Chapter 8
HALLIE
I slipped the last of my hanging clothes into the wardrobe and shut the door. Turning, I took in the space. My new home. A thrill of excitement swept through me.
This was mine. Lawson had said I could make it completely my own. I’d never change the furniture or anything like that, but I could see where little additions might be nice.
A vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen table. Books on the empty shelves in the living area. Maybe a framed photo or two.
I stared out the massive window at one end of the cabin. Moonlight shone on the ice-covered lake, making it glitter in the dark. Everything was quiet. Still. There were no honking horns or loud sirens to rachet up my anxiety. There was only peace.
God, I hoped this worked out. I wanted it so badly it almost hurt.
Worry gnawed at me. Luke hadn’t come out of his room for dinner. When Lawson sent Drew to tell him the food was ready, Drew had returned, saying that Luke said he wasn’t hungry. I’d seen that tiny muscle beneath Lawson’s eye twitch.
I knew I’d have to win Luke over for Lawson to keep me around. But I also knew I had to stand my ground with the surly teen if I wanted him to respect me. It would be a delicate balance.
A wave of fatigue swept over me as I stared at the starry sky outside.
The day had been a long one, and I hadn’t exactly slept well the night before.
I made quick work of brushing my teeth and washing my face in the tiny but adorable bathroom with its clawfoot tub and antique fixtures.
Then, after changing into pajamas, I slipped into bed.
I sighed with relief. The mattress and linens were a million times more comfortable than the bed at the motel.
No matter how much I’d needed to budget while living with Emerson and Adrian, I’d always splurged on soft sheets.
I told myself it was because I liked being cozy, but deep down, I knew it was more.
Memories pressed in, trying to break free, but I shoved them down. Not now. Not the first night in my new home. I wanted this place to be my haven. Somewhere I felt totally and completely safe. Having the chief of police on the premises definitely wouldn’t hurt in that quest.
I let out a long breath and turned out the lamp on my bedside table. The soft glow of several nightlights illuminated the cabin. Two in the bedroom. One in the living room. One in the kitchen. And one in the bathroom. There wasn’t anywhere where I was in darkness.
Never again.
I shivered against the cold, my teeth chattering as I waited. This was the worst part. The waiting.
I would’ve thought it would be the agony I knew was coming next, but it wasn’t. It was waiting for the pain.
Turning my head, I tried to see under the blindfold, but I never could. He always tied it too tightly. The material was thick, black silk—nothing I could see through.
The fact that he’d chosen such a soft material almost made me laugh. Why care about our comfort when all he wanted was our pain?
No, it was more than that. He wanted our submission.
But I’d heard what’d happened to the other women he’d taken when they gave in. I knew he hurt them in ways that went far beyond the scars that now littered my skin.
A hum began somewhere to my right, and my head jerked in that direction, my body following. My wrists and ankles pulled at the bindings. It had taken me days to identify the tune.
Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash.
Always that song.
The man kept humming as he circled me. I bit the inside of my cheek until the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. Anything to keep the tears away.
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to have this many tears. But they just kept coming.
“Are you ready, Halston?”
I didn’t say a word, but my body shook. Fear and being clad in nothing but a flimsy white sheath would do that.
He chuckled. “I like your fire. That stubborn streak will make your acquiescence that much sweeter.”
His footsteps sounded against the stone as he picked up his circling.
“Say yes, Halston. I’ll honor you as my wife.”
Saliva pooled in my mouth. I’d let him kill me first.
“Say, yes.” Anger slipped into his tone.
I didn’t utter a word. I knew what happened when we said yes. I wouldn’t let him hurt me like that. Not ever.
“Have it your way.”
The humming started again. He jerked at the sheath, hauling it up, and then the knife slashed across my belly.
I couldn’t hold in my scream.
I jerked upright, that same scream caught in my throat. I hauled my legs up to my chest and bit my knee to keep the sound at bay. I hugged my legs with everything I had in me, rocking to steady myself.
Tears filled my eyes and tracked down my cheeks. He always won.
I might have escaped, but he still had me in my dreams. He was still out there somewhere, walking around free. I had to look at every man that passed and wonder if it was him.
I’d never seen his face. Not once. Not even when I escaped.
He’d always worn a mask when he came to get me for our sessions.
Only his dark brown eyes peeked through.
Then he would cover my face with a blindfold.
I wasn’t sure I even truly knew his voice.
It had sounded slightly different during my escape, almost like it was deeper than he’d made it out to be at other times.
I quickly shoved to my feet, struggling to get free of the sheets. They were damp with sweat, and my pajamas were practically soaked.
The tears morphed then. Turning from ones of fear to those of frustration. I yanked the comforter back and carried it to the small couch in the living room. I jerked the top sheet free and then the bottom, before roughly pulling the pillows out of their cases.
Bundling it all up, I stalked toward the stackable washer and dryer next to the bathroom. I shoved everything inside and poured in the soap. Slamming the washer closed, I hit start and stepped back.
I watched as water began to fill the machine and suds started to form. In thirty minutes or so, all evidence of my torment would be cleansed away. I wished it was as easy to do the same for me.
I pressed my palms to my eyes and then ran my fingers through my hair. It, too, was damp with sweat. I needed it all off. Gone.
Slipping into the bathroom, I shucked my pajamas and turned on the water. I set it as hot as I could stand and stepped into the tub-shower combo.
I let the stream of scalding water cascade over me to wash away every remnant of cold and pain. Lifting the shampoo bottle, I filled my palm with soap. My fingers dug into my scalp, cleansing every strand, and then I conditioned it.
Bodywash came next. I scrubbed every inch of my skin as if I could erase the thin scars crisscrossing my flesh. My fingers stilled on the brand.
I stared down at the burn—a permanent mark not even a laser could erase. It was some sort of multi-faceted gemstone. And it had been burned into eight women.
But only one had survived. Me.
I jerked my hand away from the mottled skin and stepped back under the spray. I rinsed the soap from my body and turned off the water. Pulling back the shower curtain, I stepped out of the tub and quickly grabbed two towels. I wrapped one around my hair and dried my body with the other.
Letting out a long exhale, I stared down at the pile of nightclothes on the floor. It felt like just another piece of evidence of my weakness.
I squeezed my eyes closed. “You’re not weak. You’re stronger than anyone knows.”