Bleeding Hearts: A Dark Captive Romance (Heartbreaker Book 1)

by Stella Hart

  I peeked through my hands at the picture he’d shoved in front of me. It was of a young naked brunette, probably only seventeen or eighteen, and she was tied to a black cross. Her eyes were dark with pure terror, and her small, barely-budded breasts were covered with deep purple scars which contrasted sharply with her deathly pale skin. Fresh blood stained her inner thighs. On her abdomen was a circle which appeared to have been carved deeply into her skin.

  The picture was sick, and it made me feel sick.

  Part of me figured it had to be from some internet hoax site, just a horrible Photoshop job for cruel, awful people who got turned on by that stuff… but a bigger part of me worried my captor had done this to the girl. He could’ve taken the photo, and now he was showing me what could, or would, happen to me soon.

  “Why are you showing this to me?” I asked, my eyes wide and pleading. My throat felt like it was closing up.

  “I wanted you to see what people are capable of. To know what they can do.”

  You mean what you are capable of, I thought. “I don’t want to see it anymore,” I whispered instead. “Please, sir.”

  He sat down. “Tell me what it makes you feel.”

  “Sick. It makes me feel sick. And scared.”

  “That’s a normal reaction. But is there anything else it makes you feel or think about?”

  My eyebrows creased into a frown. What the hell was he implying? That I should feel anything other than fear and total and utter revulsion when faced with such an image?

  “No, sir.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I want you to know you can speak freely again right now. You can say anything you want for the rest of the night. Absolutely anything, even if you think I won’t like it. There will be no punishment.”

  My hands shook as I considered his words. I knew what he was doing. It was called ‘irrelevant leniency’, and it was part of the many steps on the way to breaking someone. A captor would randomly allow his or her prisoner small privileges for no apparent reason, and this would serve to make the captive more confused and therefore more compliant, out of fear that the rules could suddenly change at any time.

  It was working. I was frightened, and my thoughts were tangled and confused. Could I really speak freely right now, or would he change the rules on me again and beat me into submission if I said the wrong thing?

  “I’m being serious, Celeste,” he said, seemingly sensing my fear. He always seemed to be able to read my thoughts. “When I show you these things, I will not punish you for anything you say.”

  “Okay.” I nodded shakily and moved back over to him. “I don’t feel anything other than fear and disgust when you show me that photo.”

  “Do you recognize the girl?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to remember her face without having to recall her awfully-scarred, molested body. “Um… yes,” I said softly. “I remember a few years ago, a girl went missing. It was on the news. I think she looked like that. I don’t remember her name.”

  “Anything else you recognize?”

  “No.”

  He patted my head, like I was a good pet. “Okay. That’s fine for now. What about this?”

  He reached into his pocket, ostensibly to get another awful photo. As he moved his hand around in the jacket, it moved forward enough for me to catch a glimpse of his shirt beneath it. There was a small tag on the shirt with the Morrison Wright Memorial Hospital logo on it, along with a name. Dr. Alex Magnusson.

  I sprang back again, my whole body shaking with fear and fury. I knew where I recognized him from now. At least the side of him, or the back of his head.

  “You… you were one of my mother’s doctors,” I said in a choked voice.

  A look of shock flashed in his eyes for a second. Then he seemed to realize his mistake and pulled his jacket tight against his chest again. “I was,” he said firmly.

  The full horror of the realization began to sink in. So many times I’d gone to visit my mother in the hospital over the years she was sick, and this man, this monster was right there in the room with me.

  Usually I was too focused on Mom to pay much attention to anyone else, and it was always the nurses who spoke with me, never the doctors… but still, he’d been there often, always facing away and reading a chart. Right there, so close to me.

  At least now I knew how he found me and decided to target me, I guess. I’d been wondering about that for a long time. This was it. He must’ve seen me at some point when I went to Morrison with Mom when she was sick, and he’d focused his twisted attentions on me ever since. It didn’t explain why he picked me, but it definitely explained how.

  “So that’s how you know everything about my medical history. That’s why you can get my meds so easily. You’re a pain specialist at the medical center I get all my treatment at.”

  He nodded curtly. “That’s right.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You know that’s illegal, right? Looking at someone’s medical files when they aren’t your patient?”

  He arched one eyebrow and gestured around the cell. “Do I seem like someone who cares much about what’s legal?”

  He was right. It was a stupid, pointless statement. I stood up and backed away from him, all the way to the far side of the cell. Not that it was very far away. “So you helped my mother with her pain when she was dying, and the whole time you were stalking me and planning to take me to cause pain?” I shook my head. “You’re twisted.”

  “It’s not what you think, Celeste.”

  “Oh, really? Because I think you’re a sick fuck!” I said. I held my palms out in front of me, terrified that he’d grab me like he did the other week. “And you can’t punish me for saying that, because you said you wouldn’t tonight, no matter what I say!”

  “Like I said, it’s not what you think. You need to calm down. Right now,” he said stiffly.

  I didn’t need to calm down. I needed to scream. I needed to pound my fists on his chest.

  I frowned as something else occurred to me. I hadn’t thought about this in a long time, but since I was seventeen, someone had been sending me little silver heart charms every year on my birthday. The first year, a bracelet to attach the charms to had also been sent to me.

  My mom started getting sick when I was nearly seventeen. She wasn’t admitted to Morrison for end stage liver disease for two years after she fell ill, but she was still unwell and a frequent visitor at the place before that.

  “You sent me the jewelry.” I put my hands on my hips.

  “I did.”

  “Why?” I shook my head again. “To stake your claim in some weird, fucked up way? And god… for how long? Four years? You really are sick.”

  He rose to his feet. “You can think what you like for now, Celeste. You’ll understand one day. Now calm down, or I might be forced to change my mind about our earlier deal.” His eyes were dark with anger.

  I swallowed hard but didn’t reply.

  “Are you going to keep being a little brat?” he asked.

  I slowly headed back to the bed, my legs and arms trembling. “No.”

  “Good. Now look at this photo.” He sat again and held out another picture. It was similar to the first, only it was a different girl—even younger—and obviously taken in a different room. I tasted bile in my mouth as I looked at it.

  “How do you feel, Celeste?”

  “God, stop asking me that, please!” I said, pushing the photo away. “It’s horrible, same as the first one! I don’t know what else you expect me to say.”

  “All right.” He trained his eyes on my face as if searching it for any hint that I was lying. “Not long before I brought you here, I listened to some of your therapy session notes—”

  I threw up my hands and interrupted him. “Sure, of course you did. Psycho stalker.”

  He ignored my insolence for now. I’d probably pay for it later, even though he’d promised me a reprieve for tonight. “You said something about a door. Have you dreamed about
it again?”

  I wrinkled my nose. How messed up was this guy? It seemed like he was trying to play psychologist with me now, but why? What the hell was wrong with him?

  “A few times,” I said.

  “Any idea what’s behind it?”

  “No. I don’t care, either.”

  He stood again. “You will,” he said softly. “But clearly, that day is not today. You’re not ready.”

  I rolled my eyes. I was so sick of hearing that.

  “I want you to keep thinking about it. Remember as much as you can about the room and why you were there,” he went on.

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why?”

  “Because maybe then you’ll be ready. I’m only looking out for you. I promise.” I must’ve made a face at that, because he smiled thinly. “I always keep promises, Celeste.”

  He stepped out of the cell and locked it like he always did.

  I got up and padded over. “Wait. Alex. I mean… sir.”

  He stared at me impassively through the bars. “Yes?”

  “Why do you give me all my painkillers and make me do my physical therapy when you want to put me in pain anyway? Why not just take away the pills if you want to hurt me?”

  I knew the idea of punishing me with whips and god knows what else excited him. I’d seen it in his eyes every time he mentioned it so far, that fiery spark at the thought of making me scream and cry. He probably couldn’t wait until the next time I messed up, just so he could finally beat the hell out of me.

  He pressed his lips into a thin line, then replied. “Not all pain is bad.” He turned to head down the passage, away from my cell.

  My anger boiled over again. “God, I’m so sick of your cryptic responses!” I shouted. “Just tell me why you’re doing all of this to me! I know you found me at the hospital when you treated my mom, but why me? Tell me why you picked me and why you’re keeping me locked up like this!”

  He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Maybe it’s not that I’m keeping you locked away from everyone else. Maybe I’m keeping everyone else away from you.”

  “Oh, come on, they basically mean the same thing!” I said indignantly.

  He finally turned back toward me, calm and cold as ever. “No. They don’t.”

  “I told you to stop giving me these bullshit evasive non-answers.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he strode toward me. I shrank back, stepping away from the bars, my eyes going to the floor. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I made him angry again. Somehow, the thought shamed me. I knew it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t feel bad for angering this monster. But I did anyway. And the fact that I felt ashamed made me feel even more ashamed of myself; a vicious circle.

  At least there was no way he’d think I’d been too good today. I’d been very, very bad. No suspicion there.

  “Sorry, sir,” I whispered, looking up at him with a pleading expression. “Please….”

  “You don’t tell me what to do.” His eyes were blazing, peeling my walls of defense. “Ever.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m just scared. And confused. I don’t know what I did to make you choose me. I just want you to let me go. I want to be free again….” I sank to the cold floor as my voice trailed off. God, maybe I really was starting to break.

  “I’ll tell you one thing.”

  I looked up, my eyes widening. I didn’t say anything; I simply waited for him to go on.

  “You're freer in here than you ever were out there. Try to remember that.”

  I didn’t bother asking him what he meant. I knew I’d find out.

  Soon.

  14

  Celeste

  I pasted a fake smile on my face as Alex entered my cell with today’s dinner. “Hello, sir,” I said softly, keeping my head demurely bowed.

  “Evening, angel.” He put the tray down, then glanced at the crime thriller book on the end of my cot. “Did you finish that?”

  I nodded, and he replaced it with a new one.

  There had been six days of this now—me pretending to be good and getting little rewards as a result. I got books and magazines to entertain me during the day, and Alex had even replaced my scratchy blanket with a slightly nicer one. He’d also brought me a tube of deodorant along with a toothbrush, toothpaste and bottled water so I could brush my teeth over the drain. Before now, all I’d been allowed for my dental hygiene was mouthwash—I guess in case I tried something like filing the toothbrush down to a shiv like they do in silly thriller movies.

  But he trusted me now, enough to give me one. My plan was working.

  I knew I had to break the rules soon, though. Very soon. Otherwise he’d grow suspicious about my sudden change of heart toward my situation. No one broke that fast.

  I sighed when I took my first bite of dinner. It was some sort of potato dish. Really, it was quite decent, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. Quite the opposite.

  “Something on your mind, Celeste?” Alex asked, as I knew he would.

  “I don’t want it.” I pouted and pushed the tray away. “I’m getting sick of the same bland foods all the time. You could learn to season stuff with herbs and spices. Or at least put some freaking salt in it. I can’t eat this. Not again.”

  He looked at me incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe I was suddenly taking an attitude with him over the food after all this time.

  “Is there something else you want to say, Celeste?” His icy glare cut through me as he stalked toward the cot. “You seem tired of following the rules.”

  “I’m tired of everything! You keep saying I’m not ready to know why I’m here yet, but I think that’s bullshit. There’s no reason for me to be here! You just don’t want to admit the truth yet.”

  “And what truth is that?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That you’re a fucking psychopath.”

  “Ah. So you’re back with the attitude in full force, are you? I knew you weren’t done yet.” He smiled, but there was no amusement behind it. Only cruelty. Despite the fact I’d practically asked for this, I shrank back in fear anyway. Punishment was coming, and though it was part of my plan, that didn’t mean I wasn’t afraid.

  He grabbed me by the right arm and dragged me to my feet before hauling me across the cell, toward the door. “I was lenient with you the first few weeks, because you were new. Not anymore, Celeste.” His voice was calm yet chillingly cold.

  “Please, no! I’m sorry, sir!” I pretended to beg, but I knew it made no difference. I asked for this.

  He pulled me down the passage, then forced me up the steps. He’d left the door to this place unlocked, and when he pushed it open, I realized that I was right a few weeks ago. My cell was underground. Judging by the angle and appearance of the door, it looked like it was part of an old bomb shelter.

  I winced as the cold hit me. The ground was blanketed in thick snow, and icy winds whipped at my face, chilling me to the bone. Alex picked me up to carry me away from the shelter, holding me tight in his strong arms. He wasn’t doing it to be nice. He was making sure I didn’t get frostbite on my feet from trudging through the snow, as that would cause me pain. He wanted to be the only person or thing that caused me pain.

  That much was clear to me now.

  “Please, I’m sorry! Take me back to my cell!” I continued to beg, pounding my fists on his chest as he carried me toward a house. He didn’t respond.

  While I pretended to beg and plead, I took the opportunity to check out our surroundings. It must’ve been around six, because the sun was disappearing fast and the sky was colored with the pink, blue and purple shades of twilight. I could still see enough to get a sense of where we were, though. Nowhere near the city, that was for sure. We seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere on an enormous property. Crisp snow covered what were likely fields of green during the spring, and they were flanked by thick forests stretching for miles in every direction except one. To our left was a narrow tree-lined road leading up to the house, and in the distanc
e beyond that, I could just make out a bigger road.

  The house itself was enormous. It had a chateau-like appearance with a steeply-pitched gable roof, circular-based arches, window dormers and cream stone masonry. If I saw it any other circumstances, I might idly think of it as my dream house.

  Right now, all I could think was: This is where a monster lives.

  Alex dragged me inside, and in the few seconds I had to whirl my head around and glance at the interior, I could see it was just as elegant and beautiful as the exterior. Spacious with white wainscoted walls, polished wood floors, marble counters, and expensive furniture.

  How could someone with such an ugly soul have such gorgeous taste?

  He dragged me down a hall, kicking and shrieking, into a room with dark gray walls. His fingers twisted in my hair, yanking at it as I tried to look around to get a sense of what this place was. Torture chamber was probably the most apt description. There was a small platform on one side with a thick wooden beam hanging above it. A large table next to it contained ropes, cuffs, knives and chains, and a rack hanging next to it contained all sorts of whips and paddles.

  Whatever he had in store for me, it was going to hurt.

  Even though I made this happen, panic exploded through me nevertheless, and I began to scream and cry. I tried to run out of the room, but I was no match for Alex. In a flash, he placed me on the front of the platform and tied me to the beam so that my arms were above my head and my toes only just touched the platform base.

  Then he stood in front of me, his eyes blazing only inches from mine. “I’ve been nice to you so far. No more.”

  “Please, sir….” I whispered, my eyes filling with tears. I knew this had to happen, but I still couldn’t stand the thought of imminent pain.

  He shook his head. “You know you earned this. You need to obey and respect me.”

  “I can’t.”

  He smiled. “I knew you were only pretending these last few days. I was waiting for you to come out and play again.”

  I thrashed and struggled pointlessly as I hung in the air. “Wait,” I choked out in a last ditch attempt to stop him from hurting me too badly. “Aren’t there supposed to be… rules? With this kind of stuff?”