Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series

by Brooke Kinsley

  "Etta?"

  "Sorry, I was just trying to... I don't know."

  She hung her head again. There was a faint tapping, the sound of her tears falling on the floorboards.

  "Is that the... same Craig?" she asked.

  "No," I replied. "He's not the same."

  She pulled at her restraints then fell limp. There was no use in trying. At her age, she wasn't strong enough to do very much let alone escape from something like this. And I was powerless to help her. Cold, starved, disoriented and trembling, I could barely even take in a full lungful of breath or raise my arm let alone rescue her.

  Although it was all I thought about. I'd had so much time to think, so much time to stare up at the ceiling and just imagine that I could do all the things my body wouldn't let me. In these moments, when I lost myself in the waking dreams of my fantasies, I could crush Craig with one hand, I could kill him with a single finger, I could overpower him with just my breath.

  But that's all they were, fantasies.

  On the mattress, now naked and emaciated, I felt something wet beneath me. It was hot and spreading across the backs of my thighs. I realized I was wetting myself. Lying in my own stinking piss.

  I couldn't even cry. It could have been because I was too numb, or it could have simply been because my body had not a single drop of moisture left.

  The footsteps came back across the landing before getting louder and louder. Before long, they were at the end of the bed. I could feel his eyes on me before I saw them.

  "I heard a noise," he said. "You two were talking."

  Looking away, I focused on a single sliver of moonlight that was casting a rectangle on the ceiling. In this dank and deadly house, it was the only light, the only ray of hope.

  "And I smell something too," he continued and sniffed the air around him. "You filthy bitch."

  Crouching down, he knelt on the mattress and touched his hand to the soiled fabric before smelling his fingertips.

  "Filthy, filthy bitch. I leave you alone for two minutes and you're pissing yourself like a puppy."

  He stood back up and kicked the mattress.

  "Dirty..." he said. "And don't think I didn't hear the two of you in here, whispering, plotting, planning what you wanted to do to me the second my back is turned."

  He pulled the knife from his belt and waved it at us. Like frightened animals, we cowered beneath it, flinching every time it pointed in our direction.

  "Don't hurt us!" mom cried.

  "Don't hurt us!" Craig repeated, mocking her in a high pitched voice, screwing up his face like a petulant teenager. "Urgh... bitches."

  In all the time we were together I'd never heard him use the word, ever. Now it felt as though it was all I heard him say.

  "Craig," I said, the word struggling to escape my shriveled up throat.

  He turned to me, his face showing nothing but darkness.

  "Water..." I said.

  "Water..."

  "I need water. Please!"

  He sighed and walked up to the top of the mattress. Placing the back of his hand to my forehead, he suddenly looked worried and reeled back.

  "Shit, you've got a fever."

  Fever?I thought. I don't have a fever. I'm so cold. So, so cold.

  It felt as though my very bones had frozen and the only warmth I felt from my own urine had now vanished so that now I was lying in nothing but cold liquid. When I thought I couldn't get any colder, a frigid draught blew in through the broken window.

  "Water, please," I said.

  There was no denying that I needed help. Even someone as crazy and deluded as Craig could see that.

  "She needs food and water," said mom. "And she needs to warm up."

  "Nobody's talking to you!"

  She didn't move, didn't panic at his raised voice. She kept a firm gaze on him and reached out her only free hand. As she gripped his pants leg, he tried to shake her off but she clung on.

  "What will you do if she dies?" she cried. "What will you do! If you can't have her now, you definitely can't have her when she's dead."

  A look of understanding swept over his face then he looked back down at me.

  "I suppose I could give you a bath," he said. "You used to love it when I did that, didn't you?"

  There was a shine to his eyes. Somehow, he'd managed to twist my plea for life saving warmth and sustenance into something romantic.

  "A bath it is," he said and with a swipe of his knife, he's cut my restraints and I was free.

  Or as free as I could be while feeling so weak. As I lowered my arms and felt the blood rush into my fingers, they ached with their newfound freedom. I hadn't even realized how pained they were until now.

  "Come on, get up," he said.

  With unsteady legs, I put one foot down on the floor, then another. My head was spinning, my vision blurring at the sides. As I tried to stand, I was suddenly aware of how thin I was. Like a newborn calf, I staggered and stumbled toward the door, Craig laughing at me as I struggled to regain my balance.

  "Well someone's a little drunk," he joked.

  He placed his hands under my armpits to steady me and as though I was nothing more than a puppet, he walked me out toward the bathroom. As soon as I saw the sink, I felt onto it and ran the faucet, holding my mouth below the stream of water until I was gulping down so much water I began to choke.

  The dryness in my throat was almost gone, the headache quickly dissipating as the cells in my body became hydrated.

  Beside me, Craig was turning on the hot water. Steam filled the room and I could feel it warm me already. I watched it dance around the cold, tiled room like a mysterious fog until I could barely see his face any longer.

  He looked me up and down with a smile and for a disorientating second, I was sure I was seeing Lincoln's face. But then he waved a hand to clear the air. The steam moved away and Craig's face returned.

  My heart sank.

  But at least I was off that mattress and I was going to get warm.

  "Sorry there are no candles or rose petals," he said with a sarcastic flatness to his voice. "Okay, get in."

  As I raised my leg and touched a toe to the steaming water, I felt the heat travel up my leg. If this felt so good then I couldn’t wait to be submerged in the heat.

  Before I could sink myself down into the water, something caught my eye, something white and sickly. For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me again. Had I seen a ghost? A monster? It was some sort of pale and stringy creature with exaggerated, long limbs and a haunted face. Matted, black hair clung to its scalp like soaking tendrils of seaweed.

  I gasped, my heart raced, I felt as though I was going crazy, hallucinating that there was an unearthly creature in the room.

  Then I realized the creature was me.

  I was staring in the mirror.

  My eyes were sunk deep and dark into my sockets, my face gaunt and gray with my hair covered in sweat. I stared at myself in disbelief. What had happened to me?

  "Well, are you getting in or not?"

  He shoved me hard in the back and I felt the heel of his hand dig into the fragile bones of my spine.

  I lowered my foot, then the other before sinking my whole body down and down into the divine heat until I was completely submerged with warmth.

  I didn't realize how much I needed this, couldn't comprehend the good it was doing to my body. A long, satisfied sigh was released from my lungs as at last, I stopped shaking.

  "Happy now?" asked Craig with that stupid mocking tone that made me want to slap the life out of him.

  I nodded.

  Perching on the edge of the bath tub, he dipped a hand into the hot water.

  No, I thought. Please don't.

  His fingers rested on his thigh then slid up and up.

  No, no, no!

  I tried to reel back away from him but it was no use, there was nowhere to go.

  "Hey, remember when I used to run you a bath and I'd sit here for hours
, just listening to you?”

  His eyes glazed over at the memory.

  "Remember?"

  "I remember."

  "You don't miss it?"

  I shook my head and he pouted.

  "Aaw, I bet you do."

  Then his eyes clouded over.

  "Although I bet that billionaire bastard runs you loads of baths. I bet he has one made of solid gold. Yeah... reckon this one isn't even good enough for your rich ass now."

  Please, I thought. Just leave me alone for two minutes. Leave alone to relax. Just leave me the fuck alone!

  But I was too weak to argue and so I just watched him ramble and tried to pretend that the hand on my leg wasn't there.

  He reached for the bar of soap, still rambling.

  "He can't love you as much as I do. You know that right? Money isn't love. His money can't do anything for you. Now sit up. We need to get you nice and clean."

  He lathered the soap up and down my back but I'd never felt dirtier. I was contaminated by his touch, sickened by his very presence.

  "He does love me," I said.

  "Eh? What was that?"

  "I said he does love me! He loves me more than anything."

  He dropped the soap in the water, it landed with a plop and slid down my buttocks. His handwas still curled as though he was holding it.

  I shouldn't have said a word. I should have kept my dumb mouth shut.

  "Don't say these things," he said.

  He gasped for breath as though the anger was sucking the air from him.

  "Don't say these things!"

  He jumped up, his eyes dark and beady. He was staring right into my head. I could feel the anger burning into me.

  "He doesn't love you!" he raged. "He doesn't love you like I do!"

  Before I could move, he lunged forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. Suddenly, I was underwater, sucking in the soapy suds and struggling against him as my back pressed against the tub.

  This is it. This is how it's going to end.

  The pain in my chest made me feel as though I was exploding like my lungs were filled with rocket fuel. Only a few more seconds and I'd be dead. How long could a person live without oxygen, how long could you survive with nothing but bathwater inside you?

  You're dying... Just relax. Let death claim you. Just float away.

  There was the distant sound of water splashing onto the floor, the sound of his voice as he grunted with the effort of holding me down.

  Then something brushed up against my leg. It was smooth but solid and it was all I had.

  The first time I grabbed it, it slipped through my fingers. The second time, I dug my nails into the side to hold it in place. I swung it at his head and smacked him in the temple.

  Shocked, he recoiled back and held his head.

  "What the fuck?"

  I hit him again.

  "Jesus!"

  It wasn't enough to knock him out but it was enough to distract him. For now...

  Finally, I could sit up and feel the air. A torrent of soapy water tumbled out my mouth as I coughed and coughed until I couldn't see.

  "Bitch!" he screamed. "What the fuck?"

  I was too consumed with the euphoria of breathing in oxygen to care about what he was saying. When my vision came back into focus and I could see him stumbling toward the mirror, I took my chance. The bottle of cologne was on the shelf, the one I had prepped myself to use in an emergency.

  As he held his head and clenched his eyes closed, I sprayed it into his face. He choked on the taste and spluttered. Then I sprayed it into his eyes and he screamed. He staggered back and fell onto the toilet, curling up on it holding his face.

  "Fuuuuuck!"

  For good measure, I sprayed him one last time. I wanted to burn his eyes to cinders. Wanted to make sure he could never see again. The knife glinted in the light as he squirmed in pain and I took the chance and grabbed it.

  Beside him, a pile of towels lay on the floor in a heap and I picked them all up, running down toward the bedroom with them bundled in my arms.

  "Get back here!"

  I burst into the room to see my mom violently pulling at her restraints.

  "Etta!"

  "Mom! We don't have much time!"

  We could still hear him in the bathroom, bouncing off the walls as he struggled to see. It sounded like a bull was loose in there.

  "I've got you, mom!"

  I ripped through the rope, my nails almost tearing from their beds.

  "Here. Take these."

  I wrapped the towels around her. It wasn't much but it would keep her warm.

  "What's happening?" she asked.

  "Come on. Quick!"

  We held hands and ran. All we had to do was make it to the front door but as we stepped out into the hallway, we knew it was impossible.

  He was standing there still angry, still blinded but this time he had the gun in his hand.

  "Where the fuck are you?"

  He pointed the gun in random directions.

  "Where are you!"

  Then he did something he'd not done yet. He pulled the trigger.

  We both dropped to the floor, the bullet only missing mom by inches. We smelled the smoke and looked up to see the bullet embedded in the plasterboard of the wall.

  "Run," I whispered. "And never let go of my hand."

  The gun went off again. Mom screamed and clawed at my arm.

  Ahead of us lay the stairway, behind us, the bedroom. To our right, lay the door to the spare bedroom. It was our only option.

  I dragged mom inside and slammed the door behind us.

  The gun went off again and the bullet penetrated the door, missing both our heads.

  We both slumped to the ground, grateful that at least we had this door between us and him.

  There were no locks and the only thing in the room was a single chair. I pressed it up behind the door handle and hoped it would hold.

  "Get back here!"

  Craig began kicking at the door while mom cowered beside me.

  "We haven't got much time," she whimpered. "He's really going to kill us."

  "Don't worry. We'll be okay," I lied. "As long as we've got each other we'll be okay."

  Chapter Six

  LINCOLN

  "Oh, hell no!"

  A young, blonde girl noticed us as we strode in and almost dropped her files.

  "You can't be here," she said and pushed Berger in the chest. "And what the hell has happened to your head?"

  "Dana, you sure look different without my cock in your mouth."

  She screwed up her face and huffed.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked. "The chief doesn't want to see you."

  "Don't worry, I don't want to see him either."

  She glanced up and down the hall. The cop on thereception, a rotund older woman who looked as though she'd been poured into her uniform glanced up from her crossword. When she saw the look on my face, she looked back down but she was still listening, her pen not moving across the paper.

  "Why are you here?" the girl Dana hissed.

  "I need your help."

  "What? Are you fucking serious?"

  "Quit the crappy attitude, Dana. Just help us okay. Or rather, don't help us, help this guy."

  He pointed his thumb toward me and she looked me up and down.

  "Bosworth... "I've seen you on the..."

  "Everyone's seen him everywhere," Berger interrupted. "He's a popular guy now can you help us or not."

  "I'll pay," I chimed in.

  Now interested, she straightened up and tilted her head back. Narrowing her eyes, she pouted her lips. It must have been a look she'd practiced a thousand times, a look that always got her what she wanted.

  "How much?" she asked.

  "As much as you like."

  "What do you want me to?"

  "Access files," I said. "Confidential files. Someone's records."

  "I can't do that," she said. "I could lose my job but...
"

  "I'll give you as much money as you like so you don't even need a job."

  You could see the exact moment the penny dropped in her mind and she jolted.

  "I'm in and you're just in luck. The chief is out of town this weekend but I still have this."

  She pulled out a key from the pocket beside her breast.

  "Berger's eyes lit up."

  "You just have the key to O'Neil's office?"

  "One of two," she said and kissed it.

  "The girl with the golden pussy," said Berger. "You're a life saver."

  ~

  Upstairs, Dana twisted the key in the lock and pushed open the door, glancing left then right.

  "What the hell are you doing here so late anyway?" asked Berger. "Don't you ever go home?"

  She shook her head as she twisted the door knob.

  "I take all the overtime I can," she said and let us inside.

  Chief O'Neil's office was masculine with angular shapes and wooden paneling. Inside the modern building, the decor seemed to jar with every other room. But I guessed the chief did this on purpose. An old man from old money he probably wanted to vomit at the thought of an Ikea desk.

  "We really shouldn't be here," said Dana.

  She sat down in front of his computer and typed in the chief's password.

  "Wait," Berger slapped a hand on her wrist. "You even know his password?"

  "You know how many times I've watched him type it in?"

  "I didn't know you got a clean view from under the table," he retorted.

  What the hell was going on with these two? Whatever it was, I didn't have time for it.

  "Look, can you pull up a record for aparticularperson?" I asked. "A Craig Solomon."

  "Sure," she said. "But like I said..."

  "You could lose your job. I get it."

  I fished inside my pocket and pulled out the cash.

  "Here."

  I gave her all of it.

  She held it in her hands and stared at it as though I'd just handed her a turd.

  "What's wrong?" I asked. "It's money. It's a good thing. You know, you buy things with it."

  But I was wrong. She wasn't looking at it with disgust. It was shock.

  A tear began to shine in the corner of her eye then she leaned her head into my shoulder.