I’m no longer in the “caged animal” position. My arms have given out on me. My legs would fail me, but they have nowhere else to fall. He’s been gone entirely too long. So long that even though I’m in a windowless room, I’m pretty sure dawn is breaking.
My throat is dry. My skin is clammy. My heart seems to be beating a lot slower than it should. My ass is numb, as are my limbs. The skin around my mouth is cracked and sore. And I’m praying I’m near death. I’m ready for the darkness to take me, but as always, the universe cheats me out of an early death once again.
The sound of a door being opened is far off, but I’m conscious enough to know that it’s the one leading to the storm cellar in Mario’s backyard. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs—too hurriedly and too light to belong to Mario.
“Motherfucker…” The whispered word is like a song to my ears. If I die, I would at least like to do it in a more comfortable position. I can’t see anything but the jeans and boots of a man standing merely feet from me. But I know that voice.
Luke Carmical.
I mumble a hello, but I don’t think he hears it. I wonder if he’ll be willing to untie this ball gag from my mouth… If so, I can properly greet him. And maybe even ask him WHERE THE FUCK IS MARIO?
“Just hold on, babe.” He sounds so concerned. How sweet. I think he thinks I’m out of my mind. Or unconscious. I try again to speak—just to reassure him I’m alive and well…well, kinda. But the words are jumbled and incoherent.
He’s mumbling a string of “motherfuckers”, using the word in every form imaginable, while searching for something to open the locked cage with. I’m impressed at his ability to use such profane language in so many ways, but I’m even more impressed when he finds a way to break the lock.
“I got you,” he says, reaching in and pulling me out. Carrying me in his arms, he takes me to a wooden chair on the other side of the room—the chair Mario often sits in to tell me how pathetic I am. Where the hell is he?
I scream my protest when he tries to sit me down. He whispers the famous heroic words, “Nobody is gonna hurt you,” and “I got you now,” in my ear. I could give a shit less about that. My problem lies in the plug still occupying my asshole.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” I scream, like an idiot. When he lowers those powerful baby-blue eyes on me, I motion with mine toward my ass—hoping like hell he can read between the lines. He can’t. He just looks at me in confusion. His whole face wrinkles with worry. Finally, he puts my feet on the floor and holds my weight with one arm while he undoes the gag from around my head.
The moment it’s pulled from my mouth, I flex my jaw—cringing from the pain and relief I feel all at the same time. I let out another string of incoherent mumbles, but he still doesn’t understand. So he just bears my weight and looks down at me. While I look up at him.
There’s a fire in his eyes. He’s angry, but sympathetic. I’m assuming his anger isn’t directed toward me. I have a feeling Mario will soon meet his wrath--if the fucker ever decides to show up.
After I manage a couple dry swallows and have control over my mouth, somewhat, I try again. “I can’t sit down.”
“Why?” This part should be embarrassing. But I’ve felt a lot of things in my life, most of which were a lot worse than embarrassment. This is nothing.
“Butt pug.” I guess he gets what I’m trying to say, because his face darkens and he closes his eyes a minute. I find it amusing. “Untie me.” He quickly unties my hands, and spends the next few minutes rubbing the life back into my wrists.
“You need me to…”
My eyebrows raise at his words. Or at least I think they do. I’m still kinda numb. And I’m kinda dizzy. And for some reason, everything around me is blurring. And then, there’s nothing.
Over the next day, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The first time I woke up, I was in a tub filled with warm, soapy water. I recognized the bathroom as Mario’s. The second time, I was on a couch that wasn’t Mario’s with an IV in my arm. I tried to pull it out, but was too weak. The third time, someone was holding my head while I drank water.
Now I’m fully awake, my whole body aches and the clock on the wall says it’s after eight. The lack of sunlight filtering through the windows says it’s night time. And the man propped on the desk across from me just told me it was Tuesday. Last time I was conscious, it was Monday. By the way, the man is Luke Carmical.
“Do you have any pretzels?” I ask, hoping like hell he does. Giving me a smirk, he crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.
“That’s your first question?”
“Is that your answer?” His smirk turns into a warm smile.
“No.”
“No that’s not your answer, or no you don’t have any pretzels? ’Cause I really want some.”
“I’ll get you whatever you want to eat, but first you have to answer some questions.” He’s still smiling, but his tone is more serious.
“Ask away,” I mumble, coming to a sitting position on the couch. The IV is gone and in its place is a cotton ball covered by a Band-Aid. A Ninja Turtle Band-Aid. Impressive.
“What were you doing in that cage?”
“Mario put me there.”
“Were you willing to go?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was Sunday.”
My rapid-fire responses seem to annoy him. I guess he wants more. He ain’t getting more.
“You seem like a no-bullshit kinda girl. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”’
“Then I’m going to give it to you straight.”
“Please do.” I won’t lie to this man. I have no reason to. I presumed Mario was coming back. He didn’t. Therefore, this man saved my life. Either I hate him, or thank him. He seems too nice to hate. So I’ll have to go with the alternative.
“You stole my truck.” Shit. I did steal his truck. I’m assuming he’s waiting for confirmation.
“Yeah…sorry about that.”
He shrugs. “It’s the twenty-first century, babe. I tracked it with GPS. Clearly, you’re an amateur.”
“And here I was thinking I’d impressed you.” I’m flirting. I know that. But it’s innocent, I swear.
“I tracked it to an address that belongs to Mario Hernandez. He told me where I could find you.”
“How thoughtful of him,” I grit through my teeth. Luke’s jaw tightens, mirroring my anger.
“It wasn’t in that fucking storm cellar either.” Now I’m confused. “I was leaving when I saw him walking in the backyard. He looked suspicious. I got curious, went to see what he was up to, and he ran. I started to chase him, but I saw the door to the cellar. Something told me to look. So I looked. That’s when I found you.”
“Wow. That’s really…such an amazing story.” I have more sarcastic shit to say, but he cuts me off.
“You were caged like an animal,” he growls, his eyes darkening further with every word he speaks. “Dehydrated, cold and abused. Your hands and feet were purple from lack of blood circulation. Your lips were cracked and bleeding from being pried open so wide. Not to mention the plug in your ass fit for an elephant. So don’t sit there and try to play this off like it’s nothing.”
I sit and study him a minute. This brooding man. This Luke Carmical—heroic savior slash butt plug remover of mine, and wonder just how much of my life I should actually tell him. There’s something demanding about him. The same thing I found in Mario, only he’s more sympathetic and soft. I wonder if he’s…
“I took care of you. Brought you here and haven’t left your side. Nobody knows your secret but me. I need to keep it that way.”
Wait… What? “Why?”
I was betting on him insisting I go to the police. But by the look in his eyes, I’m pretty sure going to the police is out of the question.
“Because I found Mario.”
“And?” I ask, feeling a sense of uneasiness at his hesitation.
“And…I killed him.”
Well…that changes things.
CHAPTER 10
PRESENT
My Nikes pound the concrete at a pace I never knew I was capable of. After I’d managed to escape out the passenger door, I’d tripped and now Bryce was only several feet behind me. Still, if he’s gonna catch me, he’s gonna have to work for it.
I know Mario is dead. I know this man isn’t him. But there are some striking familiarities that I just can’t shake. I can’t believe I didn’t see it when we had sex. Maybe it was the intimacy I felt with Bryce that shielded the similarities between him and Mario. But now they’re all I see. They’re so frightening, I’m running harder and faster despite the protests of my lungs. And he’s gaining on me.
Figuring fuck it—he’ll just have to catch and kill me—I slow down to a steady jog. Surprisingly, he slows too. Either he’s just as winded as I am, or he’s respectfully keeping his distance. I’m calling bullshit on the latter. If he were willing to give me some space, then why the hell is he chasing me?