by B C Morgan
YOU’LL NEVER LOSE ME
BC MORGAN
Copyright © 2020
BC Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stores or transmitted in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
BC Morgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
BC Morgan has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First edition
Created with Vellum
To my amazing teams who have helped me make this series what it is, Never wouldn’t exist without you and I’ll Never stop appreciating every last one of you.
Thank you.
CONTENTS
Disclaimer
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Glossary
Thank you
Acknowledgments
About the Author
DISCLAIMER
I am a brit born author and use a lot of British sayings and phrases within this book (series) but there is a glossary at the back to cover any words that are predominantly british. Thank you for reading.
PROLOGUE
THE COLD FLOOR is hard and unforgiving against my face, and the hand in between my shoulders is unrelenting. Fin was a surprise, but this is unbelievable, I can’t believe she deceived me for so long. I would never have imagined she was one of the bad guys, she may even be worse than Dante. How is that even possible?
He is sociopathic and untouched by his actions, he lacks empathy and sympathy and I can understand that. It made him the perfect person to torment and destroy me, but he failed so she stepped in.
Why is she worse? Because she’s like me, she can feel all these pesky emotions and yet they do not affect her decisions or actions. The pain and terror I’m feeling excite her, I think her own confliction over what to do with me only spurs her to go harder at my so-called punishment.
Do I deserve this? A year ago, I would have said yes, but now I know that was my self-hatred. I lacked self-worth and saw myself as the villain within my story. That is no longer the case, I am worthy of love and forgiveness and the only way I could come to that conclusion was by learning to forgive myself and forgive Elliott.
“I liked you Henleigh, if only you hadn’t been a Monterey. Out of friendship I’ll offer you a quick death, all you have to do is take responsibility for your family’s crimes,” so much warmth and sweetness within her voice, like homemade fudge before it cools. My so-called friend, the one I never thought I’d have to watch. Oh, how she deceived us all. Even if I somehow beat the odds and make it through this. How can I possibly ever trust again?
“Why are you doing this? Was your whole persona nothing but fiction?? I never thought you would be the villain in this tale.” I say against concrete, working my wrists into a bloody mess, trying to slip the rope that’s binding them together.
“This isn’t some silly little book! its real life and people have to be held accountable for their actions. Your brother is dead, the lucky git, so you must stand in his place,” she’s brushing her free hand over my hair, removing it from my face. I feel sick. “Everything you thought you knew about me is correct but didn’t anyone ever tell you that there are two sides to the same coin. It all depends on the luck of a flip which version you will see when the spinning ends. Looks like your luck ran out,” she still has the sugar sweet voice, but her eyes are as wild as an unrelenting storm. Maybe she will be the end of me and no one will ever know.
ONE
IT’S funny the places my mind flashes to when I’m in a state of panic. Like sending me back to my thirteen year old self when the taunting went beyond cheese girl, loser, all brain and no heart. I remember Caden, my first crush when we moved to Lincoln, and he turned around and said, “You look like you fell down the stairs and hit every one on the way.” I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this, but it is distracting me from the pain and the irony that I hit every step that laid before me on the cold, hard ground of their basement. Correction my basement. I mean this is the house where me and Elliott grew up, I bet I know every nook and cranny better than they ever will.
I wonder if this is part of the torture, keeping me locked in my family home. The only place I have any happy memories outside of Padstow, and where the most painful memory will always lie.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear smoke filled this room, but it’s nothing more than my fog addled mind from how many hits it took from the hard, opposing concrete.
I feel like they have run me over with a bulldozer and it’s ridiculous, I can barely pick myself up from the ground. How am I supposed to get out of this one?
The door is creaking open and I can’t bring myself to lift my head and the warm, viscous liquid pooling around me and matting in my hair is making me feel woozy and like I’m floating on air. Should I be worried by how disconnected I feel right now?
Heavy footsteps fall upon the stairs, as a cloud of grit and dust fans out and coats me in a light layer. Lifting my head is a task in itself, I wonder if this is how it feels to lift a cannonball with your own bare hands? A light is shining down from the doorway and basking in a soft glow. It’s almost angelic the way the light halos around him, Elliott.
“Let’s get you up,” he says, his voice soft and I can hear a smile in his voice, he must be happy to see me too.
“Elliott,” I breathe out, a smile pulling painfully at my lips. Only splitting them further and making more blood slide down my face and neck.
“Sure, whatever you say,” his voice has a strange lilt to it, he doesn’t sound like the Elliott I know. “Come on brownie, let's get you lying down. We don’t want you keening over too soon now do we?” I can’t stop staring at him, as my fingers glide over his face, but it keeps morphing. Changing from the angelic sight that my heart craves more than life itself, to a demon with fire for eyes.
The sleeping bag surrounds me as he lays me down and stands above me, doing nothing more than staring at me.
“My nana would hate me to leave a girl like this, but I think she’ll forgive me just this once. You should have stayed in your house and let the fire consume you, being burnt alive will feel like a luxury holiday by the time we’re done with you,” Fi
nley, of course it is. There is nothing fake about his smile or the cold, flint-like look he’s bestowing upon me. I don’t know why he hates me, but I know there’s four of him and the whole world is starting to spin.
Vomit is burning up my throat as I spray the floor and he does nothing but tut, as he walks away. I can hear water running somewhere in the distance, and it’s the perfect melody for me to succumb to the dark and drift away.
MY HEAD DOES NOT WANT to work, and my eyes are glued shut. My face feels sticky and half my hair is clinging to whatever is causing the mess. Oh yeah, the blood.
“I think she’s waking up,” comes the monotonous voice of Dante, such a gorgeous name for such an ugly soul.
“What’s the plan of action and what are your limits? Seriously Dante, is there anything you won’t do?” Ahh yes Finley, the surprise guest. What stake does he have in all of this?
“Dear Fin, for the right price I’d cut off one of my own fingers and eat it with a smile on my face, I don’t have any limits,” cold and menacing, if he had a superpower it would be to freeze his opponents in an unrelenting coldness with nothing more than the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes.
“Fair enough mate, shall we get started?” Fin asks and I’m struggling to keep my eyes from opening and I can feel my fear clawing up my throat. If fear had nails, I’d be torn to shreds by now.
“Where’s the rush? Harrison can’t tell anyone where we are, he’s probably dead for all we know. We’ve got plenty of time and you know what we’re waiting for, you set this all into motion didn’t you boss?” Dante says uncaring that he’s giving the game away. What the fuck? Finley is calling the shots. That can’t be right.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll be upstairs. Let me know when the fun begins,” his tone is dark, and it's suffocating me within its hidden depths. Please don’t let me die oblivious to the reason why. Damn, I don’t want to die.
“I know you’re awake, open your eyes pretty girl,” an order spoken through a mouth made to cut you from the inside out.
I won’t hide behind my fear, I still need to find a way out of this. Meeting his dead gaze head on, I now know I was not prepared enough. If the grim reaper had a face, it would be this one, Dante.
Crouching down to bring himself almost eye level is not making this any easier. The shivers coursing through my system are incapacitating and pain inducing. Just put me out of my misery already!
“Do you want to know why you are here, in this house? Why you will die in the house you spent most of your childhood in?” He’s impossible to read. Is there a wrong answer to this question? Although if there is, does it even matter at this point?
“I want to know it all,” I rasp out, those claws refusing to detach from my throat, fear is an evil bitch for sure.
“You know where the shower is down here, use it and then we’ll talk,” he says, while placing an cuff around my ankle, fixing it to a thick metal chain and attaching me to a hook in the floor that I never noticed before.
“You’re free to move around here, for now. It won’t last long so enjoy your bit of freedom while you still have it,” he’s gives me a quick once over while standing up straight and ascending the stairs.
“Elliott, what the fuck did you do? And I swear on this godforsaken planet if you’re rolling your eyes at me right now, I will kick your arse when I get up there,” I don’t care if they can hear me, who else am I supposed to talk to than the only guy who truly knows what is causing all of this.
THEY HAVEN’T EVEN BOTHERED to come back down, I don’t know if that makes me relieved or even more nervous. I hate being stuck in my own mind and I am not great company for myself, case in point my inner voice is a raging bitch and I’m speaking as though someone will actually answer back. Oh yeah, I’m losing my ever-loving mind.
“Hello, Pretty girl,” Dante says, opening the door and descending the steps. My mouth is already running dry and It will not surprise me if my tongue starts sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Oh I like this, my voice sounds flat and lifeless, maybe I can give him a run for his money on the devoid of all emotions front. Even though I’m falling apart on the inside, whereas he’s more lifeless than the Black Sea.
“Isn’t that what you girls like, silly little compliments that make you feel good whether it's believed by the one who says it?” I hate it when he cocks his head to the side, but I think it’s a genuine question. Can this situation get any weirder?
“I can’t really speak for my gender but I don’t, I’d rather you call me a bitch or something,” I say with an eye roll and he shakes his head, with anyone else I’d think it was condescending but not Dante.
“No, that is disrespectful,” he says it so simply and laughter is pouring out of me, is he for real?
“Disrespectful, what about burning me with your fag or breaking my wrist? Isn’t that disrespectful?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice even if I tried. I cannot believe this guy, he’s fucking deluded, it’s as simple as that.
“You are rather naïve, aren't you pretty girl? Breaking any part of your body or spirit is not disrespectful, I would do it to anyone despite their gender.” His dead eyes are staring into mine and I can’t look away even though there’s nothing more I would rather do, apart from escaping that is. “But calling you a bitch is a derogatory term and seeing as it only belongs to describe the sex of a canine, calling you that would be disrespectful,” fuck my life he’s nodding at his own words, I am so screwed.
“Why are you doing this?” He won’t answer I know that, but it won’t kill me to ask or if it does, then I can’t see the negative side of that.
“Because they’re paying me to and who better to torture someone than a man who lacks the ability to care. You could cry or beg and it would not make a difference to me, you’re just a cheque with a face, nothing more,” he pulls two chairs out - one for me and one for him - are we supposed to sit and converse like this is some kind of coffee shop? Not fucking likely.
“Sit down little hen, that’s what Devon calls you isn’t it? And pipsqueak was your brother’s name for you, you seem to collect nicknames like you collect boyfriends,” there’s no judgement in his words, it’s just a fact to him but it’s still getting my back up. Besides, how does he know what they called me?
“How do you know that?” I hate how quietly it comes out, but not as much as I despise this bastard talking about my brothers.
“It’s what he said as he sat in the car dying, your nickname was the last thing to pass his lips as he said goodbye to his life. He wanted you to be safe, unfortunately for you both he could not guarantee it,” his eyes won’t release mine from their cold stare. I don’t understand why I’m not shivering profusely because I cannot feel any heat while he’s around.
“Did you kill him?” This question is choking me, I feel like my throat is one squeeze away from caving in on itself.
“That isn’t the question I will answer today,” he says right as the door opens and low and behold it’s Finley.
“Hate to cut the party short but we have a development,” Dante is staring at me, what question am I supposed to ask? Although it looks like Finley has robbed me of my chance to even ask anything now.
I hate how much I want Dante to stay, all because I can’t bear to be alone right now.
THE SUN HAS DESCENDED and ascended at least twice since they chained me up. What are they planning to do? I haven’t eaten anything and my lips are so dry they crack deeper every time I move them. If this is the way they plan to kill me, then yeah they win because I can’t think of anything worse than starving and dehydrating to death. If they don’t come back soon, then my stomach is going to turn into something out of a horror movie and start eating itself.
Thank fuck the door is opening, I feel so pathetic right now getting excited over the prospect of seeing someone. Even if it is my kidnappers and future murderers.
Dante is walking
down the stairs, my heart beating in time to his steps. He has something behind his back and I’m so fucking nervous. What if it’s a gun?
“Food and drink, can’t have you dying before we’re ready,” he says, thrusting them at me as he pulls up his chair and sits down.
“Did you have a think about the question you should ask?” There he goes again, cocking his head to the side.
“Did you kill Elliott?” That is all I want to know right now, what does he think I’m going to bloody ask?
“Wrong question, three strikes and then I break your good wrist,” he’s looking at his phone while threatening me, I wonder if anything will ever be able to reach him. Can he feel anything?
“Why are you doing this?”
“Strike two pretty girl,” his hand moves faster than the crack of a whip as he squeezes my wrist, last guess and I guess I better make it good.
“What did Elliott do for me to deserve this?” My entire body is quaking in fear and my voice is nothing more than a quivering mess.
“Well done now you’re using that pretty little head of yours, I guess you’re getting your prize,” his grip relaxes right as he grabs three of my fingers and pulls them back, I feel and hear the bones snap.
My scream is all encompassing, and it’s rebounding around the room like a tragic melody, the acoustics are amazing. I want to cry, scream and maybe laugh a little, fuck me I’m losing my mind.
“I didn’t ask wrong,” it pours out as I drop to my knees and cradle my hand against my chest.
“You’re right, that’s why I did not break your wrist. But I had to do something, they’re not paying me to reveal secrets, no they want you to suffer,” he snakes out for my fingers once more and snaps them back to their correct position, enticing more screams from my cracked throat.
The psychopath pulls out a bottle of water, shows me the seal is intact before cracking it and passing it over. I want to be stubborn and refuse it, but I can’t, not this time at least.