Chapter Twenty-Nine
SIMON
I’m so freaking dehydrated. And my head is fuzzy. The worst part, though? Those limp dicks ripped my favorite fluffy puppy scrubs. After I finally got the grilled cheese stain out. I’m so mad I could bite a dick.
It’s dark, but I’m almost positive I’m in the same barn where Elijah and I used to meet when we were teenagers.
Where my father died. Given the gaping asshole Elijah turned out to be, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
Then again, I’m not sure of anything right now.
When we arrived at the farm, a couple of guys I didn’t recognize and one I did—the police guy from that party—all grabbed me out of the back.
It was too many people to fight. I did try. Someone jabbed a needle in my arm, and I was out pretty fast. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, only that it’s got to be late, because if it were daytime there’d be at least a little bit of light seeping in from outside.
Footsteps and a creak sound behind me. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had you tied up in here.”
Elijah. Jesus. Gross.
“You’re a sick piece of shit, you know that?” I’m almost groggy enough not to feel ashamed that I thought I loved this guy once. But not quite.
He has the nerve to fucking laugh.
“You motherfucker.”
“Not quite. But I did fuck your sister.”
What the fuck? Gabe said Becca had a baby. Is this piece of shit the father?
The way he crouches in front of me, a sinister smile on his face in the dark, makes me want to punch the shit out of him.
“Oh. You didn’t know? That was the deal.
My reward for getting rid of your father.
Getting rid of you. And coming up with a way to bring in fresh blood to a community that’s frankly so full of old men their farts are dusty. ”
“My father had a heart attack. You didn’t get rid of him.”
“Your father was in poor health. Then he happened to ‘accidentally’ find you naked and tied up out here.”
For a minute I almost can’t breathe. For years I’ve blamed myself. And maybe I wasn’t blameless, but I’m not the one who set everything in motion. Who does something like that?
“You twisted piece of—does your father know about this?” Pastor Lazarus was always a self-righteous piece of shit, but I can’t see him agreeing to…to what? “Gabe said teenagers have been disappearing. You’re involved in this human trafficking shit?”
“Father had an unfortunate accident a few years ago. Very sad. So it’s been on me to keep this place running.
Tony was right, we’ve been having some money trouble.
Father’s strict rules meant not a lot of cash coming in, meanwhile we had mouths to feed and land to maintain.
Sometimes leadership means making the hard decisions. ”
“You sold your own people out, you sick piece of shit.”
Elijah makes a tsking noise. “Your father would whip you for that language were he still alive.”
“Yeah, well, he can’t die twice. That’s your fault too, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t supposed to be that way.”
For a second, I think I see remorse on his face. It’s nearly dark, though, and I must be wrong, because his next sentence makes me think I’m hallucinating from all the drugs in my system.
“Actually, it worked out even better than planned. See, your father and mine were at odds about how things were being run at the time. Since some of the elders were siding with your father, the idea came up to disgrace your family in such a way that you would all be forced to leave.”
Are you fucking kidding me? “So you somehow figured out I was gay and made me your scapegoat?”
He actually fucking laughs. “My original plan was to seduce your sister. Get her pregnant, she’d be forced to marry me or leave, and your father would be run off for failing to keep his family in line.
Then I saw the way you looked at me when I took my shirt off on hot days in the field.
” He laughs, either at me or his brilliant, psychotic idea.
“It was a bonus, the way your father’s rampage pushed his heart over the edge.
When we moved in to help your mother oversee the rest of your family in her time of need, she was so relieved. ”
“You’re an absolute psychopath.”
Or a sociopath? Narcissist? I don’t fucking know. The psychiatric stuff is above my pay grade, but I’m calling it. There’s something wrong with him. How did I not notice sooner?
Teenage love and hormones, that’s how.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I see Sebastian behind my closed lids. All this time I’ve been holding him at a distance, thinking things might end with him the way they ended with the first boy I loved. Turns out I was comparing apples to psychopaths.
Elijah reaches a hand out, trailing a finger down my leg. I’ve got loads of practice letting men I don’t like touch me, but after Sebastian’s sure hands and bruising grip, it feels nauseatingly wrong.
“Am I really so awful? You did let me fuck you.”
“When I thought you loved me. When I thought you actually wanted to leave with me and be together the way we talked about. I may have been too sheltered at the time to see all the red flags, but I see them clearly now. Even in the dark.”
“You know, before your mother died, she asked for you. Poor Isaiah, out in the world all alone. She never stopped worrying.”
I’m unprepared for the agony that tears me right down the middle. I knew someday my mother would die. I knew I’d probably never see her again. But this…
I clamp my mouth shut and do my best to take a deep breath. He’s enjoying my pain. He wants to get a rise out of me. I can’t let him win.
I remind myself that my mother, though I loved her when I was young, was the same woman who stood by weeping when my father whipped me but did nothing to stop him.
For all I know, Elijah is lying so he can hurt me.
Clearly, it’s something he’s good at. Still, the idea of her asking for me on her deathbed is a knife in my chest.
I manage a deep breath, and then another. When I think I can control the tremors in my body, I say, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
Of course he finds this funny. Of course he fucking does.
I stare up at the barn ceiling. With my eyes adjusted to the dark, I can see the outline of the beams, the edge of the hayloft, and the splintered bit of roof that gives me a view of stars and a crescent moon.
There’s got to be some way out of here. I’ve tugged experimentally at the zip tie around my wrists, but it’s awfully tight.
And anyone who’s even bought a kitchen tool knows how impossible breaking those things is.
My feet are free. If he came a little closer I could kick him. Maybe even manage a scissor hold.
Maybe I could choke him to death with my thighs. Bet that would be poetic.
But in my attempt to problem solve a way out of this shit, I take my eye off the prize. Or in this case, the psycho ex, and the next thing I know I’m on my back with his hand around my throat.
“We’ve got your transport lined up, Isaiah.
You’re going to get loaded back into the van, along with a son whose family doesn’t contribute enough around here.
As we speak, Tony is picking up a special order from one of his parties.
Then all of you are going to take a nice boat ride to a pretty island in the Bahamans.
By morning, nobody will have a clue where you are.
I doubt anyone will care. Tony tells me you’re a whore.
It’s fitting, really. You were always so easy.
But nobody’s going to give a shit what happens to you. There’s nobody left to care.”
Doesn’t he know my brother is staying with me? Or did Tony not tell him? What about Sebastian? He’d care. I know he’d care.
“Oh, if you’re thinking about your brother, don’t worry. Stupid kid managed to wander into that fucking Brennan Doyle’s office this afternoon. If that guy doesn’t take care of him, we will soon enough.”
Fuck, there are spots in my vision. I’m having trouble breathing. Elijah’s anger has him squeezing harder. My only fucked-up saving grace is that this ball of grease apparently wants to sell me, so I can’t die. Right?
If I could get to my phone I’d call Brennan. He’s more likely to help me than the cops. Whoever shot me full of sedatives took it, though, I think.
Lord, I hope Gabe is okay. And Penelope. And Sebastian… If I had known I wouldn’t be seeing him again, I might have said some different things.
Things like, I’m falling in love with you even though it feels too fast, even though it scares the shit out of me.
It isn’t until I’m lightheaded and my body’s gone limp that Elijah eases his grip.
He sits back, probably congratulating himself on dominating me once again.
But I’m not letting him win this time. I can’t.
If I don’t get out of here, I might not be alive tomorrow.
Fuck getting shipped out of the country.
I force air into my lungs, and I kick. Like I did all those years ago, that night my father found me and nearly whipped me to death in his rage.
I’m fighting for my life. The difference this time is I’m not a gawky teenager whose limited muscles came from harvesting squash and bringing in the cows.
Who never got enough to eat because my father was sharing food with six other people on a self-sustained patch of land riddled with sand and unforgiving clay soil.
While I was in nursing school, I took classes on exercise and nutrition. I used that information to build myself into a stronger, better person. I’ve helped many of my patients at the assisted living facility with their physical therapy, learning about functional strength.
For example, it’s a good test of overall physical fitness to be able to stand up from the floor without using your hands. I’ve practiced. It’s harder than it sounds.
With a yell, I manage to roll myself up and push to my feet. Then I’m barreling shoulder first at a startled-looking Elijah. Fucking punk.
He lands on his back with a violent whoosh of air. Then I manage a kick to the head, and he goes still. He still looks like he’s breathing, but at least he’s out.
That’s when I hear shouting.