Chapter 30
CASSIDY
I felt numb as I drove toward my old home, the one I was kept in as a prisoner.
A home I was abused and tormented in, the one I gave birth at as a teenager and cried at my mother’s loss.
The traumas I went through were so difficult to put into words that I still fail to recognize some of them.
I don’t think I will ever be able to discuss all of them.
A complete mix of emotions engulfs me as I pull into the field that wraps around the property like a fortress.
This is the same house that holds such haunting memories.
I want to reverse the truck and hightail it out of here, but I push them away and concentrate on the good memories, the ones I have with my son.
Ones like Noah taking his first steps inside the house and the way we would line his few cars up on the patch of grass my chain would stretch to.
It gives me the strength to follow the overgrown driveway toward the back porch.
The same porch I was chained to while outside, just in case I chose to run while Benjamin turned his back.
Another way he could control us both.
My eyes roam over the boarded-up property, the weather damage surrounding it clear. The paint is peeling off the washboards, and the gutters hang loose with the weight of the weeds growing from them.
It was once so well kept and charming, you’d never have guessed the horrors happening just beyond the entrance.
My breath stutters, sensing his eyes on me.
He’d have clocked my arrival the moment I turned into the field. Always so aware of every move I make and when I make it. It’s as if he’s spent a lifetime calculating my every move.
I place the truck in park and linger on getting out, knowing the moment I do, there will be no turning back.
The clouds above us have darkened. They’re dismal, signaling my mood, and when I finally have the courage to lift my head, we lock eyes.
His shoulders are broader, and I’m guessing he’s spent his time in prison bulking up, making him even stronger than before.
My shoulders sag, knowing his fists are going to hurt so much more.
He wears the orange jumpsuit I imagine is standard in prison.
His hair is longer than I’ve ever known it be, but it does nothing to hide the seething glare radiating from him.
Maybe if I’m nice to him and accommodating, he will go easier on me? Maybe he’s missed me so much he will just be happy I’m back?
His biceps flex as he leans against the doorframe, and the familiar feeling of fear strikes me, bringing my thoughts to a halt. My body quakes, knowing there’s no stopping what’s about to transpire. He’s going to make it hurt so much more than before.
As if sensing my dread, his lip lifts at the side and a sinister smile spreads over his face, looking more deranged than I remember.
Get out, he mouths, and with shaky hands, I comply.
After years of conditioning, you learn what battles to pick, when to respond, and when to push the boundaries.
You become someone’s toy to play with as they see fit, and all you can do is hold on to the hope that they won’t break you beyond repair.
I push open the truck door and pull my shoulders back, taking a deep breath.
I’m about to step into hell, but I survived it once, and I’ll survive it this time. Not just for Noah, but for Colton too, and more importantly, for me.
The grass is so long it brushes my ankles. I move toward him with trepidation. The only comfort I feel is knowing how much the long grass and rundown property is destroying him inside. How much he hates dirt and dust; how much it twists him up if things don’t look perfect.
The step creaks when I stand on it, and I have an overwhelming urge to turn around and run before it’s too late, run as fast as I can and as far away as possible from here.
A reminder of Stella and her kind eyes flashes in my mind, and her face twists into her screaming at me to help, and the fear behind her eyes forces me to continue on.
My body trembles and my movements are slow, and the moment I’m within reach, he surges forward, delivering me with a swift blow to my face, stunning me.
“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” he screeches, and another fist hits my jaw as he holds me in place by my hair and rains down anger on me. I try to shield his assault with my hands, but it’s useless. He can overpower me with ease. I’m like a rag doll in his control.
The door slams open, and I swear I feel the floor shake beneath his fury as he drags me into the rundown house.
“You’re a filthy little cunt, Hayley!” My birth name on his lips causes me to recoil further. I hate it, everything about it. That’s not me; that name belongs to a lost girl who became someone else. Not the woman standing here today fighting for some form of justice.
I push him with all my might, and to my shock, he stumbles back, releasing me.
His chest heaves and he glares back at me with searing rage and a darkening sneer. I lift my chin, ignoring the warmth seeping down my face and dripping onto the floor, and try to overlook the mess I’m making, knowing how much it will anger him further.
“How did you find me?” I can’t help but ask.
His grin grows wider, becoming sharkish. “I’ve told you before, Hayley, I have friends in high places. All places.”
I flinch, considering who’s involved in his criminal enterprise. Is Noah safe? Will we ever be safe?
Unable to consider who he’s referring to, I change the subject. “You need to let her go,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. “If you don’t, they’ll come after you.”
His lip curls into a vindictive smile. “What makes you think I didn’t kill her already?” Bile burns up my throat. Please, no.
He takes a step toward me, and as always, I can’t help but step back, even though every part of me wants to remain steadfast and strong.
“Like all the others,” he tacks on, and sickness rushes through me.
I shudder at his admission. It’s the first time he’s admitted to killing more than my mother, and the look on his face is more of a gloat than anything else. Pride even?
Jesus, he’s insane, and for the first time in my life, I realize I was lucky. All the torture I endured, I survived, when many haven’t.
I only hope Stella is just as fortunate.
“You need someone to hold over me, to control me. You haven’t killed her,” I say, holding my breath, willing every word of it to be true.
“Not yet.” He’s quick to reply, and I know I need to do everything I can to get her out of here before he does just that. He has what he wants now; there’s truly no reason to keep her alive.
“Let her go, and I promise you I won’t try to run. You can have whatever you want from me; I’ll stay here forever.”
He tilts his head from side to side, analyzing me, and I feel it down to my very core. He’s searching for a lie, digging deep into my soul, turning me inside out. He always did have a way of discovering my truth, however much I tried to hide it.
“Where’s my son?” he asks, and I want to scream at him that Noah isn’t his, that Killa is a far better father than he could ever be.
That my son loves Killa and the devotion he shows him.
Killa is his father. Noah might not be Killa’s blood, but he treats him far better than his biological father ever did.
He’s shown my son so much love and patience.
I know the man he’s capable of being, and he’s a far cry from the monster standing before me now.
“He’s safe.” I’m hoping my words don’t anger him, but it’s clear they do. Snapping his arm out, he grips me by my throat, and I wait for the familiar stars to dance in front of my eyes. Not from pleasure, but from the desperation to live while silently wishing for the death that never comes.
“I could kill you,” he growls.
“Then why don’t you?” I pant out through the little air he allows me.
“Because loving you is far more stimulating.”
I flinch at his vile words, and glee shines in his eyes. When he presses his hard cock against me, I fight the overwhelming urge to vomit and concentrate on steadying my breathing in a bid to remain calm.
He enjoys my terror, he always has.
He releases me, and I rub at my throat and gasp for air while his sadistic laugh fills the room like a cruel torment.
Slowly, I cast my eyes around the kitchen.
The table and chairs we would sit around and watch Benjamin eat his meals at are still in the same position as they always have been.
The only thing different is the tag on the chair that I imagine a crime scene investigator used when they processed the house.
The metal rings on each arm of the chair are still firmly in place, used to tie me in place. Another form of punishment when I became desperate for food while he ate. An evil tactic he would love for Noah and me to endure, and watching my son cry through hunger was the worst part of it all.
A thick layer of dust coats the kitchen surface, cobwebs hang from the ceiling, and I know this is killing him inside, since he’s always such a stickler for cleanliness. He hates any form of a mess almost as much as he despises Noah and the love I shower him with.
The open fire that heats the room does little to melt the icy sensation slithering through my blood, and for a split second, the hook hanging above it has me second-guessing everything.
That hook is the same one he used to hang Dinky—the little stray cat Noah and I cared for—and the canister of gasoline is the same one he used to ignite Dinky while he screeched in agony.
Over the years, my therapists have suggested I return here to help me with my nightmares, to help me cope. I always thought I would struggle to come back to the house of horrors, but as I stand here today, I feel a sense of peace with the decision I’ve made.
I guess when you’ve become so accustomed to the abuse and torment, you find comfort in the familiarity of it, and deep in my heart, I knew this day would come.
I knew he would never let me go. Only this time, I have the strength to endure it; this time, I know Noah is safe and Benjamin finally has no true hold on me.
I just need to get Stella out of here, and fast, because he has what he wants, which means her life means nothing to him.