9. Amorette
AMORETTE
A fter everything that had happened since I was abducted, it was strange to sit here in this empty apartment, safe from the cruelty of that place. The walls must have been insulated very well because there were absolutely zero sounds filtering in from the outside.
I walked to the window to peer outside. Several stories up, my view was of tall, lush palm trees scattered around a courtyard guarded by a tall stone wall.
Beyond the wall, a small village spread out before what appeared to be another wall in the distance.
How strange. I was almost reminded of a medieval video game with the different layers of people and protection around the castle.
I couldn’t see much over the walls, but this apartment reminded me of a modern high-rise.
Fronds on palm trees wavered from the wind as birds flew past. Men were running the perimeter of the courtyard, laughing and talking to each other. Still, everything was dead silent in here.
The silence should be calming after days of listening to screams of terror and disgusting slaps of skin.
But it wasn’t. It was too loud. Like the end of a concert after hours and hours of blasting speakers.
When the vibrations of the music suddenly cut off, your body feels off-kilter, as if something’s missing.
I left the window to go back over to the counter where the chef’s knife lay. I touched it just to make sure it was real.
Who was that man? And why would he take me only to offer me all the tools to kill myself? The way he’d laughed before he left, muttering under his breath, I almost believed he wanted me to take that option.
But why?
Fucking hell, what was the point? Was he into sick head games? Was this part of Randall’s elaborate schemes to break me?
Even as the thought entered my mind, I immediately discounted it.
Lafe was no friend of theirs. They wouldn’t have staged those fights before he stole me just to trick me like this.
Randall struck me as someone who wanted to lazily fuck with your head.
He didn’t have the intelligence or patience for the long game.
Lafe, however…
My instincts said he didn’t want to hurt me. I should trust myself, but I wasn’t sure if I could. This entire situation was fucked up, and I could just as easily get sucked into what I wanted to see, only to play right into his hands.
Shit. My head pounded as I attempted to rationalize everything that had happened. I was already exhausted, wanting to crawl into that bed and sleep. Not for forever. I wanted to live too much for that.
If I laid down, I’d dream.
Images of Randall hovering over me played behind my eyes. Phantom fingers violated me.
No. He only won if I allowed him to.
Shaking myself out of the strange trance I’d been in since he’d locked me in here, I searched the apartment. Slowly. My lungs burned with each breath as I bent to search cabinets or stretched on my toes to check the contents at the top of closets. I needed to know exactly what was here and where.
When my shirt and face were sticky with sweat, I walked to the couch and gingerly sat down to extend out my prone body. The pain was a dull ache I’d grown used to by now, but at least I was able to breathe.
The large, soft bed called to me, but I wouldn’t know when he came back if I secreted myself back into that room. It was too far away from the front door if he was quiet. Here in the living room, I would know if someone even scratched at the lock from the other side.
That was what I hadn’t checked. I should have looked at the lock to see if I could pick it.
I had minimal skills with that, only what they discussed in the training classes I’d organized and attended.
Picking locks wasn’t something I would have thought would be a part of survival and defense training, nor was it something the instructor wanted to teach.
In fact, the entire time he’d given us brief instructions, they’d been vague, as if he might be giving criminal secrets out.
I had laughed where I sat back far enough in the room that I didn’t draw any attention to myself.
The only reason he brought it up was because he said we might need it if we failed to get away. That it could save our lives.
Hoisting myself up, I went straight to the door and studied the lock system.
It was simpler and more complex than I’d ever seen on any door.
Simple in the way they were only key locks.
Complex in the way that latch after latch climbed up the door.
They were spaced just far enough apart that I knew there were a different set of locks on the other side.
“Damn it,” I grumbled. The keyholes were all different, most likely needing a different kind of key. I’d try to pick them soon. For now, I needed to rest, or I’d throw up and pass out right here. That wouldn’t save me.
Back on the couch, I closed my eyes and tried to catch up on some much-needed rest. Ha. Like I hadn’t slept more hours than I’d been awake recently. It didn’t negate the fact that I was tired, both mentally and physically.
Then, because this quasi-sense of safety held me hostage, I did something that positively mortified me.
I broke down. Again.
Earlier with Lafe, I’d already been at the end of my mental capacity. Then he offered me a ridiculous ultimatum? The continued lack of choice had been the last thread of my composure, and he knew exactly what to say to snap it.
I hated that he saw me lose it.
My weakness now was different. It was everything I probably should have been feeling this entire time. A molten tangle of despair and hopelessness slammed into me, submerging me until I was drowning.
I gasped.
Tears filled and spilled from my eyes. Ah damn, it hurt to cry. Clutching my ribs, I tried to calm my breathing, but I couldn’t. There was too much helplessness, and I had never felt this way.
I wasn’t a victim; I was the hero. Saving women from abusive husbands and helping them get their comeuppance was what I lived for. It energized me, knowing I was making a difference.
I did not get abducted from dark parking garages. I did not get assaulted in the backroom of a trafficking ring, and I never–never–watched other women get abused without lifting a god-damned finger.
A terrible squeal ripped from my throat and I banged my fists against my thigh until the tightness in my ribs almost made me blackout.
Lafe wanted me to work for them? Fuck that, and fuck him.
I wouldn’t do it. There wasn’t a thing on this planet that would make me be the bad guy.
Killing myself? Also not an option. There was still too much left I needed to do in life. I needed to escape, to get out of here.
I needed to hug Grace. My other half.
It didn’t matter how. I’d use this time alone to make plans, then devise contingency plans. Then more plans on top of that. I wanted to be prepared for any type of scenario that came at me.
My stomach grumbled. Over the last several days I’d eaten and drank so little. I needed to get my strength up. But finishing that greasy BLT, no matter how delicious, wasn’t a good idea. It was too much on my mostly starved system.
I’d try to get a few more bites down in a little while. Just like Lafe…No. He was an addict. Addict was what I would call him in my head. A name made him seem like a decent person and I knew he wasn’t.
Just like Addict had said, there were plenty of things in this apartment. It was fully stocked. Even the fridge and cabinets had essential food items. Enough to last almost a week. Maybe.
Could I hope he wouldn’t come back yet? I needed as much time to prepare myself to escape this nightmare yesterday.
* * *
Five days.
It had been five long days since I’d been dropped here.
There hadn’t been a word from Addict or a sign of any other life forms except the men I would see down below in the courtyard.
In the village, sometimes, I’d catch glimpses of men or women on the street.
One time I caught sight of a child. The entire thing was so bizarre.
They seemed happy, healthy. Acted as if they weren’t within feet of sex traffickers.
No, the Addict had shared that business wasn’t to his tastes. Regardless, he was a criminal all the same. Gorgeous man or not, he was dangerous and had his hands in unsavory business. The straightforward answer would be drugs.
The one piece of good to come out of this was that I no longer wheezed when I moved.
My ribs still hurt like hell, but outside of checking the entire apartment over multiple times a day, I had taken it easy.
My head had also stopped killing me. I was thinking more clearly, happy the action didn’t threaten to scramble my brain.
Nevertheless…
Five days without human contact when everything was uncertain was driving me insane.
The air kicked on, and I jumped thinking someone was coming in. The pipes made a funny noise when I allowed myself a quick shower and thought the ceiling was about to collapse. Even when I washed dishes, I got startled. I dropped a fork in the sink and ducked, sure someone was firing at me.
I was about at my wit's end. Was this what he was trying to do? Get me so worked up as a form of psychological torture? I hadn’t thought him that cruel. But I was stupid for assigning any decency to him at all.
Completing my seventh pass around the small space after my daily apartment check, I froze.
Metal scraped against metal.
My skin flushed as my heart pounded in my ears.
This was my shot. I ran to the bedroom where I’d already stashed the chef’s knife and a cast iron frying pan.
Addict had wanted me to believe he was the only one who would come back, but I couldn’t be sure, especially as so many days passed and he hadn’t come back.
So, the knife was for him, but I would use the pan if it was someone else, someone innocent.
The chance that someone here was innocent was very slim, but I had to consider it.