Losing Her (Lost and Found Book 1)

by K. S. Marshall

  “You’re dirty. I’m going to bathe you now.”

  My eyes widened, horrified at the command. Jason had never seen me naked. He’d barely seen me in a bathing suit. But now he was going to sit me in a bath and have complete access to my body, while I was totally defenseless and at his mercy. I shook my head, not wanting to believe it.

  He gripped my arm at my elbow and pulled me to sit up in the bed. Stepping back, he waited expectantly. I looked down at my clothes and realized I was shaking. Clasping my hands together, I tried to still my quaking body before he noticed.

  “Stand up,” he said, gruffly.

  It took me a minute — my legs were unstable, but I stood. He grabbed a pair of scissors from his back pocket and snipped the plastic confining my wrists together. I rubbed the redness at the base of my hands, while he stowed the scissors.

  “Do not run,” he said, his voice dangerous and low.

  I wouldn’t.

  He led me into the bathroom where the tub was almost full. The steam from the water made the room muggy and the bubble bath he’d poured smelled of jasmine. Shutting the door behind me, the large bathroom was suffocating with the two of us in it. The walls, sink, and toilet were white and the fixtures polished and silver. To the right of the room was the tub, and —clawfoot and standalone— it looked big enough for two. My pulse quickened, wondering if he was planning on joining me.

  Instead, he unfolded a white wooden chair tucked away in the corner and placed it next to the tub. He sat down, leaning back with his legs open and his arms crossed over his chest, and ordered me to get undressed. I moved automatically, not wanting him to get angry with me, but trying to remove my clothes while I was shaking like a leaf in the wind proved to be difficult.

  He sighed, impatiently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and looking away mercifully. Lifting the hem of my tank top over my head, I dropped it to the floor and unclasped the front clip of my sports bra. My breasts sagged slightly in relief, breaking free from the tight confines of the article I’d been wearing for longer than usual. I pushed the compression pants down my legs, stepping out of them.

  When I’d gotten dressed to go for my run, the day he had taken me, I hadn’t intended on not being home later that night. A single tear slid down my cheek as I realized I’d probably never go home again.

  “Get in,” he sighed, still looking away from me.

  The water was hot and prickled my skin. I hissed slightly as it lapped angrily over the places where my ankles had been tied together.

  Sinking down into the jasmine bubbles, I was grateful the water came up to my chest and the bubbles offered a bit of modesty.

  “Is it too hot?” he asked, his voice catching slightly.

  I shook my head, “No.”

  I was lying. It burned. And I knew my skin was going to be red and irritated afterwards, but I was more scared of him than hot water.

  He turned around in the chair to finally look at me again. The heat in his eyes was different this time. Smoldering. His fingers draped over the edge of the tub and he just sat there. Watching me. I shivered under his gaze and lowered my eyes to the bubbles in front of me.

  Seconds ticked by, achingly slow, but neither of us moved. In the

  silence, I could hear his breathing. It was measured and slow, almost as if he was deliberately monitoring them.

  He lifted one hand and smoothed it over my cheek, then fisted my hair and pulled the elastic out. My curls were tangled around it, and I cried out when I felt several strands ripping out of my head. His jaw hardened, but his eyes were soft, examining me to see how hurt I was.

  “Sorry.”

  I responded by sniffing back the tears that continually threatened to fall. He didn’t say anything else, as he grabbed a washcloth and dipped it into the water. Squirting soap on it, he began rubbing it between his hands. He pushed my hair forward over my shoulder and smoothed the washcloth on my back. I closed my eyes, sucking in air through my nose to try and keep myself calm, but I was still shaking.

  “I’ve known you for a long time,” he started, his voice low and intimate, “and I’ve watched you grow from a fun, outgoing child to a headstrong and beautiful woman. That summer we spent together at the Publishing House was great for me. I got to see you separately from the job, as a person. And I fell in love with you.”

  The washcloth rubbed in small circles over my shoulder as he continued, “I think you felt the same way too, but we were interrupted and I was hurt when you left. From that point on, I had to distance myself from you. I had to hate you and be mean to you because I realized you had power over me,” he clenched his teeth, “and I hated that.”

  I was shaking so hard, the water around me rippled. His cloth covered hand wandered over my shoulder and down my front, caressing my breasts. My nipples hardened and I grimaced, feeling betrayed by my body. He inhaled and let out a husky sound as he continued washing my body.

  “I’ve wanted you all to myself, but you never gave in. You always fought. You consistently went after the wrong guys. None of them deserved you. I doubt anyone could ever love you the way I have for this long.”

  He kept talking, but my mind was elsewhere. I was thinking about Derrick and the phone call from earlier. Did he love me like he said he did? Or had he realized something was wrong? What prompted him to call me? I’d cut off all communication and demanded that he never talk to me again. The reality of what was happening forced my tears to fall freely, wetting my cheeks.

  My mind refocused as Jason tilted me back and poured a cupful of the warm water over my head to start washing my hair. Gently, his fingers worked through my tangles, taking extra care not to pull or tear any strands. I was perplexed. The man sitting there, detangling my hair, looked every bit the same man that had gripped my neck and threatened to kill me only a day ago, but he was so much different. This man was gentle and loving. I still didn’t trust him and I was terrified of how quickly he could switch back and forth. But when I stopped provoking him, I felt marginally safer.

  After my bath, he’d instructed me to get dressed in the bedroom and come back into the bathroom. On the bed, I recognized my clothes.

  Picking them up and pressing them to my face, I smelled the familiar scent of my laundry. He must have grabbed these clothes from there as well. Probably when I had been knocked out after he tossed me on the couch. I dressed silently, only sniffing back the remainder of tears that threatened to fall.

  I wondered if I’d ever stop crying. Jason was making it clear that I couldn’t go anywhere and that he wasn’t letting me go. No one would look for me. They hadn’t bothered looking for me since I left the second time and if Jason had taken things from my house, I was sure he made it

  look intentional, as if I’d decided to run away again. A hollow feeling weighed heavily in my stomach realizing I’d never see anyone again.

  There was no way he’d let me go back to the manor now. I’d never go to another gala or charity event with my mother, or joke around with my brothers, or feel my father’s warm hugs. And Derrick.

  My heart broke thinking of how I’d never be in his arms again.

  How I wouldn’t feel his kiss or look into his face. Jason had flown off the handle when his number had illuminated my phone. Remembering the look in his eye, I started fearing for Derrick’s safety. Would Jason hurt him to keep him away from me? The two of them were a volatile combination. I’d seen that much the last time we were in a room together. Everything I thought I knew about Jason was suddenly up in flames. There was no telling what he would do, to me or Derrick or anyone else who got in his way.

  I stepped gingerly onto the tile floor of the bathroom, the coolness of it a stark contrast to the hot jasmine-scented steam still hanging in the air. He was standing near the vanity, the chair he was using prior now facing the mirror. He glanced over at me, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth as he instructed me to sit. As I got closer, I noticed he had a wide array of silver tools in fron
t of him. A new shiver of fear ran down my spine as I settled into the chair wordlessly.

  “Forgive me for this Alina,” he spoke, looking at me through the mirror, “but I’m not a stylist. I would have brought one in, but I don’t think now is a good time. This is all still new to you.” He picked up a brush and twirled it in his hands.

  I knew what he was insinuating. Bringing in someone from the outside was a risk because of me. There was no guarantee I wouldn’t scream or run or do something to try and escape and the more people he brought here, the more implications were at stake. But I wondered where we were. Obviously, not far enough away from the city to bring in

  a personal stylist. A small flicker of hope ignited in my chest, only to die out just as quickly when he set the brush down and picked up a sharp set of scissors.

  “I love your hair,” he said softly, running his fingers through the back of it, “but I want you to let go of who you were before. You’re different now. You’re mine.” As he said those last two words, his fist tightened in my hair and I winced as he pulled my neck back so I looked up at him, “Do you understand?”

  His grip on the back of my hair was so tight, I didn’t have much room to nod my head, so I hissed out a quick “Yes,” before he smiled and released me. I watched, horrified, as the curls that draped over my shoulders fell to the floor around me. He snipped inches of my damp hair until I was left with chin-length curls. My eyes glazed over as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The light brown and highlighted hue I had used to try and hide in Cold Spring was beginning to fade and my black roots were exposed. The short cut looked foreign to me. My mother didn’t believe in women having short hair. Though the girl staring back at me was my own reflection, I barely recognized myself.

  Jason looked pleased with himself, studying his handiwork, “I know it will take some getting used to, but I love it. You’re still beautiful, Alina.”

  As usual, I said nothing as tears slid down my cheeks again.

  a

  After a week, I’d lost all hope that something would change.

  That, by some miracle, I’d escape or be freed. Jason was meticulous.

  He never left me alone for too long, but whenever he did, he tied my

  wrists together. I suppose he was trying to remind me that I had no hope and I belonged to hm.

  And after several days, I was starting to believe him.

  Each morning would start with breakfast. While I ate whatever was prepared, usually oatmeal or toast and fruit, he would run me a bath. The scent of jasmine was beginning to burn in my nose. I smelled it all of the time and I was in a constant state of nausea from it. After my bath, I would have to get dressed and let him style my hair. For days, he would use a paddle brush on my tresses and get frustrated when it didn’t “look right”, as he’d put it. I was getting tired of looking like a poodle and hearing him rant over it, so I offered up some advice.

  “Just use your fingers,” I said, my voice sounding hollow.

  He frowned, “What did you say?”

  Through the mirror, my eyes connected with his, “Use your fingers. While my hair is still wet, style it with your fingers. The brush makes it worse.”

  The crease between his eyes softened as he understood what I was telling him. He set the brush down and began raking his fingers through my hair. The gentle pull was a welcomed change from the drag and snap of the brush. I closed my eyes as my scalp prickled soothingly.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  My eyes remained closed, but I answered, “It’s dry. The shampoo you’re using is stripping out the oils my hair needs. I’m not doing anything or using enough product for a daily shampoo, so stopping that would help. And maybe some coconut oil too.”

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  I did as I was told.

  “Why do you sound like that?”

  “Like what?”

  He squinted his eyes, “Lifeless. You don’t sound like my Alina.”

  I felt my eyes prickling, but they didn’t fill with tears. Days had gone by since the last time I cried. I was running out of tears, resigning myself to this life of being captured and controlled by him.

  “As long as I’m a prisoner, I can’t be her.”

  I looked down, not wanting to see the wrath that would be unleashed on me at any moment. I had defied him again. Speaking up for myself was asking for trouble. And even though he’d asked me the question, I should have lied to save myself.

  When nothing happened after a minute, I raised my head. His face had softened and he looked almost sad. I went for broke.

  “Please untie me. I can’t go anywhere. I won’t go anywhere. I know there’s no one out there looking for me and I know I belong to you.

  Please.”

  He looked tortured, debating what I was asking against what he was afraid of. Turning away from me, he paced the bathroom, rubbing his hands over his face. Normally poised and under control, Jason seemed to be unraveling at the prospect of letting me free.

  “Fine,” he stopped pacing, “I won’t tie you up anymore. But I can’t lose you Alina. I won’t lose you. You can’t ever try to run.”

  His jaw was pulsating as he waited for confirmation that I understood what he was saying. I nodded, staring right into his eyes. I couldn’t even describe how I was feeling, but I was grateful that he wouldn’t tie me up anymore.

  Later, after leaving me in the room for a bit, he came back with a jar of coconut oil. For a brief moment, a smile crossed my lips, but faded shortly after. No matter what, he was still the same guy. I was still a prisoner and he was still never going to let me go. Sitting next to me on the bed, he opened the jar and dipped his fingers into the clear oil. I turned automatically, allowing him access to my hair.

  The dynamic between us was weird, to say the least. The way I was behaving was slightly baffling to me as well. I wasn’t happy to be there, but I knew I couldn’t leave. The only thing that made sense was to behave. He’d already proven that misbehaving or denying him what he wanted would cost me and I didn’t want to open up myself, or anyone else, to his wrath.

  After he was done, he screwed the lid onto the jar and set it down on the floor, “You were right.”

  I turned to face him again, “Thank you for believing me.”

  He looked down at my hands, unbound and resting on my knees. No doubt noting that I kept my word and hadn’t run or tried to escape.

  “I bought you something while I was out.”

  He stood and left the room for a moment, leaving the door open in another non-traditional move, and came back with a large black garment bag. “I saw it and thought it would look beautiful on you for tonight’s dinner.” Unzipping the bag, he revealed a long red sequined dress.

  I blinked, unmoving and unsure of how to react. The dress was beautiful and looked like it would fit perfectly. And under normal circumstances I would be thrilled to wear it. But this was Jason. Not Derrick. Not someone I loved. It wasn’t the kind of dress you wore when you were a prisoner.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, hope tinging his voice.

  I nodded, “Thank you.”

  He hung up the dress on the back of the door and came back to stand in front of me, “I just want you to be happy. I hate it when you cry. I hate that you’re sad. I’m trying to do everything for you and not hurt you, but it’s…difficult.” The bed sunk as he sat down next to me again, “You are everything to me, Faye, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

  I focused on a speck on the floor, not wanting to look up at him, but curious at what I’d just heard. He called me Faye. I didn’t know anyone else by that name and it wasn’t a nickname I was familiar with.

  He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, “I love you.”

  Then he walked out, the lock clicking into place, reminding me again that I was forever his prisoner.

  TWENTY-SIx | Derrick

  Five steady knocks on my office door prompted me to pull the ear buds out of m
y ears. I was deep in thought, listening to a smooth jazz station on Pandora, while taking a break from my work. It was still early in the day, but I was struggling hard to focus. All of my thoughts kept drifting back to her.

  I wasn’t surprised that she didn’t answer my call. She was adamant in telling me never to contact her again. I was surprised she hadn’t blocked my number altogether. I just kept replaying the last time I’d seen her. The look on her face when she first saw me. How she’d started crying as soon as I stepped into her house. And how her entire demeanor had hardened when she realized I had been spying on her. It was enough to haunt me all the time. I took a deep breath, pushing those images to the back of my mind and called out to whomever was at my door to come in.

  My blood ran cold and I pushed back to stand on my feet. Fear shifted into white hot anger as Lindsey moved through the door and closed it behind her.

  “No. Get out.”