Chapter 4 Grace
GRACE
Kill me now.
I throw up in the bucket for the millionth time.
“She’s too weak to go anyway.” I hear someone say.
“I want this woman out of my home. She’s a complication I’m not looking for,” an angry voice reacts.
“I’ll move her to my home then where she can get better care. Don’t want this complication to get in the way of your busy schedule.”
“You’re being a dick,” the angry voice bites back.
“And so are you.”
These are the last words I hear before I pass out.
Not sure how long I am out for, when I come to again it could be minutes, could be hours, might even be days.
All I do know is each time I wake up that brooding, dark knight is standing beside me, holding my hair back as I continue to purge the drugs in my system.
He wipes my brow with a damp cloth and feeds me tiny bits of crackers and sips of water to keep my energy up.
He sits there and takes the abuse I hurl at him.
He lets me kick, scratch, spit, and attack him when the ball of rage rolls through.
Then, when I am bawling my eyes out, he soothes me, telling me I’m doing good and that I’m almost there.
This man confuses me. He hates me from the conversations I’ve heard and hates that I’m encroaching on his home.
Why is he helping me when his job was to kidnap me?
Before I can have another thought on that, I’m pulled back deep into the darkness.
Each time I open my eyes I do feel myself getting stronger. The fog that has been clouding my mind is starting to lift. I’m surprised it’s taking me so long to kick the drugs from my system, I never thought my problem was that bad.
I was wrong.
My days are spent in and out of consciousness, stuck in a cycle of nightmares and reality.
I want to break this habit, no I need to break this habit so I can escape and get home to my family.
I need the strength to destroy Dmitri once and for all because I never want another woman to go through this kind of situation ever again.
Sometimes when I wake up, there’s a kind older man that comes in and takes over from the dark knight.
This man makes me laugh, sings me funny songs, tells me crazy Russian stories, and helps me take my mind off the pain my body is putting me through.
The old man listens to my nightmares and is there to chase the pain away when I can’t escape it.
He tells me I am safe, and in a strange way I feel safe, I don’t understand why.
“You’re looking better.” The old man comes in with some soup. He told me his name is Sergei, but that’s all the information he has given me about himself. He pushes the bowl toward me. “Eat, you need your strength.”
Slowly, I sit up in my comfortable bed. The shakes that I’ve been suffering from are abating. Sergei hands me the remote. “You can watch some TV now you are feeling better.”
Thanking him, I wait until he is out of the room to turn on the television.
I’m perplexed by my kidnapper’s kindness.
It makes me feel uneasy as I’m not sure when the other shoe will drop, and I’m thrown back into the nightmare that I know well.
Maxim, the younger of the two men, is especially confusing, the dark knight.
When I’m really bad, he is the one that jumps into the shower with me and washes me down when I’m too weak to do it.
His strong hands move over my body, but never in a sexual way.
He has never once taken advantage of me.
Even though I know he is a bad guy, because, hello, he kidnapped me.
He isn’t one of those men who force themselves onto women.
He has had every opportunity to do so. It’s like he’s focused on the task of cleaning me and that’s it.
It’s nice. Is this how Stockholm Syndrome starts?
I switch on the TV and notice that it’s all in Italian.
It’s my first clue as to where I am. At least I’m not that far from home.
I haven’t left my bed much in a week, only to go to the bathroom or have a shower.
But now that I am feeling stronger and my head is clear, I think I need to start exploring my surroundings and working out how to escape.
I finish the soup and put the bowl on the bedside table.
I walk over to the large window and pull back the velvet curtains.
Bright light fills the room, momentarily blinding me.
There’s a large balcony and I open the ornate French doors and walk out, feeling the sun on my skin, soaking it up, replenishing myself.
My eyes are drawn to a sparkling pool and the strong arms slicing through the water.
Lap after lap, I stare as Maxim glides effortlessly across the pool.
He jumps out, and I watch in utter fascination as the water cascades down his spectacular body.
Holy shit, the man is ripped. Every inch of his olive skin is taut, the muscles rippling under the sunshine.
He picks up a towel and uses it to dry his inky black hair.
The man is a god. I watch as his biceps bulge with each movement.
My eyes skim down his body, past the tiny swim shorts he’s wearing, and take in his solid legs and large feet.
The man is huge. Large palms move over his body as he dries himself, and there is a tiny, very tiny, spot inside of me wishing it was my hands traveling over his body.
I shake my head. I’m such a fuck up, mentally berating myself for staring at an obviously good-looking man, a bad man, but still a hot one. Maxim notices me standing on the balcony and gives me a blinding smile that lights up his handsome face.
No. This is dangerous, this a bad man. Very bad man and no amount of hotness can take that away.
But I can’t seem to be able to look away from those dark, almost black eyes sparkling in the sun at me.
Nor keep from noticing his chiseled jaw, which doesn’t look like he’s shaved in a couple of days, thanks to the dark coverage of stubble across it. My captor is a fucking supermodel.
Eventually, I come to my senses and hide behind the pillar on the balcony. My heart pumps with lust and hatred for him and myself. If I stay here, maybe he will forget that I was ever there.
“Grace!” his voice calls from below. “Why are you hiding?”
Shit.
I stand up and peer over the edge. “I dropped something,” I say, hoping it covers my foolishness.
He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s good to see you up and looking healthy.”
I don’t know why I blush at his statement, but I do. “Guess I should thank you for helping me,” I grumble.
He shrugs as if he couldn’t care less if I thanked him or not.
This man isn’t good, but when I needed him, he was there.
Then a strange thought crosses my mind. “Was this some kind of intervention my family put you up to? Can I go now?” I ask as I’m sick of wondering where the hell I am.
He frowns but doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he says, “I think we should have dinner together. I can explain more then.”
Huh?
“Are you going to be letting me go?”
He ignores my question again. “Like I said, we’ll continue this conversation tonight.”
“No.” I stomp my foot like a child. “There’s no point in having a conversation if you’re not going to let me go. I’m your prisoner and making me feel like I’m not by having dinner with you won’t change anything.”
He frowns again. “Suit yourself,” he says and then storms off.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I look down and try to work out if I would survive the drop from the balcony. The ground is covered in pebbles so it’s probably going to hurt if I jump. Think Grace, think.
My sheets!
I’ve seen it done in movies, so it must work. I grab the white sheets and tie the ends together, pulling them tight.
Please, please hold my weight.
I look back out at the balcony and realize it’s solid brick, there’s nothing to tie my makeshift rope to.
Think, think.
The fancy curtain hooks set into the wall.
I give it a pull to see if it’s secure and it feels it, so, fingers crossed.
I tie my rope to the ornate gold hook and throw it over the balcony.
I give it a tug to check, and it feels kind of secure.
I take a deep breath and go for it. I’m only dressed in an oversized men’s T-shirt.
I have no shoes but who cares if I can get out of here. I look down and it’s not that far.
Holding on to the edge of the balcony, I make my way down the brick wall, slowly but surely. Then I hear a rip, and I’m falling. I land with a thud on the pebbles.
“Fuck,” I groan as the rocks dig into my skin.
Assessing the damage, I pat my hands over my body, nothing seems to be broken, which is good.
There are rows and rows of vines before me.
I notice on the other side a stone wall.
If I can make it to them, I can hide and try to find the exit.
There must be a road somewhere, and someone has to pass by at some point, don’t they?
I dash to the stone wall and creep along it.
Peeking my head around the end, I check if the pool is empty.
There’s a lot of open space between the pool area and the vines, so I’m going to have to run as fast as I can.
I take a deep breath and bolt, the pebbles hot under my bare feet, but I push through the pain and on toward freedom.
My heart is racing, adrenaline pumping, but I make it. I glance at
the villa: no one is around. I can taste my freedom.
I hunch over and begin to move through the vines, row after row after row.
How bloody big is this vineyard? It’s like a maze of greenery.
I pop my head up occasionally to check that I’m still unnoticed and I am. Just need to find the end and I’m free.