His Hostage(34)

“I’m sorry, Elle.” His words are more sad than anything else. He’s truly remorseful, and that makes me sick to my stomach. He doesn’t have to hurt me.

I push the words through my hollow chest. “I promise--”

He cuts me off. “That’s not good enough.”

“What can I do? Please,” I cry into his shirt and drop the book to the floor. I was just with him this morning. “Please, Vince. I swear.”

I feel a strong hand on my back and Vince turns his body, taking me with him and pushing my back against the wall.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growls above my head, looking over his shoulder.

My body stills with fear and I can’t breathe.

“No one touches her!” he screams above my head.

I grip onto his shirt tighter. He’ll save me. He has to save me.

He grips my hip and throws the front door open. “Vince, what are you doing?” It’s his father’s voice.

“I’m taking her to the cabin.” I nearly trip trying to keep up with him. Everything flies past me in a blur from the tears and from how quickly he moves my body outside to his car.

And then he opens the trunk. My feet dig into the ground, and I try to push away from him, but he picks me up and tosses me in like I weigh nothing. My head bangs against the floor of the trunk and I scream out. When I open my eyes, I see his hard gaze.

“None of that, sweetheart. Be a good girl and stay quiet.” I don’t dare disobey him. I know he’s my only hope.





Chapter 18: Elle





The entire car ride, I’m silent. I close my eyes and try to remember. I think I remember being here before, being tied up. My fingers graze over the faint marks on my wrists. I’m quiet. I’ll do as he says for now, but I know that will only get me so far. How the fuck did this happen? I concentrate on breathing and then I remember about a secret latch in the trunk. Well, not secret. But there’s a latch in here somewhere. My hands run along every surface looking for it. But there’s nothing. I spend the entire ride looking for it, only to come up short.

My breathing hitches the longer the car stays still. My body jolts as the car door slams. A whimper escapes me and I cover my mouth. The light burns my eyes as he opens the trunk. It’s not that bright, but compared to the darkness in the trunk, it kills my sight. He reaches in and picks me up easily by my waist. I cower under his touch as he sets me down. My feet land softly, and that’s when I remember. Like deja vu.

I remember running.

My eyes follow the path I took. I remember his hard body knocking me to the ground. And then I have flashes of memories of him pounding into me, both of us naked as he ruts between my legs, pushing my body into the dirt.

As if reading my mind, Vince growls out, “I didn’t.” His tone is defensive and hard. I swallow the lump growing in my throat. I know he didn’t. I would have felt it this morning. But I remember it. Why do I remember it happening that way? More importantly, why did he want me to forget?

“I know.” The words catch in my throat and come out much higher than I intended. I clear my throat and cross my arms to grip my shoulders. “I don’t understand, Vince.”

He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “You need to go inside, Elle.”

I look at the house. It's the same country home I thought was so cute this morning, but as I look at it now, fear makes my legs collapse. We’re in the middle of nowhere. I can’t go in there. In the movies, a secluded place like this is where they kill you. No one will hear me scream. My body begs me to run.

Vince grips my elbow and leans into my neck. His hot breath sends chills down my shoulder and back as he warns, “Don’t you fucking dare run from me.”

A whimper escapes my lips. He pulls me toward the house and I move with him. This has happened before, and I was still alive this morning despite everything. Maybe it will happen again.

“Will I forget in the morning?” I can only hope I will.

“No.” He swings the front door open as the hope dies in my chest. “It didn’t work.”

“I don’t understand,” I plead.

“Stop whining!” he yells at me as I walk inside with him. His anger forces me to rip my arm from his grasp, but it's a clumsy, uncontrolled motion, and my back slams against the wall just inside the door. My hands cover my mouth and I try to stifle the need to cry.

“Fuck!” he screams into the air, and kicks the door. I hear Rigs barking upstairs. His paws scratch against a door. I back away slowly and find myself cowering in the corner. Vince’s fists slam into the wall, leaving dents and a trail of blood on the white walls. His knuckles are bloodied but he keeps doing it over and over. Each time his fists pound against the wall my chest jumps and a scream threatens to escape. Rigs barks and growls and Vince yells at him to be quiet.