“Hayden...” She called to me, pleading.
I ignored her, and the doors slid shut, blocking off my view of her. I always felt better when I couldn’t see her. Hard decisions were easier when she wasn’t giving me that beseeching look that somehow had a direct line to my heart.
I stepped out of the elevator into the house that was my home. The storm continued to rage outside, and there was no sign that Loretta was up. Why would she be? It was nighttime now, and she was most likely sleeping off her sickness.
Everything looked exactly how I’d left it. I wasn’t sure why I felt like everything should be different. As though an earthquake should have shaken the place to the ground during the hour or so I’d spent down with Jolie.
Or maybe that was just how I felt—shaken down to my foundations.
I’d hated Jolie for so long, knowing how she’d protected him, the man who’d killed my mother, but when she’d told me how things had been as a child, a part of me had understood why she’d done it. I didn’t want to, though. I wanted to hang onto my anger and hatred. After all, if I didn’t, how was I supposed to do what was needed?
There was no possibility I’d be sleeping any time soon. Aside from the low-lying hum of arousal that burned through my veins, which I knew would be impossible to simply forget, there was something I needed to do.
The door we’d run through continued to bang in the wind.
With a growl, I strode through the house and yanked shut the offending door.
Then I went to the office and sat down at my computer. The desk drawers were half open, spilling their contents where Jolie had rifled through, though I didn’t know what the fuck she thought she was going to find. I wasn’t stupid enough to leave anything in there that would help her escape. I didn’t even keep the keys to the boat in my desk—they were upstairs, locked away in the safe, which was hidden inside the back of one of my closets.
I experienced a pang of regret at the loss of the boat. It might even be salvageable, but I didn’t have the time to put into trying to recover it. Besides, once I left the island with Jolie to go and kill her father, I wouldn’t be coming back here. The boat might be lost out to sea somewhere, but it wasn’t as though I’d be keeping it anyway. I remembered what I’d told Jolie, how none of it meant anything. The boat, the house, the cars, the plane were just metal and plastic, and wood and oil. None of it was breathing. None of it had a heartbeat. None of it had a soul. If it vanished tomorrow, it could be replaced. Not like a person. Not like a mother.
Or a lover.
I fired up my computer.
The lighting for Jolie’s room had been on a timer, but I was changing that now. I’d had it set so she was able to keep track of normal day and nighttime hours, feeling it was unnecessarily cruel to leave her in either permanent light or total darkness, but my level of compassion had been taken down a notch by her recent antics. I’d also had the light level set during the night so she would be able to make her way around the room in the dark—find her way to the bathroom without walking into things.
I was changing that now. I pulled up the control screen for the settings in her room and altered the lighting. She’d see how kind I’d been to her and just what I could be like when she took that kindness for granted.
She was spot on when she said I was going to use her as bait. That was exactly what I intended—to use her to lure her father out into the open. But doing so would mean taking her off the island and into a place inhabited by others, and I couldn’t do that while she had so much fight left in her. She’d proven she was willing to do whatever it took to escape. If she thought she could attempt to get off an otherwise uninhabited island, what would she do when she was surrounded by cars and other people? I wouldn’t be able to travel freely with her bound and in the trunk of my car. I needed for her to sit beside me and look as though we were together. In her current frame of mind, that would be impossible.
I needed to break her first.
There were still a few days remaining until I would need to take her to the mainland. A couple of things needed to happen before that part of this plan was instigated. The plane had to return to the island, and they wouldn’t be able to fly while the storm was still raging. Then Jolie’s letter would have to get through prison administration, and most likely would end up in the hands of the police. The police would then be forced to consult Patrick Dorman to see if there were any clues in the letter as to where she was being held—if he had some kind of insider knowledge. He didn’t, but I had men in place. Yes, I wanted Patrick Dorman to escape, but I also wanted to make him suffer before he died, and that was going to include him thinking his precious little girl was going through the same horror he’d put so many other women through.
I’d always considered myself to be a hard man, but Jolie had softened me. I needed to make that right.
Loretta wasn’t going to be happy when I told her what had happened. I was tempted to keep my mouth shut about everything, but she’d know something had changed. I knew why I didn’t want her to find out about Jolie’s escape attempt. She’d assume I couldn’t handle things on my own, which was bullshit. Jolie might have gotten past me, but I’d locked her back up again, hadn’t I? There was no actual damage done. I guessed I just didn’t want Loretta to see that Jolie might be my one weakness. The daughter of my mother’s murderer had a way of winding herself into my thoughts, her face always in the forefront of my mind whenever I closed my eyes.
Fuck, I didn’t want to even admit that to myself.
I had an Achille’s heel, and Jolie was it.
Chapter Three
I’d cried myself to sleep.
I wasn’t even ashamed of my tears. I’d used every last ounce of my emotional and physical strength trying to get away, and now I was utterly empty. As though I’d been hollowed out. I kept playing the events over in my head, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. I should have locked the damned door to prevent Hayden coming back into the house, or at least done something to give me some idea that he was back. But I hadn’t considered he would come back. When I’d watched the boat being pulled out to sea by the storm, I’d truly believed that was the last I’d see of him. Or had I? Had I really thought he’d die out there, or did I think a man like him was immune to death?
When I woke, the room was still in darkness. It was a deeper darkness than I’d been exposed to before, and a stab of fear went through me. Still not fully awake, I was disoriented, my mind trying to put together what I was supposed to be seeing. For some reason, my memory was trying to conjure up my childhood bedroom, even though I knew that wasn’t where I was. My confusion only served to heighten my fear, and my heart raced, my mouth drying. I tried to catch my breath and remember where everything was. The elevator doors were opposite the four-poster bed, the dresser to my right, the coffee table and chairs at the foot of the bed.
I lifted my hands, and metal clinked, and I became aware of the extra weight around my wrists. Of course, Hayden had handcuffed me last night. I remembered that, too, now.
I was able to picture the room in my head, though the room remained in darkness. How long had I slept? I felt groggy enough for it to have been hours, but the lights hadn’t yet come up, which made me think it was still night. Hayden normally brought the lights back up at daylight and lowered them again when it was time to sleep. I didn’t know if he controlled the lighting himself, or if it was done automatically, but from the darkness surrounding me now, I figured something had gone wrong.
My bladder was full and heavy, however, and I needed to use the bathroom. Could I find my way there in the pitch black? Why had Hayden made the room so dark? Had the storm cause an electrical failure? Yet there was a faint light from the keypad from the elevator, which made me think there hadn’t been a failure at all. There was the possibility the elevator was backed up by an emergency generator, but surely the lights would be the same?
Fixing onto that single source of light, I swung my legs out of bed.
I was aware that I wasn’t wearing any underwear, my breasts moving freely beneath my t-shirt. Hayden had taken my wet panties and bra with him, and though I could probably find new ones if I went through the drawers, I didn’t want to remove the clothes I wore now. The memory of the weight of Hayden’s gaze remained fresh in my mind. The last thing I was going to do was willingly get naked again. Even though I could have done with a hot shower after getting drenched in the storm, I was now handcuffed and in the dark, and I didn’t intend to attempt to shower in these conditions. Besides, with my hands cuffed, the best I’d be able to do was pull my t-shirt over the top of my head and then down my arms. I wouldn’t be able to take it off fully.
Not that showering was what mattered now. I’d warmed up overnight due to the dry clothes Hayden had forced me into. All I needed was a pee. Using the items of furniture and the walls, I navigated my way around the room, toward the bathroom. My palms met with cool concrete and warmer wood as I patted my way around, shuffling my feet forward in case my toes hit something I wasn’t expecting and pitched me forward.
I tried to push down my building panic, tears squeezing from the corners of my eyes. I’d never liked the dark, but I’d gotten even worse after my father had been arrested. During the conversations I’d had with the numerous therapists I’d been forced to speak to during my teenage years, they put my fear of the dark down to all the nights I spent lying in bed, listening for my father. If I heard him moving around the house, I would tense, my breath held, as I tried to figure out what he was doing, or where he was going. My heart would pound, terrified I’d hear the creak of the stairs, signaling he was going down them, and then the jingle of keys and the click of the lock of the front door. I would lie awake, wondering where he’d gone and praying he would come home again. Things didn’t feel right when I knew he wasn’t home. My mind went to crazy possibilities of what he might be doing—did he have a girlfriend somewhere, or another family? When I was feeling generous, I thought perhaps he was out working a second job to bring in extra money for the home, but that he was too proud and didn’t want my mother to know. Even at that young age, I knew he was sneaking around. And the thing that frightened me more than whatever it was my father was doing during those times was the possibility of my mother finding out. I’d lie awake, hour after hour, terrified she’d wake up and find him gone. Because the worst thing I could imagine was that she’d find out what he’d been doing—whatever that was—and they’d get divorced. When I’d been younger, that was the worst thing my mind could conjure. Divorce. If only I’d known...
I’d learned the truth eventually, and the truth had been far worse than my imagined fears could ever possibly imagine, but still my fear of the dark had followed me into adulthood.
I wasn’t that naïve girl any more. I knew there were far worse things out there than a little darkness, but that knowledge didn’t take the fear away.
The wall vanished from beneath my hand, and I shrieked as I almost fell sideways. Then I realized I’d found the entrance to the bathroom, and I hopped from foot to foot, the pressure in my bladder increasing. I managed to shuffle my way into the bathroom and find the toilet. Awkwardly, as my wrists were still cuffed together, I yanked down the yoga pants Hayden had given me and sank down gratefully.
I put my head in my hands, my hair falling over my face, as I emptied my bladder in a hot rush.
Needing to piss had been a good distraction from my situation, but now I was done, I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. I hated being down here in the dark. I couldn’t do anything. I was just left alone with no more than my fear and thoughts.
I finished up and patted my way to the sink, where I turned on the faucet and washed my hands and then splashed my face. It was probably a good thing I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror. After the race through the storm, I doubted I was much to look at.
For some reason, the idea of the mirror right in front of my face, dark and empty, spooked me, and a violent shudder worked down my spine. I’d just managed to get a hold on my racing heart, but the thought sent it off again, pounding hard in my chest.
I turned and hurried out of the bathroom, moving too fast and only wanting to put distance between me and the black mirror.
I moved too fast, wasn’t taking enough care. I spun around, and my face smacked against something hard. Pain exploded across my nose and forehead, and I cried out and stumbled back. Fuck. I’d just walked into the goddamned wall.
Blood flooded down the back of my throat, and I cupped my hand to my face. My nose throbbed, and there was a stabbing pain in my forehead where I hit it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hoped I hadn’t broken my nose. I’d never broken any bones before and had no idea what it felt like, but this certainly didn’t feel good.
I turned and grappled my way back toward the toilet, one hand held up in front of me, waving around so I didn’t make the same mistake twice, the other cupped to my smashed up face. I found the toilet roll holder attached to the wall and unrolled a wad to hold beneath my nose. The tissue was quickly sodden, my fingers sticky with blood. Fresh tears flooded my eyes—partly out of pain, and partly self-pity. Nothing was going right for me. Nothing ever had, and it never would. I didn’t know why I kept fighting.
I lifted my face, and fresh blood ran down the back of my throat. “Are you happy now, Hayden?” I yelled at the invisible cameras. “Is this enough punishment for me? I’m going to guess it probably isn’t, you fucking bastard. You won’t be happy until I’m dead, too.”
Chapter Four
By the time morning arrived, the storm had calmed. Rain still lashed through the sky, but it was nowhere near as heavy as the previous day, and the wind had gone. I wondered how well my boat had fared overnight. Had it ended up smashed up against the cliffs, or was there a chance the vessel was retrievable?
From the lack of noise in the house, I assumed Loretta was still sick, and I’d be left to fend for myself again. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t a child and was perfectly capable of cooking and cleaning for myself. It was only because my time was better spent elsewhere that I employed Loretta—well, partly that, but also because I’d known I wanted another woman around when it came to taking Jolie captive. Loretta had had her own cross to bear about what Jolie’s father had done. The loss of her daughter had twisted her and made her bitter, and she was more than happy to come onboard with a plan that would result in Patrick Dorman ending up dead.
I climbed out of bed, threw on sweats, and tugged a t-shirt on over my head. I didn’t plan on doing any work today. I wasn’t even sure what day it was—not that it really made any difference to me. Weekends and weekdays all blurred into one.
I figured I’d go and check on my housekeeper first. I wasn’t exactly a nurturing personality type, but I didn’t want to have to worry that she was literally dying under my roof.
Crossing the property to the wing of the house where her room was located, I rapped lightly on her door.
“Come in,” a croaky voice replied.
I pushed my way into the room and tried not to visibly recoil at the stink of sweat and vomit. Loretta was a huddled bundle under her bedcovers.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I’ve felt better,” she replied. “But I’ve stopped being sick, so I guess that’s a good thing.”
“Yes, it is. Can I get you anything?”
The bedcovers rustled as she shook her head. “I can’t manage anything to eat yet. I have a bottle of mineral water, so I’m not going to dehydrate.”
“I can make some hot tea,” I offered. “I’ll sweeten it for you. You could probably do with some sugar in your system.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.”
I frowned slightly. I didn’t do kind. “No problem.”
She sat up. Her hair was all over the place, her skin ashen. I was used to seeing her unkempt. Everything felt off kilter right now, and I didn’t like it. I liked things to be in tidy boxes, and at the moment I wasn
’t even sure I had any boxes.
“The weather sounded terrible last night,” she said. “Was there any damage caused?”
Our captive almost escaped, and I’ve lost a million dollar boat to the ocean, I thought but didn’t say. Instead, I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of, though I haven’t done a round of the building yet.”
“What about the... other issue?”
“She’s still safely locked up in her room, and the plane left with her letter before the storm hit. I imagine it’s been sent already. We should hear something soon.”
“Good.” She sank back beneath the covers. “Let me know.”
I nodded and backed out of the room, grateful to be back in reasonably fresh air. I went downstairs to make the tea. I’d make tea for myself, and cook some eggs for my breakfast, too. Should I make something for Jolie? I was still furious with her for her antics last night, and it wasn’t just about her escaping, or that she’d lost me a very expensive boat. No, it was how she’d gone about escaping that had left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’d enjoyed spending time with her. And there had been a fraction of a moment, when I’d had my fingers knotted in her hair, and her mouth was sliding up and down my cock, that I’d actually considered the possibility of a different future.
Would I have done that for her? Would I have put to one side the plan I’d worked toward my entire life for the promise of a future with her sharp mouth, and sexy body, and wicked smile?
No, it was a moment of weakness. I wouldn’t be repeating it. In fact, if anything, it had taught me a lesson.
I got to work in the kitchen, heating water for hot tea, and cracking and whisking eggs for breakfast. My gaze kept getting drawn down, no matter how much I was trying to keep my mind off her. She was in the dark down there; I’d made sure of it. What would she be thinking right now? Did she understand she was being punished, or did she think something else had happened?
Broken Minds Page 2