Saved: a dark romance

by DD Prince

  She looks healthy enough. Her hair is shiny. Her skin is still perfect, though a bit pale. She’s a bit thin. She’s wearing too-short jean shorts and a black tank top. Her feet are bare, her finger and toenails naked. No makeup on her face. My necklace around her throat, my rings on her finger. Her hair is a little wild. I like it.

  The room has a little twin bed against the wall. An art desk all set up with supplies. A four-drawer wooden dresser. That’s it. The room is painted a soft blue, the color of a robin’s egg.

  Her eyes are pointed in my direction. Not on my face, to the left of me.

  And there’s no light in them.

  None.

  There’s also no anger, no fire.

  Fuck.

  A rush of cold floods my chest.

  Holly

  He’s standing there, muscled arms folded across his broad chest. He’s wearing denim shorts, a navy-blue t-shirt with sunglasses hanging off the neck of it, and sneakers. I’ve never seen him so casual. No, I have. The day he took me from Alaska. It feels like a lifetime ago. But it also feels like it just happened. Time passes by in a strange way when you’re locked in a room, I guess.

  His hair is a little shorter than I last saw it, and he’s got several days’ worth of scruff on his face. Just the way I like it best.

  He’s got his wedding band on, too. And the sight of it nearly makes me choke up. Nearly. I hold my gaze perfectly still, staring at the wall beside him. I haven’t looked directly into his eyes yet. When I do, I don’t know what’ll happen. Will I melt? Will I detonate?

  “Happy birthday, mi pequeña esposa.”

  Little something? I don’t know what esposa means. I don’t care, either.

  I say nothing. I keep staring at the wall.

  A long moment passes.

  I see nothing. I’m staring at the wall, but it’s now a blur.

  “Holly,” he says softly and moves toward me. The softness throws me. Maybe I do care.

  I chew the inside of my cheek. My eyes start burning. My chest, too.

  I start breathing heavier. I feel my chest heaving as I fight to breathe, fight to not show any emotion.

  I clench, wanting to disappear inside myself.

  I close my eyes. My shoulders bunch up near my ears.

  He moves into my space. His finger touches my chin as he tilts it up to try to make me look at him. I don’t wanna look. I don’t want to get lost in gunmetal grey stormy orbs that will just fucking slay me.

  “Miss me?” he asks, squatting so that I have no choice.

  Our eyes meet.

  And I break. I shatter. But it isn’t tears of sadness or sorrow. I see red. I’m crying out in rage and I’m lunging at him.

  My hands slam against his chest. I push. As he’s in a squat when I do, he topples and then I’m on top of him, straddling him. Nails across his face. Slapping. Grunting. I’m like a raging feral beast.

  He grabs me and spins me so that he’s on top and then he pins me to the hardwood floor, my arms above my head.

  I’m kicking and grunting underneath him and then I scream right in his face. A blood curdling hateful scream. It catches him off guard and I get my arm free for a second and slap him hard right across the face.

  “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” I’m like a wild animal.

  He slaps me back. Right across the face. Hard.

  The ringing pain sobers me.

  I freeze.

  He’s breathing hard, looking down at me. I’m breathing hard.

  His eyes? I can’t read them but they look almost… concerned?

  “Fuck. You.” I repeat, breathless.

  We both keep breathing heavily, eyes locked in a challenge to the death. Who will look away first?

  I moisten my lips with my tongue and it means my win, because his eyes move to my mouth.

  But I also lose, because he takes my mouth with his. His lips come crashing down on mine. I fight it. I thrash, I bite his lip, but he keeps going.

  “Stop.” I choke my plea out, but that gives him the opening to slip his tongue into my mouth.

  I push, but I’m no match for the strength of him on top of me, especially since my wrists are still pinned under his grip.

  He keeps kissing me and then he’s whispering things against my lips in Spanish. Words that could mean anything, but the way he’s saying them against my mouth sounds like they’re words of love, of adoration or something, and it makes me angrier.

  I’m thrashing, fighting, and then it dawns that he’s hard. And he’s rubbing his erection against me. He transfers both my wrists to one hand and the other hand goes up my top, under my bra, and his thumb swipes across my nipple.

  No. No!

  He grinds against me and sucks my earlobe into his mouth.

  I grunt and fight some more, and try to knee him between the legs. That’s when things get even more serious. He pins me harder with one hand over my wrists, and then he undoes my shorts with the other. His hand dives in and I’m mortified when he finds me wet.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” he says against my mouth. His eyelashes tangle up with mine and that does it. That tangling makes me start to cry and I give up my fight.

  He senses my surrender and lets my wrists go and then hauls my shorts down my legs and off, then undoes his fly and pulls out, yanks my underwear to the side, and slams inside me.

  I swallow a sob and my eyes shut tight.

  He begins to rock against me, and then he’s holding my face and kissing me.

  “I missed you,” he admits.

  I choke on a sob and grab him and bury my face in his shoulder, my arms tight around his back. If he’s not gonna stop, I can’t look at him.

  “Tell me you missed me,” he whispers.

  I respond with a whimper. I’m shaking.

  “Tell me you love me, little wife…” he says, his voice gruff, and I’m full-out bawling. Ugly crying.

  His hand goes around me, under me, and he cups my rear end under my panties as he continues to plunge into me, over and over, a punishing rhythm. And it feels so damn good.

  And then he pulls back and puts his forehead on mine, looking into my eyes as he slows his rhythm, as he breathes deep and searches my eyes with his, blinking, making our lashes tangle, making my soul weep.

  His gaze is tender. Mine must be that of a destroyed broken girl.

  And then he puts his fingers to my clit and my neck arches and he doesn’t let up until I come.

  When I do come, crying out right into his mouth as he swallows my cries, he comes inside me and collapses onto me, a dead weight.

  After a moment or ten of silence, other than ragged breaths, he rolls off me and puts his dick away. He lifts me up and carries me to my little twin bed that’s against the wall. He puts me in it, my back pressed against the wall.

  I’m in my tank top, my bra all cockeyed, my jean shorts on the floor, my panties all twisted. My heart all twisted, too.

  He’s fully dressed, only his fly undone. He kicks off his shoes and toes off his socks and then throws his shirt off and lies down on his side in my little bed, facing me, his head resting on his palm, his elbow dug into my pillow. We barely fit.

  “Well done, Lex. You’ve used me all up,” I say.

  “Ah, baby. No. I haven’t even gotten started.” He caresses my face with his free hand and I catch a glimpse of rippling muscles and the black flowers beside that black panther.

  I wince. Both from his touch and the fact that the gentle touch is on the cheek he slapped. He’s looking at it. He caresses it again. I’m sure it’s probably red. His face might be red, too, if it wasn’t covered in stubble. I do see some nail marks on one of his cheeks, though I didn’t break the skin open.

  “Eli been giving you birth control shots?” he asks, toying with a tendril of my hair.

  I snort.

  “Not that I know of,” I lie. I’ve had two of them since I’ve been here, which let me know he could come back at any tim
e. My last one, just under two months ago.

  His expression darkens. And then he grabs my face roughly. “Don’t lie to me, wildflower.”

  “Hah! Wildflower?” Please.

  “My little flower’s gone wild.”

  “Yet she’s in a cage,” I add, sourly.

  He pulls me to his chest and kisses the top of my head. I frown but don’t pull away.

  “I like breaking things that are wild sometimes,” he whispers.

  And he did break me. I won’t disagree with that.

  “You’ve broken me a bunch of times.”

  “And I hope to do it many more.”

  I chew my lip.

  He just holds me.

  “What’re you doing here?” I ask, finally.

  He squeezes me tighter, “Shh. I need to sleep. Don’t kill me in my sleep, okay, Senora Romero?”

  I scoff.

  “Holly, please, baby. Please.” He kisses the top of my head, “I’m so fuckin’ tired. Never been so goddamn tired. I might actually sleep for more than five minutes.”

  I go liquid in his arms and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. He has no idea the power he has over me. Tangled eyelashes or the word please and I will just do anything for him. Even after nine months of not knowing what on earth is happening.

  I can see over his body, to the shelf where the food rests after it comes in that slot. I watch the flame go out on my birthday candle as the last of the wax melts into my cupcake.

  Happy Birthday to me.

  ***

  I wake. I’m still wrapped up in his arms, trapped against the wall. I carefully extract myself from him. It’s not easy to do and I have to exit the bed by the bottom of it. I go to my bathroom, use the toilet, wash my face, and brush my teeth.

  Back in the room, I see he’s still asleep, now flat on his belly on my little bed. He looks massive in it, like he’s sleeping on a doll bed. His feet are hanging off. But he’s flat out, breathing deeply and evenly.

  I pull my tank, bra, and panties off and put on fresh underwear and a new bra and throw on a jean skirt and baby blue baby doll tee.

  I try the doorknob and it’s unlocked. I go out and see the rest of Eli and Tasha’s humble little house for the first time. They’re not here. Outside my door is a large bag, a huge hockey bag, in fact. I open the zipper a little bit and see clothing inside. For both of us. And a wallet stuffed with money and two passports. Zander Roman. Holly Roman. Hm. The Roman name again. That was the name from our wedding night hotel.

  I guess I’m going somewhere else after all. There’s also a gun. I lift the gun out. It’s heavy. I examine it.

  I wander toward the door barefoot; I haven’t worn shoes in nine months. Not much to the place. A small bungalow that looks plain and ordinary. Two bedrooms. Combo living and dining room. Small galley kitchen. I’d gotten the master since it had the adjoining ensuite bathroom. Their room is tiny. I walked through a very humble living room / dining room combination with tatty furniture and lots of crafts, out to a cute wraparound white painted porch with lots of homemade wooden windchimes outside knocking around in the breeze, making up a peaceful percussion symphony. The sun is rising. And it’s beautiful.

  I step onto a stone path, to a rocky beach. There’s nothing around us but trees and rocks and water and a dark sky that’s beginning to turn orange and pink. I still have no idea where I even am. I also have no idea what his intentions are.

  The breeze picks up and blows my hair in my face as I sit down and put my feet in the water. I put the gun on a rock beside me and stare out. There’s no neighbors that I can see. There’s a big wide shoreline. There’s a dock that I hadn’t seen from my window but there’s no boat docked. I let out a big breath. And then I inhale a big breath.

  What next? I can’t go on like this. I can’t spend my life locked in a room waiting for him to come see me.

  I feel his presence. I reach for the gun, get up and spin, and point it at him, holding it with both hands. I point it to the ground immediately, unable to even point it at him without feeling like it’s all kinds of wrong.

  He sighs and massages the bridge of his nose and then keeps walking toward me, feet bare, chest bare. Button fly jean shorts half undone. He takes it out of my hand. I didn’t even fight.

  “Safety’s on,” he tells me.

  I shake my head. Of course it is. I’m such a loser.

  He tucks it into the back of his waistband and sits down on the rock I’d been sitting on, tugging my hand and making me trip and land on his lap.

  He wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight to him. It takes me by surprise and makes my heart hurt. He’s done it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it’s not. Not for him.

  He wraps his hand around the length of my hair and holds it over one shoulder while kissing the back of my now exposed neck. His skin, warm, tanned, smooth. Seeing that tattoo… I feel weak in the knees and sadness spills out from the core of my heart.

  He lifts my left hand in his right one and kisses the top of it and it hits me in the heart as it’s such a sweet thing, the kind of thing I saw Tommy do with Tia. It’s something I never thought I’d get from him.

  “I have to go take care of some things. I’m moving you somewhere else while I do that.”

  I frown, staring at his olive, nearly brown, skin in stark contrast to my pale skin.

  “What?”

  He gives me a heated stare, “I need you safe while I do a few things.”

  I shake my head, in confusion.

  “Where am I now?” I ask.

  “A little island off the coast of Tasmania.”

  My eyes bulge.

  “Where is Tasmania, even?” I think of the Tasmanian Devil. Ang and I watched Looney Tunes all the time, every Saturday morning, even when the cable got cut off we would pull out the rabbit ears until we could get it in with minimal fuzz. I remember something in the cartoon about the map but I can’t recall where Tasmania is.

  “Off the coast of Australia.”

  Wow. I blink. Stunned.

  “Make me some breakfast,” he says.

  I continue to stare, dumbfounded.

  “You know, take care of your husband like any good wife?” he snickers, teasingly.

  I glare, “As well as my husband takes care of me? I’ll go see if my jailers have any strychnine in the pantry.”

  “Or holly berries?” he teases some more.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I hiss at him. He stands, putting me on my feet, and then swats my behind.

  “You have a lot of nerve, Alessandro!” I snap, pulling away.

  “Ah, Alessandro. I was Lex last night.”

  I have no response.

  “You love me, I’m Alessandro. You’re angry with me, I’m Lex? Funny.”

  “Why is that funny?”

  His eyes light with something, I don’t know what.

  “You think love is funny?” I ask.

  He scoffs.

  “Or ridiculous?” I push.

  “More like ironic.”

  I have no idea what he means by that.

  “What if I’ve stopped loving you while you left me to rot? Would that be funny? That’s what you thought you wanted, isn’t it? But if that’s what you got, how would you feel about it?”

  He grabs me by the throat and I gasp, teetering on the edge of the rock I’m standing on.

  He stares, lip curled, but says nothing as I stare right into his eyes with challenge.

  Finally, I snap at him.

  “What does this mean? You’ll hurt me if I don’t love you? You want me to love you, even if you leave me to rot for nine months in a cage? You want me to fear you, hate you, and love you, right? Am I right?”

  His lip curls some more. He doesn’t squeeze. He just holds my throat, his eyes threatening.

  “Let me go. Lex.”

  He lets go. “Go make us some food. Our ride’ll be here in an hour and I’m starving.”

/>   “Where are we going?” I demand.

  “I’m dropping you in Costa Rica. Then I’m going to Africa.”

  “Africa? What? For how long?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as what takes?”

  “As long as it takes for me to catch El Diablo.”

  I stare, confused. But not confused. I know, from the night before our wedding, that whoever ‘S’, aka El Diablo, is, Alessandro hates him. But I don’t know why or what that has to do with anything happening with us.

  “Do I have to be in another cage?” I ask.

  He looks at me with a dark expression, “Maybe. Maybe not. Gonna be a good girl?”

  “Do I still get to keep your soul safe?” I ask, trying to be snarky but it’s a fail. My chin trembles.

  He gives me a sad smile. “Is there anything left to keep safe?”

  I shrug and I move away. He lets me.

  I go into the house, toward the kitchen, and then I find myself pinned face first against the wall. He’s holding me there with his body. His left hand grabs my left hand and his fingers weave into mine, mine pressed against the wall, his pressed against mine. I look at them on the wall. I look at our wedding rings. My heart aches.

  He squeezes my hand and his mouth is against the back of my neck. “I needed you safe. That’s why you’re here. If that makes you angry, so be it. Angry is better than the alternative.”

  “Is someone after me?” I whisper into the wall.

  “Yes,” he whispers into the back of my neck.

  “Why?”

  “To hurt me.” His voice is soft but it’s lethal in its intensity.

  “Me being hurt hurts you?” I whisper.

  There’s silence and he squeezes me and then kisses my earlobe and whispers, “Yes.”

  I swallow and try to remember to breathe. “How do you know---”

  “He’s already gotten a Holly decoy.”

  “A Holl---” I start but I can’t finish. I close my mouth and blink.

  “He had her killed,” he adds.

  His lips move against the back of my neck again, giving me goosebumps. I shiver. His arm wraps around my middle, and we stay like that for a minute.