Bound (The Devil's Due Book 3)

by Eva Charles

  “Gabby and I had breakfast with her the day she left.”

  What? “You’re just telling me this now? What the fuck, Delilah?”

  “It wasn’t an issue until now. She didn’t leak that photo.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because before working for you, I had a nice little career as a CIA agent, remember? I sat less than three feet away from her. I pushed her, watched every reaction. Her eyes. Her body language. Her expressions. She isn’t savvy enough to fool me. I’m telling you she didn’t do it.”

  I don’t say a word because what’s on the tip of my tongue is so damn ugly, my relationship with Delilah will never recover from it. This is just another damn betrayal from someone I trusted. Gabby, too.

  “She told us she was going to take care of some family issues, and then she was coming back for you. She wanted you guys to work it out on your own terms and asked us not to say anything. She loves you, Smith.”

  My mind is going in a dozen different directions. I don’t let the she was coming back for you part in. There’s nothing there that can help us find her, but plenty to trip me up. Delilah is nobody’s fool. I’m not sure how Kate’s innocence fits into the equation. Does it point more to King, or somewhere else? We need a tighter timeline.

  I clear the lump from my throat. “This is what we’re going to do. You’re going over to the church like we talked about. Take Ty. Find out everything you can. Call Gabby and Lucinda McCrae—send someone to the library to pick her up. If you know of anyone else Kate might have spoken, or met with that would have anything to add, round them up. I want everyone in the conference room by one o’clock.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Is there something about what I just said that you don’t understand?”

  “Do you want me to take the lead on this? You’re awfully close to it.”

  “No,” I bark. “And don’t question my ability to manage this again.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” There’s passion in her voice, and even though I’m pissed, I count on her to call me out when necessary. She’s one of the few people willing to do it. “You’re assembling a group together in a room without first debriefing them individually. That’s a bad idea.”

  “I’m well aware.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “But she’s been gone for almost a week. We ran out of time to do it by the book days ago. This is the best way to create a timeline of her last forty-eight hours in Charleston and pull resources together quickly. We’re out of time, Delilah.” As I say it, my heart pumps hard.

  There’s a long silence on the other end. “I’ll get everyone there. If the priest or the church secretary have anything to add, should I bring them to the meeting?”

  Kate trusts that priest. But I don’t. There’s something about that guy that rubs me the wrong way. I’m going with my gut on this. “Hold off for now. I don’t want them to know too much. But I want your impression of the priest after you meet him.”

  “What about the homeless women she works with?”

  “I’ve thought about that.” If we have to start hunting them down—we’re screwed. “It could be important, but we don’t have the manpower to go there right now. It’ll be like looking for a needle in the haystack. No one keeps accurate records of their comings and goings, for privacy reasons.”

  “I’m at Kate’s. Call me right away if anything turns up at the church.”

  “Are we okay?” she asks softly. I can almost see the worry lines creasing around her eyes. It wasn’t a betrayal. It was women sticking together, thick as thieves, the way they always do. I’m grateful Kate found that with them.

  “Yeah. We’re okay.”

  44

  Kate

  I don’t know how much time has passed. But I’m pretty sure they’re drugging me, so I eat and drink as little as possible. I don’t have an appetite, anyway.

  My situation feels hopeless, growing bleaker with every passing hour. I haven’t fully accepted my fate, but it’s settling in.

  I’m chained securely, and I hear the lock click on the door as they come and go. There’s no escape. And no rescue. No one knows I’m missing, so I never imagine anyone coming for me. Maybe it’s less painful this way.

  If only I had told Fiona I was going to Boston. But I wanted to surprise her—that’s not entirely true. I didn’t want to hear her beg me not to come or have her tell me my father would wear me down until I agreed to move back and take care of him—until the next time he didn’t need me.

  While I lay here waiting for the rape and death sure to come, I comfort myself by practicing gratitude—focusing on all the good I’ve enjoyed in my life. I’m not a Pollyanna and certainly not a saint. It’s just that I have nowhere else to turn at this moment.

  Most Catholics prepare for death with prayer, but there is not a shred of comfort for me in my faith. Only betrayal.

  Instead, I think of Fiona and her boys, of all the happiness they’ve brought to my life. While I tick through the seasons, Fi is the one person who shows up consistently in my good memories.

  Each spring, we picked lilacs together in the backyard and brought them inside to perfume my room, and we always shared the leftover cupcakes from Rita’s that some kind soul brought to school on my birthday. Someone was always absent, leaving at least one for us to share on the walk home.

  I think of my mother often, too, wondering if she would have made the same decisions, if she knew what my life would hold. At times, when I’m especially groggy, she speaks to me. You need to stay strong, she pleads. Prepare yourself for a fight. It’s not your time yet, angel. I love you. There are times in the darkness when I’m certain she’s by the bed.

  But what I think about most is Smith. When I need comfort desperately, I find it in the memories we made together. I shut my eyes and feel the shelter of his protective arms. When the pain becomes too great, I imagine him smoothing my hair, murmuring, “I’ve got you,” like he did the day I told him about the frat house, and the night Fenny died.

  But my time has not all been spent wallowing in memories. While there is little chance for escape, I have formed a skeleton of a plan. It’s not likely to save me, but at least it will be a death of my own choosing. When they discover my body, they’ll know I made an effort.

  Virginia is exhausted and stretched thin. I’ve been here longer than planned and she bears the brunt of responsibility. She’s emotionally fragile, and the added anxiety has left her psyche even more vulnerable. Each time Father Jesse mentions keeping me as his bride, she tears up. I think she’s worried I’m her replacement.

  I’ve started to feed her anxiety. Dropping little breadcrumbs here and there, about how much Jesus adores me.

  Her anxiety is causing her to be careless. She’s left the bathroom window uncovered several times. It’s a small thing, but it’s helped orient me to day and night, and planted an idea. The swamp is located directly under the double casement window—four stories down. My plan is to persuade her to let me jump into the murky water. My survival is dependent on the depth of the water, what lies beneath the surface, and whether she’s willing to free my hands.

  The lock clicks, and the door opens. Today is the day. The Feast of St. Magdalene is approaching—it has to be. I’m not sure what significance it holds for me, but I’ve caught enough to know my fate is tied up in it.

  “I need to bathe you,” Virginia says, putting down a small tray by the bed. “Eat quickly.”

  “I’m not hungry right now. I’ll try after my shower.” Even though I’m bathed daily, I smell wretched. My ankles and wrists are cuffed continuously, and the skin underneath stays wet after I bathe. It’s become infected, emitting a foul yeasty smell. Not to mention something she feeds me causes me to vomit frequently.

  Virginia adjusts the chains so that they reach the bathroom, where she shortens them again, with my wrists securely fastened behind my back. “Can we remove the chains just while I’m i
n the shower?”

  “No. I’ll get into trouble.”

  “I can help you,” I say softly.

  “I don’t need help.”

  “I know you love Jesus. He’s planning to keep me as his bride. He told me that. What will happen to you then?” When she stiffens and the tears begin to pool, I know I’ve plucked the right nerve.

  “We don’t know who he’s going to choose to be his bride,” she admonishes, brusquely.

  “We do. He told me,” I whisper. “I’m not supposed to say anything to you.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She lays out a wide tooth comb on the sink for after the shower. “He’s loved me for a long time,” she says.

  “Then why hasn’t he made you his bride yet?”

  She stills, staring into the shadows. It’s the haunting stare of a petrified woman. “Unchain me,” I say softly. “Let me jump out the window.”

  “You’ll die.” Probably. But it couldn’t possibly be worse than what’s to come.

  “I know. I’ve prepared myself for death.” She rushes around the small room, gathering shower supplies. “You won’t need to worry about me anymore, Virginia. You’ll be able to live with your Master and play kitty, like you’ve always done. Think of Petey. He needs you.”

  She freezes for a moment, before going to the window. “It’s a big drop to the swamp,” she murmurs, peeking over the ledge. “Even if you survive the fall, there are creatures in the water.” There are far worse creatures here. “No one could survive the fall,” she mumbles to herself.

  “You can unchain my ankles. Undo the restraints on my wrists. Tell Jesus I overpowered you and jumped.”

  “Okay,” she acquiesces finally, in the little girl voice she normally reserves for her Master. “But only your legs. Not your arms.”

  I draw a large breath and fill my lungs with air that I’m going to desperately need—but it can’t be reserved. That’s not how it works.

  I wanted this moment, and I’m not fearful of heights or of water. But still, the sheer gravity of a dive into the unknown with my hands bound threatens to consume me. I’ve reached the hour.

  “Okay,” I agree quietly. It probably wouldn’t matter if my hands were free, anyway.

  She opens both panes. Just as she begins to unhook the chain from my cuffed ankle, the wind howls, blowing one side of the window shut. The bang is so loud, it startles us both, leaving Virginia pale and shaken. “No,” she says, “you need to get into the shower. It’s your birthday tomorrow.”

  “That’s correct, Gigi,” the priest says from the bathroom doorway. We both freeze at the icy voice. “Her cleansing will wait for now. Bring Magdalene out here.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Without another word, we follow him out. How much did he hear? “Sit her there,” he instructs, positioning a chair a few feet from the bed. “Prepare yourself,” he tells her. By now I know that means use the toilet and undress.

  He adjusts the restraints, without a word, so that I can’t move. When he’s finished, he stands back, apprising my naked body until my skin crawls.

  When Virginia returns, he drags her to the wall by her hair. She whimpers while he shackles her wrists to the rings fixed to the stone. Her back is facing me, but I hear the muted sobs. “You were going to let her go. I am so angry with you, Gigi. So disappointed,” he says, unfastening his belt, and pulling it through the loops.

  He’s going to beat her. “It was my fault,” I plead. “Don’t hurt her.”

  He turns to me and smiles, before the belt flies through the air and catches her skin, landing where her buttocks and thighs meet. Her scream is blood-curdling.

  “Gigi is pure,” he says. “She didn’t know she sinned, unlike you. You offered your body to Sinclair. Do you know how much pain it caused me every time you let him soil you? I watched as you sullied yourself with the devil. I needed you pure.”

  He lets the belt fly again, and Virginia screams when it lands on her back.

  “Beat me, instead. She didn’t do anything.”

  “I tried to warn you, but even a dead cat wouldn’t stop your whoring. Do you know how much trouble it was to find that cat for you?” He killed Fenny. “Do you?” he asks, his eyes burning. He turns the belt on Virginia when I don’t answer.

  “No,” I say quickly.

  “You were an ungrateful whore. Each time I got a little closer, you would run to Sinclair.” He lashes Virginia’s thighs. Her screams echo in my veins.

  “Then the picture of the Wilder girl, the president’s granddaughter, showed up in your files. Instead of turning you away from him, I turned him away from you. Don’t look so surprised. You didn’t really think I was a fool who didn’t understand technology, did you?”

  He stands over me, belt in hand. His arousal evident. “I spent hours gaming at my grandmother’s, then later, I learned to hack into secure files. It gave me such great pleasure all alone in my room. It was the kind of pleasure you derived from the pink vibrator you fucked yourself with when Sinclair wasn’t around.” I cringe when he mentions my vibrator. It is pink.

  “I watched you hold it against your cunt, before sliding it inside the wet swollen flesh. The more aroused you became, the more you writhed all over the bed, your face red and sweaty. Do you know that your hips buck erratically right before you come?”

  He takes a drooping curl between his fingers. I flinch at the touch. “You were beautiful when you were alone, curled up on your bed, sated. You were a Madonna. But when Sinclair was there, you were nothing more than a filthy whore for him.”

  I feel faint and shut my eyes. It’s only seconds before the belt slithers across my thighs, and I jump.

  “Your penance is to watch and listen to Gigi’s screams.”

  He lashes her again and again. Her agony bounces off the walls. When he’s done, he unshackles her.

  “Isn’t this lovely, Magdalene?” he asks, showing me the angry welts on her skin. I can barely stand to look at them.

  “Bring me your brush,” he instructs Virginia.

  She obeys immediately, scurrying on all fours to retrieve the brush. She carries it to him in her mouth. He pats her head and sits on a chair across from me. Without a word spoken between them, she lays her tearstained cheek on his lap. Her welted buttocks in the air, as he caresses her gently and brushes her hair.

  After a little while, he murmurs something to her that I can’t hear. Her fingers go to his pants zipper, and from her knees, she releases his swollen cock, tonguing the stretched skin. Eventually he peers over at me.

  “She’s very skilled, Magdalene. I watched you with Sinclair. You’re skilled, too. Would you like to be my pet?” Virginia continues to suck him while he speaks to me.

  When he wants more, he holds her head between his hands, and roughly fucks her mouth. He stares longingly at me while she gags on his cock, the drool dripping from her mouth. It goes on and on, but I don’t dare look away.

  Finally, with a grunt, the priest finishes inside her throat, his gaze still on me.

  Virginia averts her eyes, gasping for air.

  “My good little slave,” he coos. “Choose a toy from the chest.”

  She crawls to the chest and returns with a wand.

  He smiles. “You plan on being well-satisfied, don’t you little slave? Has worshiping your Master in front of company made you especially aroused?”

  She nods, lowering her eyes demurely. “Let me see,” he says. She parts her legs, and he sweeps his hand between them, then holds his glistening fingers in the air so I can see the prize. He smiles, a sadistic curl, and brings them to her mouth so she can lick them clean.

  “Sit at my feet, Gigi, and spread your legs wide,” he commands. “Turn the wand on high and place it on your cunt.” When she does, her mouth falls open with a gasp.

  I shut my eyes. “Magdalene, if you don’t keep your eyes open, and on Gigi, I will shackle her to the wall and beat her again. It’s your choice.”

  I force
myself to watch as she leans back on her elbows, her cunt fully exposed to us. She adjusts the wand on her folds, and he lowers the sole of his shoe over it, grinding the vibrating head into her flesh.

  “Do not come without permission, or I will put welts on your skin that will be raised for a month. And there will be no pleasure for you, until the days grow short again.”

  “Master, please,” she begs in a breathy, tortured voice.

  “Stop squirming, or we’re done.” But she doesn’t stop.

  He yanks his foot away, and the wand clanks to the floor. “Leave it,” he instructs cruelly.

  Eventually, he lets her pick it up and they begin again. But she doesn’t please him, and he takes his foot away and the vibrator falls on the stone floor. She’s a shaking sweaty mess, but it happens three more times before he finally lets her come.

  It’s abusive and awful, but God forgive me, my body is behaving as though it’s aroused. Even though I’m not. Even though I don’t want to be. Even though I’m disgusted by all of it, and terrified, not of death, but of rape.

  Still, my nipples furl and tingle, and the dull ache of arousal lurks low in my belly. A piece of my soul withers and dies as my body betrays me in this unimaginable way.

  45

  Smith

  I use the key Lucinda gave me to get into Kate’s house. When I step inside, it’s as though a huge crater swallows me.

  The place smells like it’s been closed up with the air conditioner turned up high, just cool enough so mold doesn’t grow. But Kate is everywhere. Calling to me from every corner.

  Lucinda was right, it doesn’t look like anything has been disturbed. Her new laptop isn’t here, but she probably took it with her. The backup is still on the dresser, and that ugly rug is here, too.

  I scour the usual places with the blacklight and another instrument, looking for blood, or bleach, or solvents used to clean up blood and other bodily fluids. It’s normally tedious work, but today it’s heart-wrenching. Every inch I cover where there is no evidence of Kate’s blood feels like a major victory.