Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Didn’t I say you were getting too comfortable?”
Regan swore me to silence with a tight grip on my throat. With my windpipe crushed under his palm, I had no choice but to agree.
“The police are still looking for you,” I said, trying my best not to look at him. He was watching me—hard. Dark eyes seemed to bore a hole through me.
He scoffed, the sound churning my stomach.
“Obviously not in the right place. I warned you about what would happen if you told anyone.” I gasped for air.
Wheezing, I tried to take in a breath, only for fire to spread through my lungs.
“But I guess you just couldn’t keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, could you? ”
Regan’s fingers crushed my throat, attempting to force my gaze in his direction.
By some miracle, I fought it. Digging deep down, I found the strength to keep my gaze over his shoulder.
Though I could feel his fingertips bruising my skin, my head didn’t turn.
He finally gave up and shoved me backward against the couch. I coughed, lungs desperate for oxygen.
“If you’re going to do something to me, you can’t do it here. People are going to come looking for me.”
Regan tilted his head. “You’re going to make this real easy for me, aren’t you?”
I yelped, fingers digging into my bicep. Regan yanked me off the couch and threw me into step ahead of him.
“Walk,” he ordered.
I did as he said, leading him to the front door and down the hallway. My phone weighed heavy in my pocket, but I didn’t dare reach for it. If my hands so much as twitched, he would beat me senseless.
In the elevator and through the lobby, I didn’t dare look at anyone. I didn’t scream; I didn’t make a single sound. I knew better.
A quick glance at the front door told me that Regan had carefully timed his attack—Charles wasn’t there. I don’t know why I expected anything less.
Regan kept a hand on the small of my back as we walked, almost as if it was meant to be endearing. It was anything but. Fire burned through his fingertips and singed my skin. After turning the corner, I started not to recognize where I was. We walked until my legs ached.
The longer we walked, the farther the pain spread. It started in my feet, then to my knees, my hips, and traveled up my back. My kidneys throbbed, which made every step excruciating.
Finally, we came to a supermarket parking lot. Wide open, there was less of a chance of getting caught on camera. He led me to an unfamiliar car, opened the passenger door, and all but threw me into the seat. I started to move, but pain jolted through my back and I froze.
“I said get in,” Regan snarled, shoving the spot where his hand met my back.
An involuntary cry pushed past my lips as he shoved one of my most sensitive places.
I knew immediately that I’d fucked up. One person turned their head to look towards us, which was one person too many.
Bracing for impact, I squeezed my eyes shut, but nothing came.
Instead, Regan leaned in as if he were about to kiss me.
“You can scream all you want, sweetheart. Sugar Daddy can't save you this time.”
He gave my face a rough shove, thumb pressing a bruise into my cheek. I didn’t dare pick up my hand to rub it. I didn’t even buckle my seat belt. I only did as I’d been taught, and sat quietly with my hands where he could see them.
My vision blurred as we left New Orleans city limits, but I blinked the tears back. If I cried, it would only make things worse. I’d gotten too soft. I no longer had the protective shell I used to when it came to Regan. He was right: I’d gotten too comfortable.
I had no idea where we were going, and it didn’t seem that Regan did either.
An hour passed on the dashboard clock. Regan had only grown frustrated when he couldn’t find something he liked on the radio and turned it off.
The only sound in the car for most of the ride were the tires on the asphalt.
I shifted every now and then because of my back, trying to keep it subtle so he didn’t notice.
It didn’t work.
Regan gave me a hard shove in my shoulder, slamming me into the door. “Stay still! You’re distracting me.”
Stabbing shot up my side, taking my breath away. I bit my lip to keep the tears in my eyes from flowing down my cheeks. Much to the protest of my back, I didn’t move a muscle for the rest of the car ride. By the time we exited the highway, I didn’t think I could move at all.
I was wrong in thinking that Regan was acting on impulse—so wrong. As he turned onto a hidden back road, I realized that he’d made this drive before, often.
We drove another half an hour, my back protesting the entire way.
The dirt road that led to a run-down house on the edges of civilization nearly killed me.
The place seemed to be falling apart. Shingles hung off the roof.
Windows were cracked and the rickety old porch looked one strong breeze away from collapsing entirely.
The car came to a stop, and I waited patiently for Regan to open my door.
He painfully tugged on my arm until my feet were on the ground.
He didn’t have to hide his intentions anymore—there were only woods for miles around.
I winced, fingers digging into my skin. Forget the fact that I knew better than to run, but he didn’t like to even give me the option.
“Should I untie my shoes?”
Regan turned to me, gaze slowly raking over my body. A chill shot down my spine. Without so much as a nod he said, “Go ahead.”
I crouched to untie my laces, my heart sinking at the twinge in my stomach. The last thing I wanted was to have to ask Regan for the bathroom but the moment I had the thought to ignore it, my kidneys said, “think again.”
Once I saw the state of the carpet inside, I don’t know why I bothered with my shoes. What was once a nice beige or even a pristine white carpet was now darkened due to years of dirt and neglect.
My phone continued to buzz in my pocket, but Regan had yet to notice it.
“Go sit down,” he barked.
“C—” I choked, thinking better of my actions.
Regan rolled his eyes at me. “Spit it out.”
“Can I use the bathroom, please?”
Fully expecting to be refused, it shocked the hell out of me when he nodded.
It was brief, so much so that I’d have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention, but it was a nod, and that was all I got.
I knew my rules: find it yourself and don’t lock the door.
Of course, the bathroom looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since Katrina, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
Once I was finished, I risked checking my phone.
I had dozens of missed calls and texts from André and Dylan, but I didn’t have time to respond to any of them.
Regan would come looking for me at any second.
Instead, I shut it off, stashing it in the collapsing cabinet behind crusted-shut cleaning products.
I quickly ran my hands under the murky water that came from the sink. I didn’t need a drink yet, but my stomach lurched at the prospect. Before I could search for something to dry them with, the door swung open.
“Time’s up, baby boy,” Regan snarled. He latched onto a thick fistful of hair, jerking me backward.
My back slammed into the wall. Regan let go of my hair in favor of wrapping his hand around my neck. His heavy palm crushed my airway. Breathing was impossible, much less talking. I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear, which only made him angrier.
“Did you really think you could get away with hiding from me?”
Spit flew from his mouth and sprayed my face. To my horror, he used the leverage on my throat to lift me off the ground. I scrabbled at his hands, writhing in a desperate attempt to free myself. My legs kicked, finding nothing but air as he brought me to eye-level.
“After the way you embarrassed me in that courtroom, did you really think I wouldn’t come looking for you? Only to find you shacking up in New Orleans with some rich-bitch-pretty boy.”
With one hard shove, I crumpled to the floor. My throat burned, chest aching.
Regan stood back and shook his head at me. “You’re so fucking pathetic,” he hissed. “You can’t even stand up.”
I fought to make my legs work.
“Are you fucking deaf? I said stand up!”
His hand gripped the collar of my shirt and hauled me to my feet.
My legs wobbled, unsteady feet struggling to find purchase.
If he were to let go of my collar, I’d have fallen again.
Lucky for me, he liked spitting in my face more than he liked seeing me on the floor.
Well, in that moment he did, at least. My eyes grew heavy, unconsciousness blurring the edges of my vision
That was when he threw the first blow. My jaw cracked beneath his fist, my neck twinging as my head whipped to the side. Blood and vomit pooled in my mouth, but he didn’t stop. With each hit, he listed every time he’d found me since we walked out of the courthouse.
He never had the intention to surrender.
He knew that I left with André. When we stopped by the river, Regan was there. As we walked back to the hotel, he trailed behind us.
“You just gave yourself right up to him didn’t you, you little slut?” He swung. My nose cracked. “You’ve always been easy, but God, he must be as dumb as he is pretty.”
The airport, and André’s apartment.
Every lunch date, every cup of coffee—he was there. Those random numbers in that text? Coordinates to the hotel where André’s work event was held.
“It was nice getting to watch your little makeover up close and personal.” Regan grabbed my face, grubby fingers digging bruises into my skin as he forced me to look at him.
“You have no idea how bad I wanted to tear you out of those designer jeans. It took everything in me to stay in that bathroom stall when you left.”