Chapter Seven
Carrie
“She needs to wake up,” a male voice hissed.
“No, she doesn’t,” a female voice argued. “I didn’t even want you to bring her in here, Brandon.”
A door slammed to my right, and I heard a soft curse before a second door slammed.
My body was stiff, and then, I remembered.
Oh, right.
I was kidnapped.
Slowly, I opened my eyes, expecting to find myself in the back of the smelly van, but I wasn’t. All at once, my body seemed to go on alert, recognizing this was a foreign place.
I must’ve fallen asleep in the back of the van.
Stay awake, Carrie. Your life depends on it.
My mouth was dry, my throat burning as I tried to swallow what little spit I had, and a familiar pain echoed in my stomach, rumbling as my eyes scanned over the cheap, dated motel room. The walls were painted white, but they were covered in smoke stains, tainting the color. There were two queen beds with red and navy-blue bedding that looked like they belonged in a horror movie, and if I were to see the mattress underneath, I wouldn’t be surprised to find an old blood stain or two.
A single nightstand sat between the beds, and my stomach twisted as I stared at the black gun resting beside the hotel phone.
Was it loaded?
Was that the murder weapon they chose for me?
Would they at least be merciful? Or would they drag it out, shooting me in multiple places so I’d bleed out on the floor while they laughed?
The sound of a cough snapped me out of it, and I twisted my head to the right, my eyes on the closed door and the golden light coming from underneath it. My heart drummed in my ears as goosebumps prickled my skin, the chance of death lingering in the thick, smelly air around me.
A second later, the shower turned on, and I waited until there was steam floating up from underneath the thin, brown door before turning my attention back to the gun and phone.
My freedom was right in front of me. Ten fucking feet in front of me.
You can fight, Sunshine. Fight for me.
My eyes darted around the space once more, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention now.
Where was the woman—Monica?
I looked all around and even behind me, having no doubt she was capable of hiding from me, waiting to strike. A small wave of relief washed over me as I discovered the chair I was tied to was up against the wall. She wasn’t in the room. She was either in the shower or outside smoking.
This much I knew: both of them smoked, and they weren’t exactly working as a team to pull this off.
They argued—often.
Worry about that later, Carrie. You know, when you’re free.
Keeping that thought in mind, I looked down at myself for injuries. I was dirty, and they’d taken my shoes and coat. I shook my head, hating both of them as I tried to pull against the bindings on my wrists. I shifted my arms, feeling the material, and I looked down to find my ankles were bound to the legs of this shitty, cheap, uncomfortable chair—with fucking zip-ties.
Did Brandon steal those from Leo too?
I closed my eyes before focusing back on the gun, my tongue darting out across my cracked bottom lip, shoving the dead fisherman to the back of my mind. I looked to the bathroom door and back to the gun, my eyes shifting back and forth between them a few times. I began to twist my wrists as I arched my back, ignoring the dull pain so I could position the plastic ban against the wood of the chair. Biting down to stifle my wince, I began working my hands. It would take a while, but if I could get the plastic worn down enough, I’d be able to snap it free.
Amara Harrison made sure I knew how to get out of binds. Plus, I could tell the drugs had worn off slightly. I wasn’t dizzy, my vision clear.
Thank God.
If I could just—
The hotel room door opened, and I froze as Monica walked in, her eyes on the phone in her hand, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, the pinks and oranges in the sky reminding me of the painting hanging in my home.
I had to get out of here.
Monica hadn’t noticed me yet, and I stared at her, holding my breath, taking a good look at the woman who hated me so much. Her hair was thin and brittle, piled into a small bun at the top of her head, making her square-shaped face stand out even more. Her eyes were sunken in, her cheekbones prominent, making her look sickly. She wasn’t healthy, and it reminded me so much of how, once, in a different life, I was just like her. Unhealthy.
My eyes dropped from her face and—
She was dressed in baggy jeans and my fucking yellow puffer jacket. My eyes fell further down, to her shoes, and my lips parted. She was wearing my fucking shoes.
Why was she wearing my clothes?
She looked up from her phone, scoffing at something before she froze, her eyes widening as they collided with mine. I stared at her, watching in real-time as the shock in her eyes faded, replaced by the same hatred I witnessed the first time I saw her in Rossy’s books last year.
Why did she hate me?
Who was this woman to Brandon?
Her upper lip curled in disgust as her eyes dropped from my face, taking in my appearance. The judgment in her eyes was getting old, and I desperately wanted to ask what the hell her problem was, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t in the position to be asking questions, and if I wasn’t smart, I would end up dead, my body thrown in a ditch somewhere.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I had to fight. For me. For Grayson. For my friends back in Astoria.
Monica’s dark eyes snapped back up to my face, her pupils pinpoints, and I could see the pain lingering in her soul behind her dead eyes.
Was that why she hated me?
Had I caused her pain in some way?
Had my father?
We stared at each other for a while, and I didn’t even notice the shower turn off. Our gazes broke when the bathroom door opened, steam oozing into the room as the door banged into the wall. Slowly, I turned my head to face Brandon, and I kept my chin high, not showing any fear.
Like hell I would cower in front of him. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, biting down on my jaw as I studied him.
A towel was covering the lower half of his body, his gut hanging over, water droplets dotting his skin. His pale skin was covered in stretch marks and scars. There was also a huge scar on the side of his ribcage, the skin there lumpy and misshapen—like a burn.
A pleasant sound came from him then, and I was done looking at his body.
Those eyes found mine, and all I saw was my dead, abusive husband.
When Brandon smiled, the urge to vomit manifested for the hundredth time, but there was nothing left in my stomach to give. “Good morning, princess. Did you have a nice nap?” he asked, his voice dripping with sick confidence. In his mind, he probably believed he was getting away with this.
But I knew the truth.
Whether I lived or died at the hands of this sick couple, Grayson would have his revenge.
Because of that fact alone, I remained calm, knowing both these assholes would get what was coming to them. Karma would come in the form of a tall, snake-tattooed man whose heart belonged to me.
“Got nothing to say to your brother-in-law?” Brandon taunted, ticking his head to the side.
I gave him nothing, only blinking once.
He looked over to Monica, checking her out before asking, “You say something to her?”
Monica peeled her eyes away from me, shaking her head. “I have nothing to say to her ,” she practically spat, her venom lingering in his shower steam.
Brandon shook his head and looked at me, jerking his thumb to Monica. “Forgive her,” he chuckled. “She’s in a bad mood.”
Still, I said nothing.
He didn’t like that. His smile slowly faded as he dropped his arm, the air in the room shifting now. He walked to the bed by the window and bent, picking up a bag from the floor. The room was quiet as he dropped the bag on the bed and unzipped it. He pulled out some clothes and walked around the front of beds, standing close to Monica as he whispered something in her ear.
She flinched and looked down at his towel, her eyes like daggers. “Do what you want, Brandon, but you do that, I’ll be outside.”
He grinned at her as his towel dropped, landing in a heap on the stained carpet. I kept my eyes on his face as he turned to face me fully, a sinister look in his eyes now. My blood ran cold, but I kept my face still. “I have a question for you, Carrie,” he began conversationally, like we were old friends catching up.
Monica huffed and went to her bed, shaking her head. “You’re fucking sick, Brandon. This wasn’t part of the plan.”
He laughed, a sharp cackle as quick as a whip as he looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s an honest question. Besides, I’ve always been curious.” He returned his attention to me. “I’ve always wanted to know why my dear older brother got everything he wanted in life.”
Forcing my face to remain neutral, my eyes shot over to where Monica was standing, but she wasn’t looking at me as she searched her small bag for something like she was in a hurry. My eyes dropped to her hands, noting how they were shaking. Brandon stepped in front of me then, cutting off my view with his—
I looked up at his face then, my mouth still closed as fear coiled around my neck, ready to cut off my airway.
Slowly, his head cocked to the side, and he pursed his lips. “I can see why Robert put up with you for so many years, despite everything else. You do have a pretty face. A nice set of lips…” He trailed off, letting out a sickening groan, his arm moving out of the corner of my eye.
He was touching himself.
“Carrie, tell me; who has the better cock? Me or my brother?”
My face twisted before I could stop it, and I looked up the ceiling, tears stinging my eyes as he grunted again. “Come on, blondie. Take a look for me. One look at my dick with those pretty eyes, and I’ll—”
“Jesus, Brandon!” Monica shouted, seething. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice cracked at the end of her question, the shock in her voice bouncing off the smoke-stained walls.
I looked just in time to find him whirling to face her, pointing at her. “Keep your fucking voice down,” he clipped. “I’m just having some fucking fun.” His anger morphed his voice, and I could really hear Robert then.
I blinked, relieved his attention wasn’t on me anymore.
“Put your fucking clothes on,” she snapped. “I can’t fucking believe you. You said you were going to do this for Robert, and yet you’re doing this sick shit! I would’ve never—”
My eyes snapped up to meet hers as she cut herself off. I couldn’t keep my mask on any longer, not after seeing pain in her eyes. Then, it hit me.
She wasn’t with Brandon.
No, my dead husband meant something to her.
I looked away from them, bending my head as nightmares melded with my memories…
Three Years Ago. St. Louis, MO.
“Yeah,” Robert laughed from inside his home office. “I’ll be there later, I promise.”
I put a hand to my chest as I shook my head in confusion.
Where was he going later?
We were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary tonight. I looked down at the dark red dress he’d picked out for me last month, brushing my hands down the soft silk as I heard another laugh come from him. He said something low, too low for me to hear.
I pressed my ear to the door, my heart skipping a beat. My stomach rumbled then, a low, pleading sound coming from it. I pressed my hand against my abdomen, praying the pain would fade soon. It usually always did around this time, and by dinner time, I wouldn’t be hungry. Robert was always happier when I didn’t eat as much. On the nights I let my hunger get the best of me, eating a little more than half my plate, he would always have something to say. Then, the next morning, my trainer at the gym would work me twice as hard.
I needed to do better, truly I did. There was no reason for me to be the weight I am right now. I’d been keeping it a secret from Robert all week, having gained two pounds randomly. I didn’t know where it came from, but I was frightened.
If Robert found out, he would go to my father, and I would be scolded again. However, there wouldn’t be any fixing it this time. Robert would leave me, just like he threatened to do six months ago when he caught me having a small muffin from a coffee shop.
I couldn’t lose my husband. We were a united front, after all. We had an image to protect, and it meant everything to my father, who was running for his second term as mayor. My marriage to Robert was the greatest gift my father had given me, and like he always said, I needed to learn to be grateful, so I was doing just that.
“Alright, I’ll talk to you soon,” Robert said on the other side of the door, jolting me from my thoughts.
I jumped slightly, straightening myself and double-checking my outfit. My hair was swooped back off my neck, my curls tucked in and out of sight, just like Robert preferred. I was excited to see his reaction, hoping it would be a pleasant one.
I needed tonight to go perfectly.
Tonight was the night Robert was going to make love to me and stay inside me—the entire time. For the duration of our relationship, he’d always worn a condom and pulled out. He told me once that having a child would be foolish for us to do right now because we were too young. That was years ago, when we were dating. Now, we were well into our marriage, and I believed I was ready for a child.
I was ready to finally have a family—with the man I loved.
I plastered my best smile on my face, raised my fist, and lightly knocked on the door. “Robert?” I called.
“What is it, Carrie?” he asked, sounding like I was bothering him.
I bit my bottom lip, deciding whether I should continue bothering him. Whoever was on the phone must’ve pissed him off. I stood there, weighing my options, and before I knew it, the door was being pulled open, revealing the man I loved.
Robert was handsome, always had been, but there were men out in the world who were more so. That thought always lingered in my mind, but I usually pushed it back. I shouldn’t be thinking like that, not about my husband.
He’d given me such a wonderful life thus far.
I didn’t have to work.
We shared a beautiful home, and he bought me the best clothes money could buy.
He loved me and I loved him.
So, I didn’t understand why I was always lying awake at night, wondering what was missing.
“Carrie, I’m busy,” he snapped, pulling his cherry red tie loose.
Busy?
I looked at him, taking in his work clothes and his messy hair. His skin was also flushed and—
Where was his belt?
“Carrie,” he barked, causing me to flinch.
My eyes met his, and all I saw was fury within his dark pools. “We have to leave in thirty minutes,” I reminded him gently.
“What?” he asked, his brows coming together, confusion washing over his features like a cold shower.
A lump formed in my throat.
Could he have forgotten?
Why hasn’t he looked at the dress yet?
I cleared my throat. “O-our anniversary dinner? We have a reservation for seven.” Robert blinked, saying nothing, so I pressed on. “It’s our anniversary, remember? I know you’ve had a lot on your plate, and I under—”
“You expect me to go out with you, for our anniversary dinner, when you look like that?” he asked, spitting out the last word.
Yeah, today wasn’t a good day.
“Robert—”
He stepped out into the hallway, forcing me to take a few steps back. He kept coming until my back was against the wall, his nostrils flaring. “When did you stop trying for me, huh?” He reached down, grabbing my waist, fisting the fabric of the dress.
“Robert,” I begged, my voice shaking now.
He lowered his head, his face just inches from mine. “I can feel your fucking fat rolls back here, Carrie. What kind of man would I be if I went out in public with a wife like this?”
This wasn’t the first time he’d said something like this, but I hoped the last time would have been the final time. Apparently, I was wrong.
I still wasn’t good enough for him.
“Robert, I have been trying,” I assured him, my voice small.
He let out a harsh, taunting laugh as he released my dress and took a step back, stroking his clean-shaven jaw. “Doesn’t look like it,” he bit off, looking away from me.
My bottom lip wobbled, and I took a step toward him—
A sharp pain scattered across my right cheek as the back of his hand connected with it, forcing my head to the side. The sound of his slap vibrated off the walls, and I collapsed, trying and failing to brace my fall. I landed on my side hard, my head slamming into the small table beside me. The vase on top shook, and my eyes shot up to watch it, terrified that it would fall to the floor.
When it didn’t, I looked back to my husband to find him standing over me, his chest heaving. “You’re nothing to me, Carrie.”
I shook my head, lightly touching my throbbing cheek. “You don’t mean that,” I told him, knowing the truth.
He loved me.
I knew it.
He just had a hard time showing it, that was all.
His eyes zeroed in on my cheek. “Put some ice on that before it bruises. We have your father’s charity dinner next week,” he clipped, putting his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway. “I’m going out. Cancel that reservation.”
I lay on the floor of my home, in the dress my husband bought me, watching him walk away. A single tear fell, and I quickly blinked the rest away….
“Who are you?” I asked as the memory of my anniversary faded, focusing on Monica now.
Both she and Brandon looked at me, shocked I actually spoke. I ignored Brandon, only focusing on her. “Answer me,” I demanded, no longer caring.
“You don’t know who I am?” she quipped, the unlit cigarette falling from her lips to the bed.
Before I could stop my words, they bounced off the tip of my tongue. “I wouldn’t have asked if I did,” I deadpanned, my voice hard.
Brandon smiled, showing all his teeth. “I see I didn’t kick that fucking attitude out of you.”
My eyes snapped to him. “What do you want with me?” I demanded.
He moved then, stepping away from Monica, slowly closing the distance between us. Thankfully, he stopped short a few feet from me and pulled on his pants. He clicked his tongue as he tucked himself into his jeans, buttoning them. He looked at Monica and jerked his head to me. “Go ahead and tell her, Mon,” he suggested. “Tell her the truth so we can get this shit over with.”
Monica folded her arms over her chest, pulling her gaze from me to address him. “I thought you gave her enough drugs. You said she would be out until we left Utah.”
Brandon pulled on a t-shirt and shook his head. “No, I said she should be out until then. I don’t know how much to give her. I’ve never worked with that shit.”
They were talking as if I wasn’t in the room, and it was pissing me off. Still, I kept my mouth shut, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth once more. Asking her that was stupid, and despite more memories about my marriage spouting up to the surface, I couldn’t let my emotions get the best of me. I had to bide my time and figure out what they wanted from me.
And like hell was I going to let Brandon drug me again.
Nightwalker was a dangerous and new drug, according to Grayson and his team. I didn’t think my body could handle anymore.
“Whatever,” Monica huffed. “Just give her some more.”
Brandon looked at me, pondering as his eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need to be drugged again. She won’t be able to give me what I want if she’s out of it.”
“And what’s that?” I asked.
So much for shutting up, Carrie.
“What was promised to me, Carrie. That’s what I want.”
I opened my mouth, but Monica cut me off. “We can’t do this here. You said we would be in a secluded location, not in a fucking motel room, Brandon.”
He pursed his lips again and nodded. “You’re right. We can’t.”
In a flash, he was in front of me, grabbing the top of my head as he grinned. “We’ll talk soon,” he promised as his fist came flying to my face.
All I felt was a twinge of pain, and then everything went black.