There's no traffic on the drive home, which is one small consolation in what has otherwise been a colossally shitty day. The motorways are clear because of the late hour, and even the ever-present roadworks don't seem to slow me down. I switch radio channels, and the music is a welcome distraction as my thoughts turn to Helena. Will I be forced into marriage? Is any amount of money worth that? I don't think so, but time will tell. I still can't understand why my parents are pushing me down this route. Am I that much of an embarrassment to them that they need to hide me away? I can't understand why they abandoned me. Hell, they nearly killed me, and that's no word of a lie. When they didn't top up my bank account in prison I was left living off scraps for days. If Gabriel hadn't stepped in to help me I would have almost starved to death, and I'd have been too weak to defend myself from the likes of Micas and his gang. There are only so many broken bones you can recover from, and I've put myself in solitary more than once to avoid a good kicking. In the end, I could almost tell when it was coming because Micas would get this mean look in his eye and give me a sly grin that always spelled danger. That bastard loved to watch me squirm. So did Gabriel, for that matter, but in an entirely different way. Damn, I'm going to have to face him in a matter of hours and we didn't end on a good note. There are so many thoughts whirling around my head. It's such a chaotic mess, I don't know which way to turn.
Harper is probably the most immediate problem I need to deal with, and maybe Gabriel can help me with that. He doesn't have a soft spot for her like I do. He's cold and clinical. The word 'brutal' probably isn't too far from the truth. He doesn't play well with others. Having said that, if the man is on your side no force on earth will stop him from protecting what's his. The man means what he says, and once he gives his word, he keeps it. There's a lot to be said for that. In the past five years I've seen some dubious specimens of society, and I've learnt to trust no one. Gabriel is the only exception to that rule. He isn't without his faults, but he's never given me a reason to doubt him - with anything that isn't sexual in nature, anyway. But therein lies the problem. Don't kill her, Rodriguez. Not in the next nine hours or so, anyway.
My thoughts bounce back to Helena. What am I going to do about that little problem? If I don't go through with the marriage there's no question my parents will cut me off. If they couldn't be bothered to send me a lawyer, let alone speak to me for the past five years, they won't think twice about leaving me high and dry. I still can't understand my father. Fine, he would never have won any father-of-the-year competitions, and he was a horrible snob, but I never thought he'd disown me. If that wasn't hard enough to swallow, I couldn't believe my mother and brother had followed suit. They hadn't even tried to give me a sneaky message or phone call. That still stung. I knew they believed I'd done them a terrible injustice, but even so, I was still their own flesh and blood. Not once had they listened to my side of the story. They just assumed I was guilty. My gut still churns at the thought. I'd like to think that if it had been one of them caught with their hand in the cookie jar, I'd have given them the benefit of the doubt. What is it with me? Either I'm one of the unluckiest sods on earth, or I have a face that screams 'guilty!'. My lips curl in distaste.
I am not marrying Helena. I will not be forced into marriage to appease my parents. This not talking to each other thing works both ways. If they want to wash their hands of me, I'm happy to oblige them by travelling somewhere a few thousand miles away. But not until Harper's squawked. I need to know what happened. I deserve that much. The not knowing is driving me crazy. Harper doesn't seem like the type of person to throw someone under the bus, but she must have had her reasons. Was she afraid of going to jail? Was she covering for someone else? Her boyfriend, perhaps? He looked like a nasty piece of work if there ever was one. I remember being insanely jealous of him when he came on the scene. Once upon a time Harper only had eyes for me, but he changed all that. Not that it mattered. My parents would never have let me near her. The most I could have offered her was a summer fling, and I couldn't do it to myself. It would have hurt too much when the time came to give her up, so I did my best to stay away. Sure, I saw her eyes following me everywhere I went, but I got good at ignoring them. Having said that, I could never have been nasty to her. When she asked me for help that day, I was only too happy to rush on over. Funnily enough, that sentiment has changed. Until I get my answers I am going to be the nastiest bastard that ever existed.
I wonder what happened to Alex Wilkinson? Harper hasn't talked about him, but to be fair, she hasn't talked about much at all around me. I've barely given her the opportunity to. My rage has so far gotten the better of me every time I see her. Perhaps if I sit down with her after a couple of stiff drinks, I'll be able to leave her alone long enough to hear her side of the story. That is, if Harper was ever planning to talk to me, and I'm not convinced that she is. The girl is a shadow of what she once was, and now I've seen her up close I realise she's not in a good way. Has she been mistreated? Or was it fear that made her lose all that weight? She deserves to suffer. I can tell myself that, over and over again, but it doesn't change the fact that I care about her. Perhaps if I find out once and for all that she's the monster in all of this, I can put this sorry episode to rest and move on with my life. If there's one thing in prison I learnt, it's this: life is too short not to go after what you want. I'm going to live every day like it's my last, and no one is going to dictate my next move. No one. Having said that, I'm going to play along with the marriage charade until I get what I want out of Harper. I should be able to string them along for a few days. Hopefully this mess will all be over soon.
Chapter 5 - Harper
"Oh, you have no idea how much I want to kill you, Harper. The good news is, I'm going to show you, as soon as I can get myself in that cosy little cell of yours."
Gabriel's words echo over and over in my head as he and the cat walk back upstairs. I don't give him the satisfaction of hearing my head slam back against the wall in misery, but it's tempting. Where the fuck is Brandt? I'm guessing that's going to be a very important question shortly. If I don't figure out a way to get myself out of this mess, there's a very good chance I won't be here when he gets back.
Examining my cell from top to bottom, it doesn't take long to realise I'm not going anywhere. Unless I can pull an invisible woman trick, I'm doomed. The lock is on the other side of the cage, and even if I could pick it, I have no tools with which to do so. Is that what Captain Evil is looking for? Is he hiding Houdini-style skills beyond that dark exterior? It's more than likely; he's an ex-con after all. Or perhaps he'll just use a chainsaw. I wouldn't put it past him. I hope the previous owners of this house weren't keen on gardening or massacres. I also hope they took all their electric power tools with them when they moved.
I blink twice and then take a couple of deep breaths. I'm between a rock and a hard place, but I'm not dead - yet. If I can't break myself out of this joint, then I need to be ready for the asshole when he comes back. What do I have that I can defend myself with? A bucket? Not great, but it's a start. An iPad? If I wield it with both hands I should be able to give him a solid whack round the head, but I'm not sure I'll be able to take him down. I have a feeling that will be an important factor. If I don't manage to knock his lights out I'll just make the beast angry, and that's the last thing I need.
I go through the rest of my cell's inventory in detail. Food, books, bedding, mini fridge... Now that would make an awesome weapon, but it's too large to be stealthy, and I suspect I'll struggle to pick it up. I give it a go to confirm this, and I can barely lift it off the floor. That's another no. What does that leave? I can't even strangle him with my panties because I'm not wearing any.
If I die in this cell because Brandt got one of his psychopath prison buddies to babysit me, I swear I am going to kill him. Fine. Haunt him.
I go back to the drawing board, aware I am running out of time. What else can I use? There must be something. Hell, at this rate I'll be forced
into either throwing apples or chucking the slop bucket at him, neither of which will slow him down much. I need something better.
I sit with my eyes frantically darting around my cell as if willing something to materialise of its own accord. Funnily enough, nothing does. The main thing is, I don't give up. I've learnt that the hard way. Whenever you're pressed up against the wall you focus, and then you try harder. Failure hasn't been an option for some time now. Think. Think. Think.
My eyes settle once more on the fridge and it's as if my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I stare at it for what seems to be an age, my eyes almost blurring with the intensity of my thoughts, and then it comes to me. I'm not exactly sure if it will work, but it is a plan, and it's better than nothing.
Hurrying to it, I unplug it from the wall and then do my best to carry it to the bed. It's bloody heavy, and I probably should have taken all the food out first, but I don't know how much time I have. Using the rough edge of the metal bedstead, I begin sawing through the rubberised wire. Thank God Brandt didn't think to file it down, else I'd be less than helpless right now. As it is, I'm not sure whether I'll be able to slice it open in time, but it's the only shot I've got, so I work the wire as fast as I can back and forth, watching as the soft rubber tears away to leave the wires beneath. They are harder to saw through, but I keep at it, all the while listening for footsteps on the stairs. A little longer and I'll have a weapon. I just need a few more minutes.
As I start to tear through the wires my body is jumpy as hell. I need to get that fridge back into place before Captain Evil comes down the stairs if I'm going to keep my plan incognito. By this time my hands are getting sore from holding the cable so tightly, but I know it won't be long before I've cut through it, and sure enough, a few seconds later I have achieved my objective. Now I just need to peel back the rubber sheathing far enough to expose the wires underneath. Thankfully, that doesn't take long.
Placing the fridge back where it was, I move the slop bucket alongside it. My plan is to chuck that at him as soon as he gets in the cell, which should give me enough time to plug in my cable and brandish it as a weapon. If he's stupid enough to come near me after that, that's his problem, not mine. I'm probably not going to kill him with a short blast of household voltage, but with any luck it will stun him enough while I give him a bash round the head with the iPad. Knowing me I'll probably trip and drop it on him, but it's the least the bastard deserves, and I refuse to feel guilty about this. If I want to stay alive I'm going to need to toughen up, which is pretty funny considering all I want to do right now is burst into tears.
Captain Evil takes his time returning. It's just occurred to me that he's probably gone back to bed, considering it was the middle of the night when I saw him last. I've probably been rushing around like a madwoman for no reason. Oh well, at least I'll be ready for him when he wakes up. Picking up my iPad, I confirm that the time is now three-thirty a.m. Christ, is that all? I could be down here for hours yet, chewing my nails as I wait for the bastard to reappear. I wonder if my monster is a late or early riser? This could be a long night.
Grabbing a yogurt and square of cheese out of my broken fridge, I figure I may as well eat up before all the food goes to waste. I'm going to need my energy if I want to take on the bad boy upstairs.
I sit quietly, staring into space while eating my snack. As the minutes tick down I think it's a new all-time low for me. Being married to Alex was hell on wheels, but what I'm dealing with now could be even worse. I sincerely hope not, but I wouldn't like to put a bet on it.
At least the food is good. The yogurt is cold and creamy on my tongue, with a hint of lemon. It's delicious. It should put a smile on my face, but it doesn't. My mind is wrapped up in 'what if's'. What if I manage to clobber Captain Evil and escape? What if there are some clothes up there? What if I manage to find a cell-phone? Could I make it out of here on my own? There's a small sliver of hope that says I'm capable of fending for myself, and even if I'm not, dying from the elements has got to be a better way to go than being tortured by Brandt and his buddies. I've taken more crap in the last few years than anyone should have to take in a lifetime, and I'm not sure I can take much more.
It turns out Captain Evil is an early riser. At seven a.m. on the dot I hear the sound of his shoes padding down the stairs. By this time a little light has filtered into the room, and I'll be able to get a better look at him. Following his footfalls anxiously, I watch as his body comes slowly into view. When he reaches the bottom step I lose the ability to breathe. The man standing before me is tall, with jet black hair, olive skin and dark, almost black eyes. He's the type of guy that could grace the cover of GQ. He also has this air about him which says 'fuck with me at your peril'. I know that look. My husband wore it often, and Mal was a master at it. You have to have a lot of confidence in yourself to wear it well, and Captain Evil has that in spades. I can deal with that confidence in one of two ways. I can either burst into tears and shrivel up like a rotten apple, trying to make myself as small as possible while I wait for him to come and attack me, or I can fight fire with fire. Option one has a fairly predictable ending. It involves me being in intense pain, and there's a possibility the asshole might kill me in the process. Option two is a little more unpredictable. It could go either way. Either I'll end up dead, or I'll be running for my life with the possibility of still ending up dead, but at least I'm not rolling over and almost asking the bastard to kick me. I'm done with taking orders from men. Few of the men I've known have deserved my respect, and I'm fairly sure the one in front of me isn't going to be any different.
"Fancy that," Evil drawls, spearing me with his dark brown orbs, "it appears the little princess can't sleep." His movements towards my cell are slow and easy. He's in no rush because he wants to torment me first. I know how this works.
"Early riser, me." I give him a feral smile that's basically as good as shoving two fingers up at him without actually doing it, and pick up the book in my hands, giving him nothing but a bored expression. The fear is just underneath the surface of that look, but he can't see it because I've learnt to hide it well.
"Huh. The little pussycat thinks she has claws. How adorable. I don't think you'll be so cheerful when I get inside that cell in ten minutes." His lips twist in amusement as he looks me up and down. He thinks he has me all figured out. I've got news for him.
"How does it feel to be on the other side, Gabriel?" I've just figured it out. I'm pretty sure that twang he tries so hard to disguise is a Spanish accent, and those features certainly look the part. His next actions will confirm it. Sure enough, his eyes widen in surprise, and then he laughs.
"Brandt's been sharing his secrets, I see. Fancy that." He appears most entertained by this knowledge. Me? Not so much. Now I have a rough idea of what I'm facing, I can't say I'm over the moon with the knowledge. This means I'm dealing with a semi-intelligent criminal, and that can't be a good thing.
Gabriel has now reached the bars and is examining me closely - a bit like you would a bug under a microscope. Maybe he thinks I'm shortly going to be extinct, but I'm not your average victim. I know how to fight dirty, just like he does. I learnt from the best.
"Why did you set him up, princess? Why did you crap all over his life in such spectacular fashion that even his damn parents abandoned him? I'm curious." Gabriel sits down on the concrete floor and unzips his leather jacket. It's black, just like Alex's. It's obviously a warning that he's a fellow psychopath. Mal had one, too.
"Fuck you." I'm sat on top of the mini fridge which isn't the most comfortable chair in the world, but it will keep me in the right position for what I have to do. My duvet is wrapped snugly around me, but I realise I'm going to have to lose it soon, along with my modesty. Mind you, I lost that a long time ago, so it's no biggie. I'm pretty sure Gabriel will have seen it all before.
He gives me another one of his dark smiles, before tapping the bars of my cell three times. "Oh, you will be, sweetheart. Take
my word for it, you will be." He proceeds to pull a leather pouch from the inside of his jacket, and unzips it in front of me. It contains all manner of metal picks, probably enough to get inside your average bank, if they didn't have everything computerised these days. No one robs banks any more. I read that somewhere. They're virtually impenetrable. Bulletproof glass, high resolution security cameras, motion sensors, window sensors, exploding dye, lower cash balances and GPS tracking devices are all a huge pain in the ass to your average bank robber. Technology has made the vault harder to crack, and the pay-out is far less appealing than it used to be. These days, the only real money to be made is in cyber-crime.
I shake my head to clear it of these errant thoughts. The only thing I need to worry about is what I'm going to do when the asshole gets through that lock, and he will. I can see it in his eyes.
Watching as Gabriel selects two picks, and slowly slides them out of the case, I summon up what's left of my courage. It's time to try a different tack. Anything that will keep him out of my cell has my vote. "Brandt will kill you if you lay a finger on me," I say. I actually believe what I'm saying because if Brandt wanted to kill me, he'd have done it by now.
"Oh, I'm sure he'll try, but unfortunately for you, Miss Wilkinson, I'm a very hard man to kill." This statement sounds like it might be true, which isn't the best news for me, but I'm going to keep throwing insults at him until I make him good and mad. If I can get him to lose his temper he's likely to be far less cautious when he bursts through that door, and hopefully rather distracted. I'll take any edge I can get at this point.
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