He pushes it to the wall opposite the bed and fiddles with the cords before he drops two remotes by my feet. I look at them and then up at Ivan.
“He’s trying to say he’s sorry,” he mutters. “There are books.” He gestures toward the bag. “An iPad. Down the hallway to the left is a gym you can use. You’ll be free to move around this wing of the house.”
I inhale to speak, to ask questions my mind hasn’t even begun to process, but Ivan spins on his heels and disappears without closing the door.
Waiting a few breathless moments, I then jump off the bed, grimacing from the strain on my back. I dart to the bag and kneel, pulling open the zipper. Books! All genres imaginable. Classics, new to me authors. My heart speeds up before it sinks again.
Anyone who shows me kindness will be punished.
‘He’s trying to say he’s sorry.’
I sneer and at first, I don’t want to accept his gifts, but then the excitement takes over. An iPad. Headphones. Spotify! An iPad with Wi-Fi! Is he stupid? I try to connect with a browser, with my mail, but it doesn’t work. Fine, not stupid.
I don’t want to feel grateful. I don’t want to feel this sudden burst of happiness, but I do. My insides are as giddy as a child’s on Christmas day. I begin to sort everything in piles, then I snap up my head and look at the half-open door as I jump up. The only times I’ve walked that hallway I was either blinded by a hood over my head, or in such bad shape that everything was blurry anyway.
My feet remember the feeling of the soft carpet. There’s a pleasant scent of sandalwood lingering in the air and I follow it to a bathroom I vaguely remember. Opposite it are the dreaded stairs. I shudder but I already know I’ll take a peek down there as well at some point. Behind the next door is yet another bedroom with an adjacent bathroom. The scent of Salvatore is stronger here. The large bed is unmade and the sheets are crumpled. Is this where he has spent the last few nights? Is he ashamed? I think of the gifts. Is he? Is there a streak of humanity in there after all? I spin on my heels and dart out. My body is so conditioned to react to him that even after his cruel treatment my pussy tingles from the ghost of his presence.
Gritting my teeth against the humiliating onslaught of sensations, my back is burning hot from the memory of his whip, I flee his room and pull open the next door. My mouth falls open as I take it in. A fully equipped gym. From what I can see it has everything you need for every muscle group in the body. Oh, please don’t take this away from me!
Examining the next two rooms, just peeking inside, I find a room with a padded, pale blue gurney in the middle and white cabinets along the walls. It looks like a mix between a sick bay and a beauty parlor. I think I was here once. I remember kind hands on my body, a mumbling man digging around in my mouth. The last door hides an office, looking much like the other I was in when I first got here.
Standing indecisively in the middle of the hallway, I then stare at the door on the far end. No doubt the exit. Assuming it’s locked, I still can’t help trying. I’m not even disappointed. Of course it’s locked. I turn and take in my new relative freedom. I don’t know what to do first. As I walk back to the bedroom, dragging my fingers along the wall, my mind spins, overwhelmed with all the new impressions.
I put on music. Just a random list of latest hits. I realize I don’t even know the latest releases. Not since a long while. I pull off the bandages, shower, rummage my own drawer for a new set of clothes, then I spend the rest of the day in front of the TV, hungry for news. There are political scandals I’ve never heard of. Celebrity divorces. Lots of news about the threat of a recession. Even more news about extreme weather, and of the latest mass shooting. It’s depressing and perhaps I haven’t even missed it. It’s also a shock to see that the world has kept turning without me. I wonder if anyone misses me. My friends? My brothers? I wonder where Kerry went and if she is safe from Christian. I’ve been so numb that I haven’t thought about the outside for a long while.
The next day I try some careful exercises in the gym. My wounds have scabbed, and it hurts surprisingly little.
Ivan comes by three times a day. I’m hungrier now that I move around more, and it’s as if he reads my mind.
“I’ll get you more to eat.”
“Thanks. Aren’t you tired of babysitting me?”
“You’re looking good,” he mumbles and turns.
“Ivan!” I take a step toward him, putting my hand on his rock-hard arm. “Is he coming back?”
Ivan shakes off my hand and pulls open the door.
“Please! Is he… tired of me?”
He freezes for a moment, then he strides down the hallway and disappears. I’m left with my questions, with my skin burning for the touch of a man who only knows how to torture me, and with the self-loathing that comes with the realization.
One afternoon when I exit the gym, wiping my forehead with a towel, sweaty and spent, I stop flat and stare. A few feet from me sits a young boy with short, ink-black hair, tracing the patterns in the carpet with the tip of his index finger. It takes me a moment to recognize David. David Salvatore. I look up, my heart leaping to my throat. Is the door unlocked? When I look back, he has raised his head and pins me with his dark gaze. I frown and abandon the instinct to try to run. With the high wall and all the guards there’s no point anyway, and David looks so lost and lonely. I crouch before him, careful to keep my distance.
“Hi.”
He looks down and continues to trace the swirly pattern. “I’m David,” he mumbles.
I sit down and cross my legs. “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Chloe.”
“I’m David,” he says again, the speed of his tracing increasing.
I don’t move. I wait. He’s stressed. He has somehow escaped his caregiver and he doesn’t know me, and possibly not these surroundings.
He keeps repeating his name and I decide to try to distract him. I’m sure someone will come for him soon. Until then, I can only do my best to soothe his worried little soul.
“Do you like the pattern?”
He stops, his finger digging into a spot. “Red.”
My heart makes a little somersault. It worked. “Yes! Red. What color is this?” I point at a blue dot.”
“Color,” says David in his monotone voice as a prickle in my neck makes me turn. A wave of terror washes over me, and it’s as if all blood drains from my head. Behind me stands Salvatore, a gun glinting in his hand that he’s holding tight against his thigh. My eyes dart between the gun and his gaze that flickers with emotion. He looks over my shoulder, at David, and then back at me. With a barely-there shake of his head he tucks the weapon away under his suit and lets his arms drop.
“Son,” he says, his voice stern. “You are not allowed in here. You can not run away from your nanny!”
A high-pitched shriek from David makes me spin around. He has crossed his arms over his chest and rocks back and forth.
“It’s okay, David, sweetie. Go with your daddy.” I glance behind me, at Salvatore who’s towering over us, emotions swirling around him like a storm brewing. I swallow hard, wondering if there’ll be consequences. For me. For David.
“Be gentle with him,” I whisper. “Be patient.”
“What do you know?” he sneers, but there’s something new in his gaze that I haven’t seen before. An uncertainty. A hint of worry.
Salvatore takes a stride past me and hoists David up in his embrace. David stiffens and Salvatore clutches him tighter as he gives me one last dark glance, looking me over.
Then they disappear, the door locking with a very final click that is pure agony to my ears.
I deflate, falling forward, clutching the towel, panting as if I’ve been sprinting. It’s been three weeks and a day. Three weeks and a day since he beat me remorselessly. I have never seen him express any other emotion than lust or rage. Often sickeningly mixed. Today I saw a man I don’t want to acknowledge. I don’t want to know he can be vulnerable. I know I’ll never see that side again.
He’ll return, and he will kill me.
I don’t get up for a long time. My eyes are dry and hot, my throat tight with the tears that won’t come.
I hope it will be quick. I hope he’ll show mercy when taking my life. I always knew this new relative freedom would be ripped from me. Today is the day. If there is a God, please make it quick. Haven’t I suffered enough?
Chapter 15
Luciano
I couldn’t fucking shoot her in front of my kid.
Before me they’re all scared, but there was also something fierce in that gaze, something that shot straight to my gut, something protective, as if she was prepared to defend David.
From me.
I clutch the squirming, wordlessly crying kid harder to my chest. A nine-year-old is strong, but he’s still got nothing on me. I free one arm and haul up my phone, thumbing up the number to Carmen, David’s mom.
“Luci?” comes her soft voice with that sexy Spanish-Colombian accent. “Something wrong?”
“You could say that,” I growl. “David ran from his caregiver. I’m firing the bitch in a minute. We need a new one. Come pick him up for me. You’ll possibly save her life if you get here pronto!”
“Dios mio! Behave! I was on my way to town. I’m halfway. I’ll turn around and come as soon as I can.”
“Make it sooner,” I snarl. Before I disconnect I hear her hiss in response and I can’t help that one corner of my mouth pulls up into a half-smile.
Carmen Moreno Payne. I think she might be the only person in the world who isn’t afraid of me. Possibly apart from my closest family, but even they have their moments of hesitation. We were off to a rocky start when I let loose my inner devil on the young prostitute she once was. I impregnated her by mistake, and we had David. I thought I was getting an heir I could raise within my empire, someone I could make my successor when the time came. Instead he turned out to be this semi-mute, asocial boy who resists me, who avoids all eye contact, and who won’t play with other kids.
I can’t reject him. He’s eaten his way beneath my skin. I see so much of myself in him, despite his disabilities. But I don’t know how to handle him. I can’t get close. He doesn’t speak, and I don’t know how to reach him. I clutch him harder, wanting to transfer some of the warmth from his little body to mine, but he’s not having it and pushes away, almost falling out of my grip.
My thoughts keep darting back to the image of Chloe on the floor, her quiet, gentle approach to David. He spoke to her. He never answers when I talk to him. She met him a few seconds and he fucking spoke. He rarely speaks to the people I employ to care for him. He grunts his approval or disapproval. Sometimes I doubt he even has language.
I find the aide who was supposed to guard him and let David down before the trembling girl. She looks as if she expects me to beat her. I clench my fists as I fight the instinct to at least give her a well-deserved slap. I have bitter experiences with David reacting badly to witnessing violence. “You’re fired,” I growl. “Pack your fucking things and be out of here in thirty seconds or I’ll flay you alive.”
She gives out a squeak as her eyes tear up, then she spins on her heels and darts out of the room as if she has the Devil on her back. She might as well have. I look down on David. She didn’t even fucking give him a second thought when she ran off. Bitch!
I flinch when my phone rings. Eric. I glance at the clock before I answer, wondering how long it will take Carmen to get here. I have business to attend to. I can never rest.
I tap the phone to connect. “What’s up?”
“Have you been in contact with Christian?”
“I—” I pause to think. “A few days ago. Why?”
“I can’t get ahold of him. His phone is disconnected.”
“What the fuck?” I glance at David, then toward the hallway. Still no fucking Carmen. “Hang on a sec. I’ll call you back.” I disconnect and pocket the phone. Hauling up David on one arm, and pulling the key out of my pocket, I then steer my steps back to my private wing.
Chloe sits where I left her. She spins around, her face a stiff mask of fear. She sags when she sees David, the tension leaving her posture.
“Take care of him,” I growl as I turn on my heels and slam the door closed behind me again. Locking it, I haul up my phone and call Eric. “Tell me!”
“Not much to tell. We need him to get back here ASAP. You told me he went to Canada. I haven’t talked to him since before he left. The negotiations with the Russians are turning sour and I have a bad feeling about this.
“I’ll deal with Christian. Is that fat fur-clad friend still with us? The one who initiated our contacts with his boss in Moscow?”
“I can’t get ahold of him either. I don’t like it, and I think he played us.”
I pace the room back and forth, my thoughts sprawling in all different directions. “Did anyone come here? An influx of people we don’t know?”
Eric is silent a few moments. “Actually, yes.”
“I don’t like the sound of this. Are we keeping tabs on them?”
“I’ve tried, Luci. We’re too few.”
“That many? Why the fuck are you just telling me now? Why didn’t I know of this?”
“This is a day old, Boss. I tried to get ahold of Christian the whole morning.”
“All right. I’ll find him and get his ass here. Call in our people from Chicago and Vegas. Will that be enough? And arm up.”
“That’ll cover it for now. Will do.”
“Good.” I disconnect as I stop and stare out at my garden, at the robotic lawnmower that’s zig-zagging its way across the impeccably green surface. My front door opens and closes, and I turn to see Carmen, worry etched on her face.
“How is he?”
“Take him until I can sort this shit.” I shove my fingers through my hair. “Fuck! Everything happens at fucking once. Wait here. I’ll get him for you.” I storm off toward my chambers, my heartrate picking up when I don’t see them in the hallway. What if this was an absolutely braindead decision? I gave my son to a woman I’m holding captive, who I’ve been torturing for months. What if she’s hurt him to get back at me? My mouth turns dry as I follow the sounds from a TV, and then I stop in the doorway to my bedroom. David and Chloe sit before a children’s show, an animated talking train. Chloe looks up at me, her features calm, almost serene, then she turns back to David. She gestures, almost as if she’s trying sign language, and David mimics what she’s doing, his lips moving even though he still doesn’t speak.
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat as I approach them. “His mom is here to take him,” I mutter.
She nods and shuffles back, still kneeling. I realize she doesn’t want to suddenly stand and tower over David and potentially scare him. I follow her cue and get down on one knee. “Mom’s here, Son.” David doesn’t react and my heart sinks. Every fucking time. I just can’t get a response. I grab under his arms and hoist him up, feeling him stiffen as always. I shoot Chloe one last glance. Her eyes are unreadable as she meets my gaze. I have an instinct to say thank you, but I quell it. I can’t show her any weakness. She already knows too much. She’s seen more of me and my fucked-up mind than what’s healthy for either of us.
Chloe
They leave me a mess. That last look filled with so many unspoken words. David’s whole body protesting against his father’s touch. Every instinct in me screamed that I needed to help them connect. There was despair in Salvatore’s eyes, a brief light when he saw David, and then it died as quickly as it appeared.
I was only a part time accountant at the center, I didn’t actively work with the kids like Kerry did, but we were all put through classes on how to approach children with autism.
Pushing to my feet, I then take an uncertain step toward where they disappeared before I turn and head for the shower instead.
Nothing can soothe the turmoil inside. I don’t even try to sleep. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, I watc
h TV without seeing anything. I keep expecting Salvatore to show up again. Alone. With the gun. It’s obvious that my time is up. I’ve been held as if I am an animal. I keep fighting him, keep resisting his demands, and now he’s decided he has no use for me.
Suddenly the door opens further, and a shadow fills the opening, blocking most of the light from the hallway. My heart leaps to my throat and my racing pulse feels as if it will choke me.
Salvatore crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door post. My eyes dart to his hands and even in the dim light I see they are empty. It isn’t comforting in the least. His hands alone are death. I stare, transfixed, as he tightens them into fists, then relaxes them again.
“Please,” I whisper, “make it quick.” Tears well up in my eyes. I won’t beg for my life. I doubt it will change his mind.
He’s quiet for a few moments, then he sighs. “You look good.” His voice is grave, a deep rumbling baritone. Salvatore has a very pleasant voice. When he wants to. And it seems he does now for some reason.
“I—” Not the response I was expecting. “Thank you?” I twitch when he moves toward me, but I remain still even though my insides shrink away.
“Are you enjoying your new toys?”
Frowning, I look around me, at the piles of books, at the TV, the iPad next to me. He has kept moving and is right by the bed now. I inhale, my breath hitching as his scent invades my whole world.
“Thank you for the gym,” I whisper, hypnotized by his black eyes.
“You’re welcome. Lie down.”
I whimper but stretch out my legs and fall on my back, never breaking his gaze. He sets a knee on the bed, moves in on me, the air between us thickening, charged with the unmentionable things he has done, all the things I fear he will do. Salvatore climbs on top of me, supporting himself on his elbows, his body brushing mine, intimate, pushing way past my boundaries, but still not quite there. Leaning closer, he puts his lips to my ear.
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