“No! Fuck you! No!” I scream until my throat burns.
“Grab her arms,” Henry growls. I see the coal of the cigarette burn red and it lights up Henry’s face. Fuck, he looks evil – like the devil himself.
“Let me go!” I shriek. I start to thrash and kick, trying to worm myself out of this impossible situation.
Henry places a knee over my thighs and his left hand comes down hard over my breasts. He forces me back to the floor and then he kills the cigarette against my side. The burn is intense but nothing compared to the fear of not knowing what they are going to do next.
He flicks the cigarette away and then his fist comes at me. The blow makes my eyes bulge with pain and the world starts to spin. A coppery taste explodes in my mouth, making my throat burn with bile.
The next blow feels like he’s trying to rip a hole through my face. The third punch makes the bright light fade, and pain takes over until it feels like even my teeth are aching.
I give up fighting and my body goes slack. Blood floods my mouth, dribbling out the side and down my aching jaw. The last memory I have is a sharp pain in my chest as his foot connects with my ribs.
∞∞∞
The dark is killing me slowly. The blinding light scares me even more. I know it’s been four days. It doesn’t sound like much, but they make a recording once a day for Uncle Tom. I don’t think Uncle Tom is going to help me this time. I haven’t spoken to him in years. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s alive.
Every day, Mr. Attridge adds five minutes to the beating. Yesterday, the twenty-five minutes felt like twenty-five years. I thought it would never end.
I’m dreading today! Every sound makes me jump with fear.
Every day, they remove an item of clothing. On day two, it was my sneakers, day three my socks, day four my jeans. They keep taking my clothes away, leaving me with less and less of myself.
I shiver constantly and I don’t know if it’s from the cold or fear. I only have two items of clothing left.
Day one I was still in shock. I didn’t eat when the old man brought food. Day two I forced myself to move. I pushed through the pain after they were done kicking and hitting me, and I ate. It was a struggle to keep it down.
Day three was worse, and yesterday I couldn’t keep the food in at all. I think I have a broken rib or two. My right hip hurts the most, as if someone is constantly shoving a fist into my side.
The tiny space reeks of vomit and blood. It smells like death.
The old man never looks at me. He just puts down the food and water and then he leaves in a hurry. I was playing with the idea of trying to overpower him, but I can’t even stand on my own two feet for long, never mind fight a man.
I hear the chain rattle outside and I press harder into the corner, so hard my body screams with pain. I know it doesn’t help, but it’s instinct. A low growl builds deep in my throat and I sound like an animal, nothing more than a beaten dog.
When Steven comes in alone, I frown. He hasn’t taken part in any of the actual beatings. He only holds me down.
I watch him set up the camera on a tripod and then he presses record and the blinding light falls on me.
“So now you’re going to beat me? You finally grew a pair of balls, asshole?” I snap at him, angry that I’ve let the monster touch me.
“No, Henry does the beating,” he says calmly. Way too calm for my liking.
He fiddles with his belt and my mouth drops open. I shake my head and struggle to my feet. “I’m not letting you fuck me.”
“Come on, babe. It will be like old times.”
He unbuttons his jeans and then drags the zip down exposing his boxers.
A fresh wave of adrenaline surges through me and I make a run for the door. I don’t even make it halfway when I’m taken down. My body slams hard into the floor, face down, and I scream from the pain tearing through me.
Before I can push myself up, Steven grabs hold of my thighs, dragging me back. I claw at the ground like a feral animal, trying to get some sort of grip so I can pull myself away from him.
Steven crawls over me, pressing me harder into the steel with his full weight.
“Get off me!” I try to elbow him, but he yanks my right hand away, pinning it to the filthy ground. He uses his knees to spread my legs wider and I try to kick back. I try to use my whole body to throw him off so I can get up.
“No!” For a desperate moment I resort to begging. “Please don’t.”
I try to fight back, but lying on my stomach makes most of my attempts useless. My lungs are on fire from my panicked breaths. Anger flares through me and I scream to let some of the hopelessness out.
He doesn’t even bother removing my panties. I feel his dick press against my ass and a wave of disgust makes bile burn its way up my throat.
His fingers shove the flimsy cotton to the side. “No!” I scream as I feel his dick ram against my entrance, but all my struggling and protesting only seems to excite him more. He keeps ramming against me as he struggles to get his dick in while holding me down. I try to clench my legs together but his knees jar my attempts.
He enters me violently on a grunt and I can’t hold back the inconsolable and horrified screams.
“No.” It’s the only word my brain can come up with in this moment of absolute depravity. Sharp burns tear through me.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he grunts breathlessly. “I’ll be quick. You won’t remember this for long.” He keeps thrusting into me, each thrust a scorching stab. I feel exposed and debased. “Tomorrow, Henry gets to shoot your brains out,” he grunts again as his body jerks faster against me. He comes hard, his body shuddering against mine, as if my impending death is the biggest turn on for him. “You didn’t think you were going to live, did you?” I feel his clammy breath on my ear and then he whispers, “But first we all get to have a bit of fun with you. You’ll be begging Henry to put a bullet right between your eyes by the time we’ve fucked you raw.”
He grabs a chunk of my hair and yanks me from the floor as he gets ups. I feel the stickiness of his cum dribble down the insides of my thighs, and somehow that makes it all so much worse. I feel filthy and empty, like a piece of discarded trash.
He shoves me closer to the camera and then talks directly to the blinding light. “There’s nothing left of her, Tom. You should have given us the money when we asked.”
He shoves me to the side and I fall hard to my knees. I don’t even bother getting up but instead curl into a fetal position.
I don’t notice him leaving. I don’t notice anything but the wetness between my legs that makes me sick to the pit of my stomach.
Emptiness stretches and grows inside of me, consuming every part that makes me human.
My mind is quiet for the first time, as if it’s switched off.
I’m not thinking of ways to escape.
I’m not thinking of ways to hurt them back.
I’m just not thinking.
What’s the use of thinking? I’m already dead.
They killed my will to live.
CHAPTER THREE
CARA
“Girlie!” The whisper comes from the old man. He’s standing right outside the door. It’s too early for him to bring me food.
Maybe it’s my last meal.
A humorless chuckle bubbles over my lips. Hah! Like I’ll be able to keep anything down.
“Get ready to run,” he whispers.
The door creaks open and my head snaps up, but he’s already gone. I’m not sure I heard him right. Did he say run?
The door stands wide open and sunlight streams in. I can’t move a muscle. I’m scared out of my mind.
I hear gravel crunching under a heavy footfall. A dark figure appears in the doorway and I cower back.
“Please,” I whimper. Yes, I’m begging for my worthless life.
I don’t know how many times I’ve said that word in the last few hours. They’ve degraded me until all that’s left is a beggar, pleadi
ng for the crumbs of my life that’s scattered around me.
The man stalks toward me and I whimper, recoiling back like the coward I am. When he kneels down next to me, I anticipate a blow, but instead he shrugs out of his jacket. I press harder into the walls. I can’t take being raped again. They should rather just kill me.
Repulsion and hatred wells up inside me as flashes of the night tortures me. The true nightmare is the memories you have to face when you’re awake. Every time it feels like you’re able to take a breath, they just drag you down deeper, suffocating you more.
“Move forward,” the man snaps icily. He doesn’t wait for me to move. When he takes hold of my shoulders, his hands are firm. I recoil from his touch, but he pulls me up onto unsteady legs and forces my arms into the sleeves. I hear the zip go up and then I feel his fingers close around mine, taking hold of my hand in a really tight grip.
My first thought is to wonder what kind of rapist dresses his victim.
My second thought is that he’s not going to rape me, but kill me, and I’m not sure how I feel about dying.
There were times during the night that I wished they would just kill me. I’m not scared of dying, but rather where I’ll end up afterwards. I’m not sure where I’ll go and that makes fear bleed into my soul until I’m a shaking, sobbing mess.
“Stay behind me at all times. Do not scream. Do not get in front of me.” His voice is hard. It takes a split second for the meaning of his words to sink into my terrified mind. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I don’t have time to ponder his words because he’s already moving and pulling at my arm.
I give my first unsteady step forward and then I have my third clear thought – could he actually be helping me? Dare I hope that he’s here to save me?
The second step hurts, and with every movement the stickiness and raw ache between my legs reminds me of the vile things they did to me.
When we reach the door, my breaths are desperate gasps as I try to swallow down the pain and harrowing memories.
“I’ll set the room on fire, Predator. You do your job,” the old man says to the man holding my hand.
What the hell kind of name is Predator?
He pulls me in behind him and my chest closes up when he lets go of my hand.
Shit, this is it!
Oh, my God. I’m not ready to die.
My heart pounds in my ears and I’m well aware of the fact that each of those heartbeats might be my last.
But then he reaches for me with his left hand and I grab for it desperately.
I don’t care what his name is as long as he’s here to help me.
‘Please let him be here to help.’
“I need my right hand free,” he whispers darkly. My eyes dart to his face and I’m filled with horror all over again. This man is easily the scariest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Every line on his face is pronounced as he pulls a gun from behind his back. I didn’t even see it where it was tucked into the back of his pants. My throat and mouth dry right up and I can’t swallow the thick spit that’s coating the inside of my mouth. He nudges me a little, until I’m right behind him, and then I remember what he said - I have to stay behind him.
I cling to his hand and arm with both my hands. We walk towards a simple looking house. Heat flares up behind me and I glance over my shoulder. The old man has set a shipping container alight.
Then reality dawns on me. I was held in a shipping container. How easy it would’ve been to dispose of my body.
Fuckers!
“We’re going to walk in. We’re going to kill them and we’re going to leave. You do not touch anything. We don’t leave any traces that can lead back to us.” The man is so focused I can feel the intensity of the moment rippling off him in waves.
“We?” The word pops from my mouth.
“Glad to see you’re still thinking straight enough to hear what I’m saying,” he says gruffly. The corner of his mouth twitches. “No screaming and no fainting. Oh, and definitely no puking.”
I take a step back from him, humiliated that he can smell the nauseating smell of vomit on me.
He moves first and I only move so I can keep up with him. We don’t run. Everything inside of me is screaming at me to make a run for it, but I stay behind him like a pathetic puppet trailing after her master.
He tightens his grip on my hand when we near the house and I see a muscle jumping in his jaw, which only makes me more nervous.
As we climb the four stairs to the porch, my vision tunnels on the front door.
Why the fuck aren’t I running in the opposite direction?
Why am I just letting him pull me along?
I should be fighting, kicking and screaming!
My mind races from absolute panic to that void filled with emptiness.
I see him lift his arm but nothing can prepare me for the loud bang as he shoots a hole where the lock is. The front door shudders, squeaking at the hinges. And then it all happens in flashes.
Flashes and loud bangs.
Screams and blood.
Men lunge for Predator, but he lets go of my hand, moving fast and with precision, as if he’s done this a million times.
All I can do is stand rooted, my eyes wide with shock and my heart racing like a wild horse trapped in a burning barn.
The world slows down around me yet everything races inside of me.
Every shot he takes hits a target, red blossoms, exactly like you’d see in the movies. Only this isn’t a movie. These are real bodies dropping to the ground, real blood, real screams of terror and for a change I’m not the one screaming.
“Stay there,” he growls. I stand frozen as I watch him shove open a heavy looking door to my right. I hear cursing. “Fuck!” someone yells and then there are more shots.
Any normal person would run screaming from this nightmare, but I stand frozen as I watch them die. I imagined a lot of ways for them all to die, but not this, not such easy deaths. I wish they were burning, just like the container outside.
Predator comes back into the living room. His face looks grim, his eyes constantly searching for a target.
He looks like a predator. Now I understand his name.
His eyes settle on me, and just a look from him makes my heart leap to my throat. He lifts the gun a few inches higher and it points directly at my head. The second it takes for his finger to squeeze the trigger, I look into his eyes. They are cold and calculating. There are no emotions, only a loud bang, louder than all the others and I can’t make myself duck for cover. I don’t even flinch as I feel a slight burn on my cheek, and then I hear something heavy drop behind me. I exhale a trembling breath as terror makes my blood race hot through my veins.
Shit, he could’ve shot me! I can’t even bring myself to curse him.
“Good girl,” he breathes darkly. He takes my hand and he pulls me toward the front door. I do my best not to look at the bodies but my eyes are drawn to them, soaking them in with a crazy sense of relief.
We’re almost to the door when I spot the camera. I pull at his arm to get his attention. “Wait, it’s the camera.” It’s lying on the coffee table with the tripod and a small stack of memory cards next to it.
“And?” he snaps. Obviously he doesn’t know about it.
“They made recordings of me for-” I stop but I don’t have to say more because he catches on.
“We need a bag. Touch nothing but the bag.” He’s starting to sound really tense. I don’t like that he’s tense. So far he’s been the calm one between the two of us. We can’t both lose our sanity and it’s clear I’ve totally lost my mind already.
We find a paper bag in the kitchen. As we rush towards the living room, my foot slams into something hard and I almost trip. I’ve been trying not to look at the dead faces and blood that’s all around me, but my eyes dart down. I see blood, fuck there’s so much! Then recognition sinks hard to the pit of my stomach. It’s Steven! I recoil back with revulsion.
“Don’t start that shit now. We need to get out of here,” Predator snaps at me. He nudges me forward and with shaking hands I help him shove the camera and memory cards into the bag.
He grabs my hand again and pulls me out the front door. I look straight ahead of me and then I see grass. I yank free and rush forward as if I’ve finally been set free. Once I’m off the porch, I run as fast as my trembling legs can move.
I don’t get far before my legs give way and I eat gravel, not grass. I didn’t even make it that far.
I’m too scared to move.
I’m too petrified to look back at what’s coming.
I hear the gravel crunch behind me and my heart sinks. My insides drop and I start to cry. I sob because not even God will help me.
“Cara.” My head snaps up at the sound of my name. It’s the way he says it, as if he actually cares. It sounds comforting. “It’s time to go. You’re safe now.”
When he crouches next to me, I get my first good look at him. His dark brown hair is short and neat, shaved at the sides. His face is grim and hard, with a beard that only makes him look grisly and dark. He looks like he’s made of stone. Then I see his eyes, gray eyes. Ferocious eyes.
I drop my eyes from his. He definitely has eyes that see everything, just like the walls I was trapped between saw everything.
For a moment emotions threaten to bubble up, to drown me in the horror of what has been done to me, but I close my eyes and focus on the emptiness that’s blackening my soul. I’d rather take the empty feelings over the memories of the nightmare I’ve been living through.
“We’re going to leave now. Can you walk?’ he asks, ripping me from my dark thoughts. I try to get up but what adrenaline I had is gone now. “Okay, no walking then,” he says. His arms slip under me and he lifts me. I feel small in his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, but I feel small because there’s nothing left of the person I once was.
He walks and I don’t even care where, as long as it’s far from the container.
It feels like I’m shutting down, my mind, my body, my soul – every piece of me is tired of fighting.
“You’re safe. I have you now,” are the last words I hear.
Careless (An Enemies To Lovers Novel Book 3) Page 18