Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
NORA
O h my God, my head.
I lift my arm, only to find I can’t move it.
I try again, jerking harder this time, but it’s no use.
Why can’t I move my arms?
My breathing grows ragged, each inhale like sucking in needles, as I try to take stock of my body.
I’m upright—mostly—on something solid.
A chair, maybe, and my arms seem to be bound behind me.
Question after question floods my brain.
Where am I? Why am I restrained?
Why does my head feel like someone beat me with a bowling ball?
Is my baby okay?
I wince as I try to open my eyes, but it’s no use.
Between the ringing in my ears, the excruciating pain radiating from my forehead, the discomfort pulsing through my shoulders, and the bright light overhead, I can’t seem to get my bearings.
Think, Nora! I was with Scarlet…
hair, nails, barbecue, and—Rand!
Panic unlike anything I’ve ever felt before flares to life inside of me as reality sinks in, rendering me completely motionless as the memory of Rand taking me flashes behind the back of my eyelids like a highlight reel of horrors.
Just stay still and maybe he won’t realize you’re awake.
I strain to listen out for him, but the only thing I hear is the faint dripping of a faucet.
How did this happen?
What do I do? What do I do?
When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, my vision swims. I blink once…
twice… three times before the small room I’m in comes into focus.
It’s sparsely furnished, with no windows that I can see.
Most importantly, there’s no sign of Rand.
I escaped this hell once already.
I can do it again.
Footsteps sound behind me, and my entire body stiffens as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Maybe if I’m still enough and quiet enough, he’ll leave me be for a little longer.
“Wake up, little bitch,” the voice from my nightmares growls moments before ice-cold water sprays me in the face.
A scream lodges in my throat as the liquid fills my nose and mouth, making it impossible to breathe, much less speak.
Instinctively, I try to cover my face, but all I manage to do is send myself crashing to the floor.
“Stop, please,” I whimper, my wet hair clinging to my face.
Please let my son be okay.
Please, please, please.
I silently pray, my tears mingling with the water droplets already coating my cheeks, as I try my hardest to twist my body in such a way that offers my belly some protection.
“That's right,” he snarls, the toes of his worn boots coming into view. “Keep begging. Scream, cry, plead , and maybe I'll let you hold the little bastard before I bleed you dry.”
I wish I was strong enough not to give in to him, but I do exactly as he says—I scream and I cry, I beg and I plead. The noises spilling out of my mouth are far more animal than human. “Don't you touch my baby!”
“I believe you mean our baby.” He nudges me gently with his boot before cocking his leg back and delivering a brutal kick to my ribs.
A guttural scream tears past my trembling lips, my eyes involuntarily pinching closed as seemingly endless pain steals the air from my lungs.
“Look at me,” Rand demands, dragging his knuckles over my cheek, in a move so mockingly tender it sends shivers down my spine.
I peel my eyes open to find him kneeling before me, his lips curled in a malicious grin as he reaches toward my belly.
I try to stop him, but the only sound that comes out is a rasping, high-pitched wheeze as I struggle to inhale past the agonizing pain in my chest.
Please, please, please.
Tremors rack my body as I flail and kick, desperate to keep his hands away from my stomach but he presses forward completely undeterred.
“Stop fucking moving,” he snaps, grabbing me by the hair with one hand, slamming my head into the floor, while cradling my belly with the other.
The juxtaposition between the two points of contact—his punishing grip on my hair and the gentle way he palms my bump—is sickening.
White spots dance in front of my eyes as I try to shrink in on myself and protect my stomach from his wrath.
But there’s nowhere to go. There’s no reprieve or safety to be found. I can’t even escape into the shelter of my mind because all I can think of is protecting my son. I'm stuck. Stuck here in hell, with my own personal monster.
Let us go. Please just let us go.
A soft fluttering in my stomach breaks through the all-encompassing agony, and while I can’t be sure, I tell myself it’s my jellybean. That he’s okay— that we’re both going to be okay.
“Should’ve put a chip in you, like a damn dog. Wouldn’t’ve had to wait so long to get you back,” he mutters to himself. “But I’ve got you now, and I plan to have some fun before I... dispose of you.” His thin lips curl into a grotesque mockery of a smile as he leans down further into my face.
He slides his hand over my protruding belly, up between the valley of my breasts, all the way to my throat, where he curls his fingers tight. His grip is like a vise, restricting my airflow until my vision goes hazy.
“Don't worry, though.” He suddenly releases me, and I greedily suck down as much air as my burning lungs will allow. “I'll raise this one right.”
“You won't touch my baby!” I rasp the words at him, my growing resolve steadily overriding my fear. “I'll die before I let you hurt him!”
“A boy!” He whistles, a look of twisted joy filling his usually dead eyes. “I'll raise him right, indeed.”
“Fuck you, you monster!” I buck against his hold, barely even noticing my use of the f-word.
“You're right, you know,” he says, his voice devoid of any feeling at all. “You will die. I thought maybe you were the one. That I’d get to keep you, but clearly you’re not worth the trouble. But first, you're going to apologize to me for running away.”
“You're actually insane,” I whisper brokenly, as I try to figure a way out of this.
But it’s hopeless. I’m bound and completely at his mercy.
“I’ve been thinking of how to punish you.” He leans forward and licks the side of my face, his rank breath warming my cheek. “Dreaming of it. And I think I know just the thing.”
“Get off of me!” I shout, lurching violently in his hold. The rough wooden floor pulls and tears at my skin, but I barely notice it. Especially when he grips my jaw again, his other hand going to his belt.
“Thought I beat that smart mouth out of you,” he mumbles under his breath. “Stubborn little bitch. Should’ve did you like your mom.”
My entire body stills as the implication of his words sinks in.
“Wh-what about my… my m-mama?” I hate how weak my voice is... how weak I am in his presence. I foolishly thought I was finally free of this monster and let my guard down. Now I’m back in his clutches, and I’m starting to worry I won’t make it out alive this time.
He pops the buckle of his belt and then the button on his jeans. “Doesn’t matter, though. I’ll still get to watch you die. To watch the life bleed out of your pretty little eyes. Even if it wasn’t the long game, I still win in the end.”
He’s completely lost it. Oh, God.
“Thought you were the one, but you’re nothing. Bitches like you are a dime a dozen.” He reaches down, palming himself through his jeans. The knowledge that he’s aroused right now is nauseating. “No matter, though. I’ll find someone else. Maybe that bitch you were with today.”
Scarlet. He means Scarlet. For the first time in my life, I have people in my corner—people who care. It doesn’t matter that I barely know her, I can’t let him hurt her.
“No!” I shout, my voice echoing all around us. “Please. Please just leave her alone.”
“You dare to tell me what to do?” He once again grips my jaw, his grip so bruising, I’m shocked my bones don’t turn to dust under the pressure.
“You’re nothing.” He forces my head back, my neck bending at an unnatural angle, so that the only thing I can see is him. “You’re no one. A worthless whore who won’t be mourned or missed by anyone.”
“That’s not true,” I grit out, my words barely decipherable thanks to his hand covering my mouth.
“Sure it is.” He makes a big show of looking around. “I bet no one’s even noticed you’re gone. And if they have, I bet they’re glad to be rid of a needy bitch like you.”
My scalp burns as I try to shake my head, his unrelenting grip on both my hair and jaw severely limiting my range of motion.
“You’re nothing but a burden. A drain.”
He’s preying on my insecurities. Logically, I know this. But there’s still this small, awful voice in the back of my head whispering to me that he’s right. That Atlas—and Ellis and even Scarlet—are all better off without me. That they’ll be relieved I’m gone.
No. Stop that. Stop it right now, Nora. Atlas loves you. You know he does.
“You’re wrong.” My denial sounds as pathetic as I’m sure I look, restrained and sopping wet on the floor, but I mean it. I mean it with every ounce of my soul. Atlas Wallace loves me, and he loves our son, and if we make it through this, I’m going to tell him every day that it was his love for me that helped me survive.
“Stupid little bitch.” Rand abruptly releases my jaw and shoves his hand into his pocket, retrieving a knife. Before I can fully process it, he’s cut open the front of my shirt and has the tip of the blade poised over my belly, pushing ever-so-slightly against my taut skin.
My entire world narrows to the point of his blade. I want to thrash and kick and scream, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m a statue, for fear that any sudden movement will send the blade plunging into my stomach.
“Please,” I beg as fat tears spill down my cheeks. “P-please don’t do this. Y-you can d-do anything you w-want to me. Just don’t hurt my baby.”
“You’re not in charge.” He presses harder, dragging the blade down to my hip. “If I want to gut you like a fucking deer here and now, I’ll damn sure do it.”
My body trembles violently as a stinging pain radiates outward from the laceration. Warm liquid trickles from the cut—blood.
I open my mouth, ready to beg, to truly plead for my life, but I snap it shut again. There’s not an ounce of humanity inside of Rand, pleading with him will go nowhere. How could it? He doesn’t have a heart, much less a soul.
Don’t make any sudden movements. Just breathe, Nora. It’s going to be okay.
He watches the blood ooze from the wound he inflicted with a sick sense of glee for a moment, but then he shutters his face in a mask devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
Nausea swirls through me as he regards me coolly, as if I’m worth less than the dirt on his shoe before flicking the blade closed and repocketing it.
“Lucky for you, I don’t want to.” He presses his index and middle into the cut, smearing the blood around. “Yet.”
My entire body heaves as he brings his bloodied fingers to his lips, licking away the crimson liquid.
“ Mmm , just as good as your tears,” he groans, as if savoring the taste. “But there’s something else I want more.”
This time when he reaches for me, his hand moving to the waistband of my leggings, I absolutely lose it, screaming like my life depends on it.