The scars of you (The scars series Book 1)

by Rachael Tonks

  “Wow,” I mouth as he pushes open the door revealing the impressive swimming pool.

  “You, uh, you think I’d be allowed in here? I love to swim. I just hope I can remember how after all this time,” I say, a little flutter of excitement swells deep inside.

  He sucks in a sharp intake of breath, “I couldn’t say. You’d have to ask Sir about that,” he shoots me a sad smile. “Word of warning.” He closes the space, leaning into me until we’re practically touching. “Give him time. Get him on side, he’s much easier to negotiate with then.”

  “Negotiate?” I ask, questioning him with my eyes.

  “Yeah. You give him exactly what he wants, and you’re in with a chance.”

  A chance? What the hell is he talking about?

  “What is it he wants?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper as I swallow down the huge lump that has formed in my throat.

  “It’s you. He wants you. Every. Single. Inch. And I can’t blame him. You’re a beautiful girl, Isabelle.” His eyes are pinned on me, so hungry and wanting.

  I step back. His eyes are dark and sultry and I have to put some distance between us. The hairs on my neck stand on end as this Adonis-like man flirts with me.

  “Uh, maybe we should get back. Find Sir,” I suggest, throwing my thumb over my shoulder. I have so many questions. So many things I need to know, but I’m not sure I can trust Harlan.

  “Sure,” he answers casually like nothing just happened. Wait. Did that just happen, or am I taking what he said out of context? I’m not sure, but either way I’m in a dangerous position. He retraces his steps, leading me back into the huge meeting room.

  “Stay here,” he instructs, pulling out his cell, holding it to his ear as he walks out of the room. I glance around the room, taking in the decadent décor.

  “So, you saw the indoor swimming pool?” Sir catches me off guard.

  “Oh, yes,” I say, spinning on the spot until I’m facing him.

  “I can’t wait to fuck you in the pool. Worship every part of your delightful body.”

  I squirm internally at his words, but smile politely, unable to form the words to force out a reply.

  “We have guests coming. I need you to return to your room until I come and get you.”

  “I can get in from outside without you?” I ask timidly.

  “Yes. But you cannot get out from the inside,” he smirks. “Go,” he says, slapping my ass. I let out a squeal from the unexpected contact.

  I nod my acceptance and make my way up the two flights of stairs. I stop outside my room, my eyes focusing on the two doors that fill me with absolute terror. The pain and pleasure room. I shuffle my feet until my hand is resting on the handle of the black door. It trembles uncontrollably and I slowly press down, testing to see if it is locked.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” Harlan’s booming voice causes me to jump and I scuttle away from the door. He looks angry, enraged even. His eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. Panic rises inside and fear courses through my veins.

  “I’m, uh, I’m sorry,” I stutter my words; my throat tightens as I struggle to breathe. I’ve crossed some sort of invisible line with unknown consequences.

  “Did he say you could go in there?” he asks, his tone harsh and a stark contrast from our encounter just minutes ago. His hard stare is pinned on me, his eyebrows furrowed as he waits for my response. I’m confused. So damn confused by this guy I barely know.

  “Uh, no he didn’t. I was just curious and I’m sorry,” I rush out.

  He barrels toward me and I stumble until my back is pressed against the wall. He comes so close that I clamp my eyes shut, dropping my head to the side. I feel his heavy hand on my wrist as he pulls me away from the wall.

  “You don’t ever want to go in there. You promise me that at all costs you avoid entering that room.” His voice is low and I feel his breath against my skin. I open my eyes, looking at the man still holding onto my wrists.

  “What’s in there?”

  “I can’t tell you, and believe me, you don’t want to know. Many don’t make it out alive.”

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” I repeat over and over as I feel my heart thumping in my throat. The palm of his hand lands heavy over my mouth.

  “Stay calm or you will draw attention to yourself. You need to remember no matter what is happening, no matter how fearful you are, you have to stay strong. It’s the only way.” He drops his hand reaching for the handle and pushes open the door into my room. “Go in, look normal. Act normal. There are cameras in the room.”

  Before I can respond, his large hand lands on the lower part of my back forcing me back into the room. I stumble in and watch as he shuts the door behind me.

  I have no idea if I can trust Harlan, but I do as he says. I walk over to the bed and sit there waiting.

  Waiting for whatever will come next.

  I wait nervously at the entrance to the huge meeting room, Harlan standing just to my right as we wait for the signal to enter. I hear Sir’s voice call and I shake my hands, trying to clear the nerves.

  “When we go in, you need to smile, but look only at Sir. Nobody else. You walk toward him and stand beside him, do you understand?”

  “I do,” I reply, looking at the mountain of a man standing beside me. I can’t help but stare at him for a few seconds longer than necessary. He is handsome that much I know. But can I trust him? That I don’t know. Some of the things he says confuse me, or maybe it’s a test. Maybe he’s trying to see if I tell Sir what he said to me.

  But I won’t.

  I’ll keep my mouth closed and hold my cards firmly to my chest.

  “Gentlemen,” his voice booms throughout the huge room, “here she is, my betrothed.”

  “So, you have a ring on her finger already, then?” The balding guy beside him asks, taking a huge drag of his cigar, smoke pluming around him as he slowly blows it out.

  I flit my eyes back at Sir, his hand held out as he calls me over. I hold my head up high, a fake smile plastered on my face as I walk around the huge table and straight toward him. He taps his lap, indicating that I should take a seat.

  “Calm the fuck down, Morgan,” Sir chuckles. “It’s early days, but all I know is she belongs to me.”

  “Shame,” he says with a grunt. “Tell me, where do you find a beauty like this?” I notice Morgan’s eyes fixed on me, and I can’t help the shudder that works through me as he darts out his tongue, wetting his lips.

  “We met at the bar that Isabelle was working…”

  “Oh, do you still work there, Isabelle?” he draws out my name and I glance quickly at Sir, looking for approval to speak. He tilts his head forward barely noticeably.

  “Oh, no,” I reply sweetly. “It was only ever temporary.”

  “She’s much more use to me here,” Sir adds, “She’s a great asset to my business,” he lifts his brow, resting his hand on my knee, squeezing gently. He rests his hand on my back, pulling me until I perch nervously on his knee, listening to the guys talking. As I scan the faces surrounding me, I can’t help but feel like all eyes are on me. Ten men, all in business suits sit talking casually. I try to listen to the conversation, find out more about my captor and exactly what he does to make his money. But it’s no use. They are talking in riddles and I struggle to keep up.

  “Can you top up my whiskey?” Sir asks, nodding over to the cabinet lined with liquor. I slide off his knee, using my hands to straighten my dress and slowly walk over. My eyes frantically search for the right bottle. I’ve never seen any bottles of alcohol, my father didn’t allow it, yet the fake story of working in a bar simmers in the back of my mind. I spin the bottles, looking through the impressive display, trying to find the right one.

  “Come on, sweetheart. You know which one is whiskey, right?”

  “Oh, sure, of course,” I mumble as the panic inside rises. Quick, Isabelle, find the damn bottle.

  “There,” the guy points, scraping his chair against t
he floor as he stands up, walking over to me. My anxiety forms a lump in my throat I can’t swallow. “This one, beautiful,” he whispers, his arm discreetly touching mine.

  “Oh, of course,” I say, letting my nerves show as I let out a little laugh. “I couldn’t see what was in front of my face,” I respond, grabbing the bottle and walking back over to the table full of intimidating men. I feel the heat of the guy as he follows closely behind me. I stop beside Sir, reaching over a little to take hold of his whiskey glass. I feel a heavy hand grabbing a handful of my ass and jerk upright a little. My eyes dart to those staring at me, the pissed look on Sir’s face terrifies me.

  Before I can take in what is happening, I’m being pushed back and Harlan bursts through the door, the room filled with the sound of shouting. The guy that just felt my ass is being wrestled out by Harlan. He has the guys hands behind his back as he drags him out.

  “She fucking wanted it,” he shouts over his shoulder, “her eyes were begging for me to touch her,” he spits back.

  The other men are shouting and cussing at each other and I have no idea how this will play out. They all look at me and I have no idea what to say.

  “No,” I shout out in anger. How dare he say I asked for it? I kept my eyes focused on Sir the whole time. I stagger backwards until my hands find the cold wall behind me. I watch as Sir reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a gun.

  “If any of you cocksuckers touch my girl again, I won’t even think twice about burying a fucking bullet in your skull. You understand?”

  The room falls silent and the remaining men scramble back into their seats.

  “Each and every one of you fuckers work for me. You answer to me and only me and if you dare cross that line with me, you’re all fucked.” His face contorts with anger and I’m terrified. What if he believes that guy? I look at him, hoping I can gage how he’s feeling but Harlan catches my eye. He storms through the door and straight toward me. Grabbing my upper arm, he leads me out of the room and my feet barely move fast enough to keep up.

  “What the…” I glance up at a stern looking Harlan. Each of his features are hard and defined.

  “Eyes on Sir. I told you, I warned you,” he grates out, squeezing my arm harder.

  “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” I tug on his hand trying to get him to let go. His feet are moving so fast that I miss the first step, my legs buckling beneath me.

  “Fuck, Isabelle,” he growls, tugging on my arm, pulling me against his chest. “Watch what you’re doing.”

  “Well, I would if you weren’t hurting me.”

  He grabs my hair, pushing my head forward until our lips nearly meet. “Hurt you,” he repeats, his voice low and hoarse. “What I’d give to hurt you. To fuck you so raw that your pussy throbs and stings as a reminder that it was me that satisfied your every need.”

  Whoa, where did that come from? My eyes search his for an answer. “What? Why would you say that?” I tug at my arms, trying to back away from him. I have no idea what is happening or why he would say these things.

  “Is this some kind of sick joke? Are you really trying to set me up so I’ll say something you can run back and tell your boss about?” I glare at him; my breathing is rapid and my chest heaves as I fight this huge man holding me in place.

  “I want to help you,” he whispers, his eyes sweeping our surroundings.

  “Help me? How?”

  “I know you’re not here through choice. I know you are his captive, and I also know you’re not the first.”

  “W…w-what happened to the others?” I whisper before gulping down the lump that’s formed in my throat. The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end, the fear deep inside me rising to the surface as I envision what happened to those who were here before me.

  “Gone. The girls taken into the torture room never make it out,” he croaks. “You have to understand who you’re dealing with here. He’s not some weirdo who likes to kidnap and rape girls. He’s more sadistic than that. See…” he pauses, gripping my chin between his finger and thumb, “he has dark desires. His thrill comes from seeing you in pain.”

  “Stop,” I say, snapping my chin from his grasp. “Why,” I sniffle, “why are you telling me this? Oh god,” I catch a sob, covering my face with my hands.

  “I want to help you…”

  “So, help me,” I snap, “get me out of here. You have access to the whole house. You can make it happen if you really want to help.”

  “I can’t,” he quietly growls. “You have to do this yourself. You have to be the one to escape.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I’m the one that helps you out of here, he will hunt me down and fucking kill me. No, scrap that, he will skin me alive.”

  “But look at you. You’re twice his size.”

  “Fuck,” he snarls, “you don’t understand how this works Isabelle…” he sighs heavily, running his hand through his short, blond hair. “There is so much more than what you see in these four walls. He has people working for him all over. He has the money to command whatever the fuck he wants. I want to help you, but I also want to be alive to see you on the other side.” His tone softens, and he reaches his hand toward me, cupping the side of my face.

  “I like you, Belle,” he exhales heavily, dropping his hand. “I should get you back. He’ll know something is wrong if we aren’t back in the room soon.”

  I allow my eyes to flutter shut, nodding my head a little in agreement. I make my way up the stairs, my eyes focusing on the floor as my mind races with the thoughts of the girls who were here before. I stop just as we reach the door. I turn to see the statuesque figure of Harlan standing beside me. I leap forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. He quickly pulls me to the side, his eyes darting to the camera above our heads.

  I nod, realizing that was a bad move. “Be a friend to me. That’s the best way you can help me,” I whisper. My words rattle against his body.

  “Of course,” he replies, his hand rubbing back and forth against the low of my back. “I will try to speak to him; hopefully that will calm him down.”

  I immediately pull back, studying Harlan’s face. “You think he will be cross?” I draw in my brows, confused as to why.

  “You heard what the guy said… he will think you caused this. You brought him much embarrassment at that meal. I had to get rid of the guy,” he says holding his finger and dragging it across his neck.

  I gasp, holding a hand tight to my mouth. “What… as in… dead?”

  “Yes.” He replies and I’m a little stunned by his calmness. Just when I think I understand this guy he messes with my mind once more. I’m not sure whether I can trust him or whether I should be really freaking scared.

  “Jesus,” I mumble, my eyes caught by the black door across the room. Everything in this moment is so uncertain… besides one thing. One thing I am absolutely certain of, is that pain is coming.

  Immense, excruciating pain.

  Only, I have to survive.

  “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  I jerk up at the sound of her voice, my eyes wide and head thrashing as I try to understand where I am.

  Fuck.

  I’m on the couch and I feel like some fucker hit me around the neck with a damn baseball bat.

  “I made you breakfast,” she smiles widely, drawing my attention back to her.

  “Shit,” I throw back the blanket and swing my legs until my feet land on the floor. “How are you this morning?” I yawn widely, waiting for her to answer.

  “Better,” she smiles, biting the corner of her mouth. “I still ache like a bitch, but, hey,” she holds her leg up a little wiggling it in front of me. “Got these things working again.”

  “Good,” I say, placing my hands behind my head, stretching out my achy body. I can’t help but notice her wide eyes fixed on me, her mouth a little slack.

  “Wow,” she mumbles.

  “What was that?” I ask, knowing full well what was just said.


  “Nothing,” she replies before pointing to the plate full of food on the coffee table in front of me.

  “Well, dig in,” she urges, dropping down beside me, brushing her arm against mine as she does. Unfamiliar warmth spreads through me and I’m a little taken back by my body’s reaction to this chick. I swallow down hard, reaching for the plate and resting it on my knees.

  “You know you didn’t have to,” I mumble as I push in the first forkful of eggs.

  “When was the last time anyone cooked for you?” She quizzes, her head to the side, resting on her hand.

  “I’ll have you know that Jackie cooks for me at the diner all the time.”

  “She’s cooking because she’s being paid to. I’m talking about someone doing it because they want to.”

  “In that case, this is a first. Well, as an adult.”

  “You miss your mom?” She asks, her voice quiet and her tone sensitive.

  “Fuck, hell no!” I almost choke as the laughter catches in my throat. “That bitch is dead and buried and I’m glad.”

  “Oh, Brax,” she strokes my arm. “I’m sad that you feel that way.”

  “I’m not. That woman tried to make my childhood a misery. She wasn’t a mother to me. The bitch only cared about her boyfriends. You know, the ones that beat the fucking shit out of me.”

  “I should never have said anything,” she shakes her head, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

  I lift my arm, exposing the skin just below my armpit. The abundance of scars that I normally hide are all on show. “They’re the same on the other side. The bastard burnt me where no one would see.”

  She reaches forward, the glisten of pending tears in her eyes as she reaches out her hand, running the pad of her thumb over the red raised area, the scars a constant reminder of the piece of shit that took his anger out on me.

  “Fuck,” she whispers, her eyes trailing up, focusing on the scar that runs right down my left cheek. “Did she do that, too?” she asks, her voice wavering as she points her index finger at the scar on my face.