by Vi Carter
I don’t get off the floor but stay seated. I want to touch my bandage but keep still, not wanting to draw attention to my wrist, yet he’s brought back the memory of what happened last time.
“How is your wrist?” He asks, his voice clear.
His hands are folded behind his back. The blue shirt stretched across wide shoulders. He takes a step to the left, and I turn so I keep him in my view.
His dark eyes look lighter like he’s smiling, but it’s a contradiction to the stern look on his face.
“Better,” I answer.
His dark gaze flickers down to the bandage, and my stomach clenches. His eyes sing the truth that he has tasted my blood. It had shocked me, but something else has taken root that I don’t want to face.
He doesn’t walk any further; his hands leave his back. I notice his knuckles appear damaged like he had a fight with a wall.
I think back to him saying he had been beaten. Maybe he was a fighter; like the ones on TV. The thoughts of him walking around a ring in shorts have me dropping my gaze to hide the growing color in my cheeks.
“Were you in a fight?” I ask.
“With a steering wheel.”
My head snaps up, and I crack a smile without even thinking. His answer is bizarre to me.
His lips twitch. “You find that amusing?” He asks.
My smile melts off my face like ice cream on a hot day. “No.” I sink my hands into the floor to ground myself and try to slow my heart rate down. “Yes.” I take a peek at him. I’m not sure what sets him off, so I want to be careful. “Maybe.”
His face hardens, and his gaze pivots towards my new drawing. “A table and chairs?” He steps closer to the glass, and I want to move back but force myself to stay still.
“From my home.”
“I didn’t see that in your home.”
His answer shouldn’t shock me or make me feel more violated, but it does. He had taken me from my apartment. I just didn’t like the reminder.
“My childhood home.” I correct him.
“Did you have a good childhood?” His question has me staring down at the table and chairs.
“I had great parents.” I answer. “Did you have a good childhood?” I fire back and cringe, wondering if I have overstepped. I don’t think he did. I’m picturing a lot of dissected frogs and headless Barbie dolls if he had a sister. My standards are coming from a documentary on a serial killer.
“My mother did her best.”
My stomach twists. “Your father?” Is he the weakness here? Maybe he isn’t around. Most psychopath’s had mommy issues.
“He did his best, too.”
Did his best? What did that mean? So far, I’m still looking for the broken childhood that turned him into a raging lunatic.
Silence follows. I do have lots of questions. The number one question is: why am I here? But I don’t speak.
He is the one who breaks the silence with a half-smile that startles me. “I had a small victory recently.”
I’m holding myself steady as he continues to smile. I want to smile at him. My stomach quivers. “I wanted to share it with someone, and I thought of you.”
Surprise has me widening my eyes.
His smile grows. “I was surprised too.”
This time I don’t fight with my own smile. My heart races as he continues to smile at me. The longer his smile lasts, the more unsettled I become. I can’t explain it. Smiling at each other feels too normal under the circumstances. That thought kills my smile. Yet, I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want to be alone again.
“What was your victory?” I ask.
He observes me as I stand. I wipe my hands together like it might remove the lead marks from the side of my fingers.
“I gave a man who hurt me a visit.” His own smile dwindles away, it’s a slower pace than mine, but I’m waiting for the blow that he no doubt will deliver.
“He was in his home with his uncle. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew why I was there.”
I swallow. I didn’t want his confessions. “I don’t want to know.” The words tumble and rush from my lips. I’m waiting for the backlash, but all he does is nod his head.
He starts to walk around the box, and I regret stopping him from talking, but I didn’t think my mind could take much more. He had killed them. It is there in his eyes. I just don’t want to hear it. I pivot as he moves until I’m facing the door that he stands outside. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he reaches up and presses a card against a scanner. The door clicks, and I’m sure the color drains from my face.
He steps in.
“My mother made pancakes most mornings. I spent every night with a ruler scratching my back from all the sugar.” I swallow the saliva that pools in my mouth as the door closes behind him, and he walks towards me.
“The sugar made me itchy, but it was worth it.” I’m rambling. I’m trying to reach for something that will make him stop.
I’m afraid.
“Maple syrup...” words fail me as he reaches out and touches my chin, lifting my face, so I’m looking into dark eyes. “I loved maple syrup.” My words are low. His gaze darts to my lips. His large frame shadows mine. His hand could encase my face if he wanted to. “I loved sunny days.” Something in my chest tightens and clicks. “I loved to watch movies on a Sunday.” I try to hold on to some of the fear that’s leaving me, and all I’m filled with is loss and sadness. I want the heartache to fade, but it’s flourishing.
“I loved the smell of the newspaper.” My captor still holds my chin gently, his face so close to mine. “I loved the way my dad said wee. It was a wee road. In a wee while we would be going for ice cream.” I smile through my pain. “I miss them,” I admit. “I miss my parents.”
Surprise filters across his face, and he releases my chin. “They died?” He takes a step back, and I want to reel in all my words that I’ve shared with him.
I wrap my arms around my waist, feeling cold. “Yes.”
I want to walk away, but I don’t move.
“Let's take a walk.”
It’s my turn to be surprised as he leads me out of my cage. Once we reach the first floor of the house, he picks up a box that sits on a chair. He opens it and takes out a pair of red slip-on sneakers and socks. He holds them out to me.
“These will be more comfortable.”
The socks reach my ankles and disappear once I slip my feet into the sneakers. He waits patiently until I’m ready before leading me outside again. It’s a sunny day and my confession about loving sunny days has me wondering if that is why he brought me outside.
“So you have a sweet tooth.” The way he says it makes me fight a smile.
I feel silly sharing such small details about myself with him.
“I like sweet things myself.” He continues to talk.
I can’t stop the laugh. It’s abrupt, and I glance at him. “Like what?” I can’t picture him eating anything sweet. His body didn’t look like he fed it anything wrong.
“Frosties. I had a sick obsession with Frosties when I was young.”
“Frosties?” I ask.
“The cereal.”
“I know what Frosties are.” I kick my sneaker into the grass, trying not to laugh again. It felt unnatural.
“I had three bowls in one sitting.”
I want to tease and tell him he’s so bad. But he is. He’s worse than bad. My smile disappears again. He’s a murderer and a kidnapper.
“What happened to your parents?” He asks.
I stop walking. “Why am I here?”
“You said you loved sunny days.” He takes a step towards me, and I hate when he’s too close, he clouds my judgment.
“Here’s another one for you. I love my home. I love my freedom. I want to go home.” My voice rises, and I’m waiting for him to grab me and stop me from shouting, but he just takes a patient step towards me.
“In time, you may earn your freedom.”
My hear
t lurches. “How?” Is he messing with me? Could I really go home? My vision blurs, and I swallow the emotion.
“You can earn your freedom by talking to me.” He reaches out and cups my face just like he had done earlier in the basement.
“Talk about what?”
He tilts my head back. “About you, Claire.”
Irritation claws at me. None of this made sense. “So if I talk about myself, you will let me go?”
He doesn’t answer. “I’ll give you freedom.”
He is playing with words as he releases me, and I inhale a wobbly breath. Being outside is better than being stuck in a box.
“Can I ask you questions?”
He nods his head. “Yes.”
“Am I going to die?” I hold my head up high like I can take the truth. My knees weaken, and I lock them, so they don’t buckle.
“Everyone dies, Claire.” His lip twitches.
I want to scream at him and tell him to stop playing with me.
It’s like he knows I’m close to cracking.
“Not by me.” His admission surprises me more than it should. He takes a step back towards me. “Not for a long time. I can imagine you will be old and grey. Still beautiful. Still angelic.”
Angelic?
No one has ever described me as angelic before, and I hate how much I like it. He looks at me like he really sees something different from what I know is there.
“The dog.” I sputter, anything to refocus my mind. “Did he go to a good home?”
He takes a step back and places his hands behind his back. “Connor is still with me.”
“Connor? You named him.”
“You want to see him again?”
I nod and follow my captor to the garage that he had brought Connor and me into only the other day. The dog leaps out the moment he opens the door and races past us. I think he’s escaping, and I’m ready to go after him, maybe leave with the dog.
“Wait.” My captor’s hand touches my arm. The heat of his fingers keeps me still. I try to keep my attention straight ahead as I wait.
Connor disappears completely before reappearing and races back towards us. He stops at his new owner’s feet.
My captor removes his hand from my arm and kneels down, rubbing Connor’s belly. I just observe while being taken by the laughter that bubbles from my captor’s mouth as he plays with Connor.
I stand long enough for him to look up at me. “I thought you would be happy to see him.”
The stupid part of me is wondering if that’s why he kept the dog.
I kneel down close to Connor and reach out my hand. His head bows, and he lets me rub him.
“I am happy to see him.” I smile at the dog and not at my captor.
“His wounds are healing.” I’m surprised all over again at the care he has given the dog.
When I turn my head, we are very close. The dog becomes forgotten under my fingertips.
“If I tell you about myself, I win my freedom?” I ask again.
His lips twitch. “Yes.”
“I can do that,” I answer.
His laugh is soft, but it slams into me hard and fast. Black eyes turn brown. Angles that are hard on his face soften, and he turns from a monster into a very attractive man.
A man who had the capabilities to ruin me in more ways than one.
I can only hope I get my freedom before he captures another part of me that I might not recover.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RICHARD
It’s her smile; a clear reminder of why I took her. For revenge was one reason, but capturing an angel, for a guy like me, was just irresistible.
She’s still smiling. It’s not directed at me any longer; she’s focused on Connor. I had been tempted to shoot the dog, to put the animal out of its misery. Watching Claire, I knew I made the right decision to keep him. Slowly she would open up to me. Slowly, I would gain her trust. Slowly, each part of her would become mine.
Her head swings towards me again. A flash of fear has me reaching out and touching the bandage on her wrist. The air gets caught in her lungs, her mouth opens, and she looks stunned. She doesn’t pull away from me. I seek out her pulse and find the beat of her heart thrashing under my fingertips. She releases a shaky breath, and I lean into her. I want her. I want her like I’ve never wanted anything in my life. This even feels stronger than the want for revenge. It’s taken everything in me not to have my way with her. I move closer to her lips, and surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away.
My thumb stays over her racing pulse that pumps faster. My cock grows hard in my trousers, and I clench my jaw. One taste. Just one.
My lips brush hers, and she inhales a sharp breath at the contact. I release her wrist and capture her face instead. I want to taste every part of her; I want to sink my tongue into her mouth, but I keep the kiss soft, coaxing. She doesn’t respond, but I’m aware she hasn’t tried to pull away. My tongue flicks out, and I lick her lips before pressing another kiss to her mouth that suddenly moves under mine. It’s like a gun being fired, and I’m gripping her tighter, deepening the kiss—my control slips.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything?”
I remove my lips from Claire but don’t release her face. Fear that I can’t fully explain has me clinging to her. If I let her go, my father will have a full view of her. He must have seen us kiss—a kiss of death.
I release her, and her gaze flickers across my face like she’s searching for answers. I can’t say anything, so I stand and try to block her from his view.
“I’ve been ringing.” It’s a statement from my father.
“I’ve been busy.” I respond. Connor is barking beside my leg. I’m about to reach down and settle him when Claire’s small hand runs along the dog’s back. I glance down at her as she continues to soothe Connor. I thought she would be running and screaming for help. Maybe she senses the evilness from my father, who is looking right at her. The wheels in his head are working, no doubt.
The glass box had been her cage. Maybe now the prison I built would be for protection.
“I assigned you a job that you never completed.” His gaze flickers to Connor and Claire. “Playing happy family, are we?”
I step away from Claire and Connor. I don’t like leaving them, but I can’t have my father around them any longer.
Behind my father is Davy, watching, waiting for instructions. I never thought I’d feel relief at seeing Davy. “Take Claire back to her room.”
My father’s head turns, and he dismisses Davy, who moves past us to Claire, who’s watching the exchange.
I’m tense as Davy takes Claire by the arm and leads her towards us. She’s within hearing distance when my father steps towards her.
“Claire, you look remarkably like Leonard.”
“My… my brother.” I know Claire is staring at me with the question in her mind.
If I could reach out and wrap my hand around my father’s throat, I would.
“Yes, your brother. Richard is friends with him.”
“Richard,” Claire repeats my name.
I jut out my chin at Davy to move her now. He does, but she keeps looking at my father and me over her shoulder.
“You want to explain to me what she is doing here?”
“Actually, I fucking don’t.” I bark at him. “I’m not killing Finn,” I add. That’s what this is all about. Finn is still rolling around, alive and semi-functioning. Now I wish Shay had killed my father to save me from this grief.
“You seem tense, son.”
“What happens under my roof is my business.”
My father’s jaw clenches. My words clearly get to him, so I continue.
“None of yours. I don’t like you on my grounds. So what do you want?”
My father’s half-baked smile has me reconsidering my words. I need to be clever around him, or I might end up on a hit list.
He turns away from me, stuffing his hands in his suit pockets. “I’ve called a meeting b
ut can’t seem to get a hold of Shay.”
My father faces me again.
“I haven’t seen him.” I lie.
“He is no good to us if we can’t reach him.”
Connor arrives at my feet. I didn’t care for the dog, but Claire did. “Let me lock him in, and I’ll ring Shay.”
“Yes, get your priorities straight first.” Sarcasm isn’t my father's forte.
“I finally am.” I call Connor over and open the garage door. He’s slow to come to me, and it takes me calling him several times before he finally arrives at my legs and enters the garage.
“I didn’t know you liked animals.”
“Love them.” I respond, closing the door.
“Carlos was found with his head missing.”
I’m glad my back is to my father. It gives me a moment to brace myself before I face him.
“His family would like his head returned.”
“Are you asking me if I did it?”
“Yes.” My father is direct for once.
“No, I did not kill Carlos.”
My father removes his hands from his pockets. He’s ready to say something else about Carlos but stops.
“One hour: the meeting will commence. If you could let Shay know, that would be great.”
I watch him as he leaves my property. All I want to do is run downstairs and check on Claire, but I don’t have time. Taking out my phone, I check to see she’s back in the box. She is sitting on the edge of the bed, biting the tips of her fingers. I’ve seen her do this when she’s nervous. I close down the image of her and bring up my contacts. I didn’t expect Shay to answer me, but he does.
“My father is alive and kicking. He’s been ringing you,” I say.
I make my way upstairs as we speak.
“I overreacted. I have no intention of killing him.”
Disappointment, that’s what I feel about Shay’s words. Disappointment and exhaustion from trying to keep up with everyone’s games.
“There is a meeting in one hour. I can pick you up.”
“I’ll be there.” Shay hangs up, and I move faster, getting dressed.