Chapter 24
KARA
Juric rose onto his knees on the mattress so I, trapped beneath him, could roll onto my side and gasp for air. But I couldn’t find any. What the fuck did he mean the men came for me?
“I don’t understand,” I said. Was he planning to use me to get to Laurel?
“You will.”
He hauled me up, so we stood on the mattress, his cold, blue eyes clouding with something that looked like anticipation. Then he yanked me across the dirty floor to a tarp and pulled it back to reveal an elegant Mercedes-Benz sedan. “You can ride in the passenger seat or the trunk.”
He opened the door for me like he was a gentleman.
The cautious side of me said this was a trick and I should refuse. The easier option undoubtably wasn’t the right one. But he didn’t want to kill me—at least not yet—and the last ride in the trunk had left me aching.
I knew it was the wrong choice, but I hesitantly moved to take the passenger seat.
He looked pleased. “Put your seatbelt on.”
The plastic handcuffs reminded me of their presence when I did. I wasn’t used to having to do everything with both hands, and it was awkward. As soon as I clicked the buckle, there was a sting in my arm and my gaze snapped to him.
“What was that?” I asked, my panic rising. He’d just stuck me with a needle. Oh, God, what was in that syringe?
“A precaution. The first time I drove with a Hayward, she tried to kill us.”
It took no time for the drug to hit me.
The bag was over my head again, and I sat on a leather seat. It had to be the car, because I could feel the motion and hear the steady roll of tires on pavement.
New handcuffs, these ones metal, stopped me from pulling the bag off my head.
They were tight on my wrists, and the chain rattled against something.
They must have been threaded through the door handle.
Which meant I could throw the door open and try to jump, but only if I wanted to be dragged across the pavement however fast we were going.
“Take the bag off,” I said. “I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not.” Juric called my bluff. “You’ll figure out a way to not throw up in my car.”
I was nauseated, that much was true, from either the drugs or the situation. Most likely a combination of both. I took in a deep breath, clearing some of the fog from my head.
Thoughts returned to me layer by layer. He must have some plan for me, to use me as leverage or revenge. All I could hope was that Jason would take my sister and run as Ethan had said. Hope that they wouldn’t squander this opportunity I’d given them in a foolish attempt to save me.
We’d all end up dead in the process.
I was as good as dead, anyway. There was no point in them dying as well.
But I’d go out fighting. It wasn’t in my nature to give up.
This was what had caused the rift with my sister seven years ago, when our mother decided to give up on her battle with cancer, and Laurel let her.
It came to an ugly head right after the funeral when I was fall-down drunk, a bitter orphan.
Crying didn’t help. It didn’t give me the release I craved.
Instead, I’d unloaded everything on my sister in a blistering speech of hate and anger and lies that had driven the only remaining member of my family away.
“You should know,” I said, the fire in my throat making the words burn, “I have a temper. Consider this your warning.”
“Okay, thanks for the heads-up.”
The car stopped only a minute later. He leaned over me and, even with the bag over my head, I could tell he was much too close. His cold hand closed on my wrist, and I flinched at the contact.
“I’m just undoing the handcuffs.”
My breath quickened at the opportunity, but before I knew it, he’d unlatched one cuff only to redo it when it was free from the door handle. His hands stopped mine as I attempted to pull off the hood.
“I’ll tell you when that can come off.”
His door opened, then shut, and a few seconds later mine opened.
“Wait,” he said as I moved to get out of the car. I didn’t have any shoes on, and the ground was wet and cold beneath my bare feet. His fingers closed around my ankle and put one of my shoes on, followed by the other.
This gesture was deliberately controlling.
“Stand up.”
He grasped my elbow and guided me forward. His skin on mine made me want to scream. The thought crossed my mind to do it, but if he was marching me shackled with a bag over my head, I doubted there was anyone around to hear it. Or anyone who would be willing to help me.
No, I’d bide my time. I could be patient and strike at the right moment, which was not now. The cold air from outside went away, and then a door shut behind me.
His hand was gone from my elbow. “Take, I don’t know, twelve steps forward.”
Instinct took over. “No.”
“I don’t like that word. Twelve steps, now.”
Patience. I followed cautiously, counting in my head until I reached twelve.
“One more,” he ordered, and I obeyed. “Turn right. There’s a doorknob in front of you.” My hands searched and then closed around it. “Go inside and you can take your hood off.”
I did so eagerly, and stepped into the room—
Screaming, I tumbled down carpeted stairs, bumping painfully into a wooden railing, knocking my head on one of the steps, and everything briefly went red.
My body came to rest at the base of the stairs, and for a moment I simply lay there.
Aching and filled with fury. Nothing seemed broken, but everything was bruised.
His voice rang out from above. “I said you could take the hood off.”
I whipped it off to see him standing at the top of the staircase with a smug smile, causing me to spring to my feet and bolt up the steps.
He slammed the door shut in my face, and there was a clunk like he’d dropped a huge bar into place. I pounded my fists against the door, screaming and kicking the metal.
“Let me know when your temper tantrum is over, and we’ll talk,” he said from the other side.
I curled my fingers into tight fists, closed my eyes, and forced myself to stop. You have to be smart. I was expending too much energy, which I sensed I’d need. I turned, clung to the railing, and limped painfully down the stairs.
My new prison was utilitarian. A full-sized bed fit under the stairs. No other furniture. There were no outlets, no lamps, no windows. The only source of light came from a bare bulb in the ceiling. Nothing on the white walls.
There were clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. I sat down beside them then shoved them to the floor. I took my torturous heels off and wanted to cry, to scream . . . I needed release. Better yet, I needed to do something.
There wasn’t a mirror in the bathroom, only a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a shower.
Perhaps I should have been thankful—he could have left me in a cage with a bucket, but that didn’t seem his style.
He’d gone to enormous lengths during the month he’d held my sister captive, pretending he was her loving fiancé.
As far as I could tell, there weren’t any cameras in either room, so . . . at least there was that. But I had the terrible feeling this space was a tool.
When I shuffled out of the bathroom, I jerked to a halt.
Juric waited for me. The clothes I’d pushed on the floor were back on the bed beside him, folded neatly. “These are for you.”
My mouth went dry. “I like what I have on.”
“Hmm, me too, but you can’t stay in that dress forever.” I took a step back when he rose. “It looks like it ripped when you fell.”
Sure enough, the side of the dress by my hip had a shredded hole ripped in it. “You mean when I fell down the stairs you didn’t mention?”
“You said no to me. Don’t do it again.” His cold, merciless gaze drilled into me. “How about from now on we be completely honest with each other?”
Perhaps ignorance was bliss, but I was too confused to consider it. “Are you going to kill me?”
He took a moment. “Not tonight.”
It wasn’t really an answer. “Why not?”
“Are you anxious to die?”
“Of course not. But I won’t let you use me to get to her.”
His face hardened. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”
I let a sneering smile spread across my face. He could try to control me, but he would fail. I was excellent at controlling my mind and body when necessary. There was a thin line between pleasure and pain, so it stood to reason I could stay quiet when he hurt me.
Not if, but when.
His tone was calm, controlled. “Take off your dress.”
“Not a chance.”
He reached into his suit pocket. It wasn’t for the gun, as I had assumed it would be.
“Are you aware,” I said, my gaze fixed on the blade as he flicked it open, “I killed the last man who came at me with a knife?”
I stood my ground when he approached, muting the screams inside that were just below the surface of my cool facade.
“The one in your apartment?” He grinned. “That was you?”
Oh, God. Juric had been the one to get the body from my place?
“He wasn’t actually dead when I got there, but I finished the job. Did that son of a bitch give you this?”
His fingers skimmed the side of my neck where the faint pink line remained, the reminder from the knife ten days ago, and his fingertips on my skin made me lurch away. I’d rather have the knife than his too familiar, intimate touch.
“Why were you at my place?” Tension squeezed my body.
“I wanted to meet you. We’ve a lot in common.”
I was going to throw up. “We have nothing in common.”
He gave me a plain look. “Don’t argue with me. Now, we’ll try this again. Take off your dress.”
“No.”
Whatever pleasantness was on his face vanished. “Was I unclear? You don’t get to say that word.”
“Get used to it.” I didn’t flinch when he set the flat side of the blade on my skin right below where the man had cut me.
Air left me rapidly when he grabbed one of the straps of my dress and cut it, then the other, and the destroyed fabric peeled down my body.