by M. L. Guida
“No.”
“My hands are going numb.”
“Then you won’t be going anywhere.” A satisfied smile spread across his face.
She gritted her teeth. If her hands were free, she’d slap that grin off.
He drove farther and farther down the ocean highway and turned on a dirt road with a dense rain forest on either side. Vines dangled to the ground and Deirdre wished she could grab one and swing out of here like Tarzan, but that wasn’t going to happen. The thick jungle was cleared and in its place were mansions with manicured lawns, water fountains and pools. Money, lots of money.
The mud plastered her shirt and sweats against her skin. Dirt caked onto her cheek and hands. Her ankle throbbed. She squirmed in her seat and tried to figure out where he was taking her. She’d never been to Hawaii and had no idea where he was going. She rolled her shoulder to brush off some sweat and inhaled Janus’s sandalwood scent, mixed with mud. Why hadn’t she listened to Janus and stayed?
The vegetation lessened and Brandon drove the sedan up a turn off. The radio played, Let It Snow, and he drummed his hands on the wheel to the beat. He was much too confident. They must be getting closer to his new chamber of horrors. Her luck had just melted away.
A steep drop off led to crashing waves hitting black rocks. Her stomach did a double flop and dizziness swam in her head. She should have stayed back in Denver.
The snow would be covering the streets and icy cold would grip the city. She should have stayed home and gone to her friend, Lisa’s who always greeted her with a glass of Chianti. Lisa lived in a mountain town a few miles from Denver. Christmas lights would be strung along her two story log cabin and a big pine tree would fill her bay window. The smell of a roasting turkey, baking rolls and Italian stuffing would permeate the cabin. She licked her lips and her stomach grumbled.
Brandon glanced at her. “Hungry?”
She clamped her jaw tight. He pounded her thigh hard and she winced.
“Ignoring me leads to pain. So are you hungry or not?”
She refused to answer him. Fuck him. She wasn’t going to pretend they were out for a leisurely drive and he was taking her to some fancy restaurant.
Brandon snorted. “Fine, when we get there, I’ll do it the hard way.”
She trembled. Damn, he was trying to stoke her fear and get her to plead for mercy. She wouldn’t do it.
He stopped at a tall black metal gate, leaned out and plugged numbers into a lock box. The gates swung open. Brandon had money, but he didn’t have this much money. Through two leaning trees, an enormous whitewash mansion loomed. Icicle Christmas lights hung around the eaves and balconies. White twinkling lights twirled around the palm and pine trees. It must have taken a month to hang them. He pulled around a cherub fountain and parked the sedan.
“Whose is this, Brandon?”
“A friend’s. He’s away and said I could use it.”
“So, why didn’t we stay here in the first place?”
“Because you were being a good girl earlier. Now, you’ve become a bad girl. Bad girls need privacy.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs and she tried to gain her composure. She held up her bound mud-caked wrists. “Aren’t there housekeepers?”
He cupped his hand around her number fingers. “No one’s here. It’s Christmas darling. We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Now get out.”
She tilted her chin. “No.”
He gripped her arm and pulled her over the stick shift. “Why do you always insist doing everything the hard way?”
Her ankle hit the gear. Pain shot through her. “Brandon, my ankle!”
He shook her. “It’s your fault. You made me do this.”
“I can’t walk.”
He wrinkled his face. “God, you stink and you’re a mess.” He lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder. “You need a shower.”
She pounded her bound wrists on his back. “Put me down.”
“You said you couldn’t walk.” He slapped her ass. “If you’re going to act like a wench, you’ll be treated like one.”
“I’m not a wench.”
“Since it’s Christmas, I won’t tell you what you are. But behave.” He pinched her buttock hard and she winced. “Or I’ll forget its Christmas.”
Deirdre stopped struggling. Her ankle ached, her wrists had gone numb, and now, her ass hurt. Great, this was just the beginning. Brandon was in control. Her choices were gone.
He marched up the marble stairs and pressed numbers into the lock and then the door swung open. Carrying her through the house, he passed an open living room and trotted down a hallway like he owned the damn place. In a plum decorated bedroom, he headed for the adjoining bathroom and dropped her onto a toilet. He untied her wrists and his tie fell to the floor. “Now, get in the damn shower. I’ll find you clothes. Do as I say or you’ll force me to punish you.” He yanked her hair and pointed to the door. “That stays open. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, do as I say.”
Deirdre wanted to argue about getting in the shower. But then he wouldn’t leave and she wanted him to leave. If he tried to come into the shower with her, she’d fight him. No way was she going to be intimate with him again. He could rape her dead body.
He stomped out of the room and she exhaled. Bruises marred her swollen wrists. Blood circulated and prickles spread to her hands. She closed and opened her fists to activate her numb fingers.
She might not be in any shape to run but she’d give it her best shot. She quickly undressed and hobbled into the shower. Unfortunately, the shower was big enough for two.
I won’t let him come into the shower.
“Janus?” she whispered. Her hands were on top of her head and shampoo dripped down her back. “Where are you?”
Just hurry taking your shower. Sunlight.
Deirdre had no idea what he could do or what he was capable of. The sunlight must be draining his power. Within minutes, she finished showering and wrapped a towel around her head and another one around her body. Her muddy drenched clothes stained the white pristine floor. Maybe she could rinse them out, put them on and escape.
“You done?”
Deirdre jumped.
Brandon leaned against the doorway. “God, you’re so damn beautiful.” He licked his lips as if she were his favorite ice cream cone
Her stomach churned and she was terrified he was going to rape her. She refused to beg. She clamped her mouth shut.
“Give me your hand.”
“Brandon.”
His eyes darkened. He lurched toward her. She slammed her back against the wall and held on tight to the towel hugging her damp body. Please don’t.
“I said give me your hand.”
Lowering her head, she stretched out her trembling arm. He caressed her hand. Her stomach tightened. She closed her fist ready to square him in the eye. If he was going to take her, she’d rather be knocked out. Not remember.
He slid something onto her finger. She lifted her head. “The diamond ring? You had it?”
“Yes.” He tightened his hold on her fingers and the ring pressed into her flesh. She cringed.
“As long as you stay with me, I’ll tell the police you returned it. Otherwise, well, you know what will happen, don’t you?”
The bastard. Was there no limit to what he’d pull? “Why are you doing this? Why do you want me so bad?”
“No one walks away from me. If I say you can go, you can go. My mother abandoned me as a child and you’re not going to be her. Now come with me.” He pulled on her arm and she stumbled. Her ankle throbbed and she fell. He wrapped his arm around her waist and the towel slipped down, barely covering her nipples.
“Put me down.”
“Be good.” He gripped her tighter. “You don’t want to make me punish you.”
On the bed lay undergarments, a pair of white and blue striped shorts and a lace top. She grimac
ed. They were hers. What was his game?
“Get dressed.”
She clutched the towel.
He held up his hand. “I said get dressed.”
“No.”
He slapped her and she fell onto the bed. Her cheek throbbed. The smarting sting spread across her face.
“See what you made me do? I don’t want to hurt you, Deirdre.” He lowered his voice. “Please get dressed.”
She held her cheek and bit back a retort. Trembling, she took the towel off and snatched her panties. His leer turned her stomach and she avoided him as she dressed. At least, he kept his hands to himself.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He unwrapped the towel from her head and her wet, tangled hair fell across her shoulders. He ran his fingers through it. “I like your hair when it’s wet. Curls so pretty.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tie. He rebound her wrists. “Just to make sure you behave.” He lifted her off her feet and carried down the stairs. Her hands turned numb again. He tossed her onto a white leather couch.
She caught her breath and lifted her hands. “Brandon, please take this off? It really hurts. I can’t even move my fingers.”
Picture glass windows surrounded the living room and tempted her with freedom. Brandon walked around a long wooden coffee table and headed to a black granite counter top behind another white couch. He poured himself a glass of brandy. “Would you like a glass wine? He has Merlot, Chianti, Pinot Noir. Any red you’d like.”
“I’d love to have a glass, but I can’t feel my hands.”
“Pinot Noir?”
“Sure, that’s fine. As long as…”
“Oh, I’ll untie you. But there are rules.”
Her blood stilled. “What rules?”
Sipping his brandy, he placed her Pinot Noir on the coffee table and sat next to her. He ran his hand along her thigh. “You’ll not talk back to me and will do everything I say.”
She swallowed back her revulsion and tried to keep her face stoic. “I don’t understand.”
“If I tell you to suck my cock, you suck it. If I tell you to dance, you dance. If I tell you to shut up, you shut up. You will make up for your disobedience. No one is here. No one will hear your screams. No one is coming. Do I make myself clear?”
She hung her head. “And if I refuse?”
He wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger and tugged hard. “Refusal will be met with a most unpleasant experience. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He untied her bonds. She bent her fingers and shook her hands. Brandon studied her. She knew he waited for the slightest sign of disobedience. He was waiting, looking for a way to accuse her of refusing his demands and punish her again. She remained silent. Not even rubbing her wrists. Blood circulated and the painful tingles slowed.
“Do you want me to help you sip your wine?”
She wanted to throw the wine in his smirking face, but smiled sweetly. She knew how to play his stupid game. “No.”
She clasped the glass and took a long drink. She pushed back tears. Love slave. Or more like a whore.
Fight him. Resist. I can help you. Trust me.
Deirdre wanted to believe Janus, but he wasn’t there. She was alone. How could Janus help her?
Brandon slid his hand up her thigh and his finger brushed her inner core. “Are you still hungry?”
She jumped. “Yes, I’m famished.”
“We’ve got a fully stocked kitchen. What will you do if I fix you something to eat?”
She forced herself to kiss him. “Anything you want. But…”
He snagged her hair. “But what?”
She cupped his face. “Only after you fix me something to eat.”
He panted and fondled her breast. God, she thought she’d vomit, but she moaned as if in pleasure.
“Stay here. I’ll be back. Don’t press your luck, Deirdre.”
“I won’t,” she promised.
“I guess you won’t. Not with that ankle.”
“I think I might have broken it.”
“We’ll get you medical attention. Later.”
He stood. “Now, stay here.”
“I will.” She sipped her wine. “I promise.”
“How about an omelet?”
“Delicious.”
“Just to make sure.”
He lifted her ankle and the wine splashed onto the white couch. “Brandon, what are you doing?”
“I don’t trust you.”
He put his hands on her swollen ankle. “You’ll not runaway again.”
“Please, Brandon, no.” He twisted her ankle and she screamed. Unbearable pain throbbed in her ankle and agony blinded her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate.
“There you won’t run now.”
Brandon slapped her across the face. Just before she passed out, she heard Janus screaming in her mind.
I’ll make him pay. I promise. Hide.
Moments later, she came to. Deirdre held her calf and stared at her twisted ankle. The splash of hot tears streaked down her cheeks. How could Brandon do this to her? Love her? Like a demon from hell.
Deirdre?
“Janus,” she whispered. “He hurt me. He hurt me so bad.”
I know. Listen to me. Since the sun has slipped behind the clouds, I can use my vampire powers to help shield and hide you. Go now.
“I can’t,” she sniffed.
What do you think he’ll do to you next?
Deirdre wiped her nose. Janus was right. Brandon was just getting started.
She dragged herself onto the floor. Pain surged from her ankle up her leg. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to crawl on her hands and knees to a spiral wooden staircase. Brandon whistled Santa Clause is Coming to Town. If only she could take a frying pan and smash him over the head with it and let him dream about sugar plums for eternity.
The banister was too high and no way could she stand and hop each stair. No. Thanks to Brandon, she’d get to haul herself up each stair. Her arms shook as she gripped the lip of a stair and edged up the staircase. Each time her ankle bounced, agony pulsed through her trembling limbs. She bit her lip and bleary tears streamed down her face. She didn’t know if she could do this. Nausea swirled in her stomach.
Sweat dripped into her eyes. She pulled herself up the hard wooden stairs one at time, grasping, reaching until she arrived at the top and collapsed.
Hurry. Hide.
Struggling to breathe, Deirdre cursed. The long hallway seemed to stretch on for miles. She forced herself to lay on her stomach and use her forearms to inch along the hardwood floor.
Something shattered below and she cringed. “Damn it, Deirdre,” Brandon yelled. “Where the hell are you bitch?”
Her heart threatened to explode. Too late. He was going to beat the crap out of her.
Deirdre reached up her arm and fumbled opened a door. It creaked and she nearly burst into tears. She waited for Brandon to run up the stairs. Glass crashed below, but no thundering footsteps. Thank God.
She crawled into a plum carpeted bedroom with matching pillow cases, shams, quilt and curtains. Hide under the king size bed? That’s original.
The closet. Hide in the closet. Trust me. Go.
Deirdre needed speed. She got off her belly and got onto her hands and knees. She hustled across the carpeted floor and throbbing agony gripped her ankle. Just get to the door. Why did Janus insist on her hiding here? Brandon wasn’t stupid. It would be the first place he’d look. She’d be trapped and be lucky to hop out of the bedroom.
She collapsed onto her knees and caught her breath. Her ankle pulsed with torment. She bit back a sob.
Angry footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Deirdre, bitch? Show yourself. The longer you hide, the worse your punishment.”
Deirdre grappled pulling open the wooden sliding closet door. She rolled inside and slide the door shut. Clothes br
ushed over her head, tossing her hair into her face. She shoved it away and scooted across shoes.
Go to the back of the closet.
“Back? What are you—?”
It’s a deep closet. Trust me.
The bedroom door slammed open. “Are you in here woman? I swear I’m going to bust your dumb ass.”
Deirdre bit her lip and edged deeper into the darkness. Material brushed the back of her head, hair hung in her eyes and shoes dug into her palms and buttock.
Footsteps thumped in the room. Glass broke. Something heavy crashed into the wooden closet door, unhinging it. Her heart hammered against her chest. Deirdre edged back. Only darkness was behind her and the tip of her fingers still hadn’t brushed against a wall. Brandon’s black loafers stormed around the light peering from underneath the door.
“Janus, he’s going to kill me,” she whispered.
You don’t have to speak out loud. I can hear your thoughts. Trust me.
Like a wounded crab, she plodded along the wall further and further away from the light. God, she was cornered. She was dead. Dead. Dead.
The closet door whipped open.
Deirdre froze. Caught.
Janus.
He won’t see you. I promise.
Brandon’s meaty hands parted pants and shirts. “Where are you, bitch?” He thrust his head inside the closet and narrowed his eyes.
Closing her eyes, Deirdre held up her shaking arm to protect her face and clasped her jaw tight.
Janus was wrong.
No, I’m not.
Hangers screeching along the metal bar, Brandon jammed suits and blouses to the side. “When I find you, I’ll whip the skin off your back.”
Deirdre jumped, waiting for a lash on her arm or legs. Please don’t let him hurt me.
I won’t. Trust me.
Brandon tossed suits out of the closet. “I don’t like playing hide and seek.”
Deirdre slowly lowered her arm and opened her eyes. Light shone into the closet, but it stopped where she sat. Maybe Brandon couldn’t see her.
Go away. Please go away.
“You know I hate these little games, Deirdre.” He picked up a ladies’ red pump and with each word, he pounded it on the closet door. “You need another lesson in obedience.” Wood splintered and the door dangled from the hinges. He’d find her. A broken heel flung inside the closet and embedded in the wall.