inside of me and becoming bitter and toxic.

  “Baby, what’s wrong, why are you taking this out on me?” he asks me sadly, and usually I would have melted for those green eyes but right now there isn’t anything in this world that could help me.

  “Just tell me Leighton. What happened to me?” I beg hard this time. I need closure and I need it now.

  “Well they used a knife and sliced you really deep down there,” he nods again to the same area.

  I nod at his answer and then bring my knees up ignoring the agonising sting so I can bury my face in my hands and thighs. I can’t prevent the sobs that erupt from my chest; I just let them flow out, the tears drowning the cotton sheet.

  “No baby, please don’t cry. God, never cry. I’m here baby, Shhh I’m here.” He wraps me in his arms and as I take in his words I snap. Like an elastic band pulled too far, my spring releases.

  “Get off of me, now.” I cry, pushing hard at him, shuffling myself across the bed and away from him.

  “Abbi?” he questions me, confused and hurt.

  “Where the fuck were you Leighton? You were with her weren’t you? You were fucking Kalina whilst I nearly lost our child. Get the fuck out of here now,” I scream, kicking and punching him violently.

  I am restrained as he scoops me up in his arms and holds my legs and arms tight to me. He lets me cry and scream but stops me lashing out.

  “Angel, I promise you with everything I am, I wasn’t with her, I would never want to be with her,” he whispers in my ear trying to calm me.

  “You were. They said you were.” I reply. I am feeling so exhausted both emotionally and physically.

  “I was with Nate sweetheart; we were going through a business proposal like I said I would be. Kalina did not enter the restaurant once Angel, she wouldn’t be welcome. Now tell me Abbi, who were these men?” he asks me. I feel a little reassured from his answer, but my now, once again fucked up head, needs clarification from Nate.

  “They said they were the one
s that hurt Maria and Ant,” I tell him, hiding my face away in shame.

  “Okay, thank you, I will deal with it Abbi,” he simply answers, sweeping my hair away from my face.

  I sit curled in his lap for a good hour, my breathing eventually returning to normal, my eyes run out of tears and my body clammy. “So what happens now Leighton? What does this all mean?” I ask him.

  “It means you aren’t leaving the house unsupervised, I will be hiring security detail and they will be with you everywhere you go. We’re getting you a gun that you will use if you have to, I know you don’t like carrying one, but you will, so no-one can ever hurt you again. It also means Abigail, that they aren’t finished, they’re only just beginning. This is my fault. If I had only listened to you, listened to the warnings you had given me. I’m a selfish fucking bastard; I don’t deserve you or our child.” He takes a deep breath after his little speech. He is rambling, which means he is uncertain of my mood, he is nervous as hell to see how I am going to react.

  Every feeling has dissipated within me, all the hurt, rage, anger and betrayal gone, and the only emotion left is sadness. I don’t blame him, this is who Leighton is, I knew the dangers of our relationship before it properly started. I am just hurting because I still don’t know if he is telling the truth about who he was with. “Leighton?,” He doesn’t respond just stares at me, the heartbreak evident. “Leighton!” I yell at him trying to snap him out of his trance. His head snaps up to look at me, his eyes wide and his hands stiffening slightly.

  “Leighton, baby, this isn’t your fault. This is nobody’s fault, but those animals.” I take a breath in; I can feel the tears surfacing again, the panic reappearing. “They, they broke in, and they threatened me. I was so scared Leighton, I thought I was going to die, I thought I would never see you again.” I can feel a panic attack heading towards me, the reality of what has happened hitting me full force in my aching face. My breaths start to become short and sharp, like I am struggling for breath; I start to hyperventilate, trying to drag air into my lungs. My body starts to convulse and heave as I feel myself losing consciousness.