Chapter 55
The mattress shifts, attempting to pull me from a blissful slumber. Every inch of my body is deliciously tender from Rip’s passionate touch, and I feel it any which way I move. “Did you come back to say goodbye?” I murmur, wondering if he’s as obsessed with me as I’m becoming with him.
There’s a gruff mumble of a response as hands pull away the sheet, and a hot, naked body climbs atop the back of my thighs.
“Better make this quick, you don’t want to miss your flight,” I say, content to reside in that half-awake half-asleep state where everything is dreamy.
His cock presses between my thighs, and I arch into the feeling, allowing him more access. He slowly descends into me, relishing in the feeling, letting loose a quiet masculine groan.
I’m swollen, sore, and so fucking wet for him it’s pathetic.
“Oh, fuck, Rip,” I garble into the pillow beneath my cheek.
His fingers weave into my hair, coiling tight, pulling me up. He pins me there, impaled on his cock, forcing my back to arch almost painfully. “What did you just say?”
“Ripley, you feel so good. Fuck me, please, this is torturous.”
The hand in my hair yanks my head back farther, before slamming it into the solid wooden headboard. Pain explodes above my eye, dazing my already sleepy brain.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Rosie?” the man behind me snarls, fucking me harder. My ears are ringing, agony throbbing through the right side of my face. But it’s then I realize that Ripley isn’t the one in my room.
It’s Sam.
He snaps his hips, plowing into me with unrestrained rage, and I don’t know how to deescalate the situation.
“Do you fucking like him now, Rosie?” Sam’s hand shoves my head into the pillow, cutting off my air supply.
“What about me? What about our plans? All I’m doing for you—us.
” He pulls me back, and I gasp for air. Leaning down, he growls into my ear, rutting into me with every pent up emotion he has.
“Sticking my neck out on the chopping block, trying to figure out how to save you before Mr. Rich-fucking-business-man whisks you away to fuck knows where.”
“I’m s-sorry, S-sam.” His savagery causes my stammering, and any drop of arousal I had dries up. “I just assumed it was him. You haven’t been back to see me.”
Roughly he flips me over, slamming back into me as he pins my wrists beneath one of his hands. “I was trying…” he huffs, attempting to rein in his anger, “to not raise suspicion.”
He pulls out, stroking himself as his release shoots across my stomach. “Then why are you here? Is it time to go?” Trepidation mounts as I wait for his answer. Am I ready to run? To risk my life at escape? What about Chelsea? Did he secure a spot in his plan for her too?
Hanging his head, Sam tries to catch his breath. “No. I couldn’t stay away any longer. It’s killing me, not being with you.”
Feeling’s not mutual, asshole.
Something akin to relief unwinds my anxiety, and that worries me more than a suicidal attempt at escape.
I’m too attached to Ripley and all he’s offering me once I’m out of here.
It wasn’t that long ago that I thought my chemistry with Sam was amazing, and I was picturing a life on the water with him.
Which makes me truly realize how fucking naive I am. Ripley was right.
I risk opening my eyes once Sam rises from the bed.
My vision is blurry, but he’s standing there, looking down at me.
He’s waiting for me to return his feelings, and like every time before this one, I appease an abuser.
“I know, I wish I could see you more too.” I fake a smile, the pulling of my muscles intensifying the throb in my cheek.
“I wish I believed you,” he says, hand reaching out to grab my throat. “I’m sorry, Rosie. But I can’t have you screaming anyone’s name but mine.”
“What the f—”
Through my foggy vision a needle appears, plunging into my neck with a sharp prick.
Sam’s distorted smile is the last thing I see before darkness crashes in like a tidal wave.
I awaken to a soft humming, the sound floating through my soft pink-lit room.
The tune is recognizable, though I can’t place it.
Turning my head, I follow the sound. Sam sits in the plush black chair.
It’s been moved from its original position, now pushed against the bed.
Sam’s got his feet propped up on the mattress, head tilted back, eyes closed, with a content look on his face.
Everything is fuzzy, my body numb. I try to speak but nothing comes out. Whatever Sam injected me with is still trying to keep me down. Rolling over, I attempt to sit up.
My sluggish body works against me, but eventually I get into a sitting position with my feet planted on the floor.
“I wouldn’t get up just yet.” His voice comes from behind me, and I know he’s right. I can barely feel anything, and don’t know how reliable my body would be if I tried to walk.
It seems I’ve been redressed. As I observe the white t-shirt covering me, drops of red splat onto the fabric. He must have busted open my forehead when he smashed it into the bed. I touch the swollen area, fingers coming away flecked in blood. I grunt, tongue heavy and dry.
Sam rounds in front of me, an excited glint in his eye. “Don’t try to speak,” he says, “it will only make it worse.”
It’s déjà vu. Trying to speak but nothing comes out. An uncomfortable pulling sensation keeping my lips together.
“What did I just say, Rosie? Or should I call you flower? I’ve seen the way your face heats when he calls you that.”
Fuck.
He’s been watching my encounters with Ripley. Does he watch me when I’m alone too? What about when Brad shows up unannounced?
I shake my head. The nickname sounds wrong coming from Sam.
“That’s better.” He extends his hand, and I slide mine into it. What other choice do I have? “You prefer being my Rosie, don’t you?”
I nod, murmuring an agreeing reply.
Sam leads me slowly across the room toward the reflective piece of acrylic attempting to pass as a mirror.
My fuzzy vision starts to clear with every step.
Before I can see what’s happened to me, horror ratchets up the beat of my heart as pain starts to leak out from somewhere I don’t remember being injured.
My steps falter as I attempt to stop my advancement. However, Sam revels in my resistance, and drags me along with little effort.
He places me in front of the mirror, but the strength to open my eyes and witness what’s been done to me is nowhere to be found.
“Open up those pretty eyes, baby. See the masterpiece I’ve made of you.”
Slowly, I comply, knowing I have no other choice. This man’s stripped me of so many things since I’ve met him.
My lashes flutter open, wet with the tears I’m forcing myself not to spill. I won’t break for anyone but myself. I’ll only cry for the horror brought upon me.
I sure as fuck won’t cry for someone who enjoys my pain and the power they wield over me.
But when I finally see my reflection, the scream that’s caged in my throat is enough to rip my vocal cords apart.
What…
What did he do to me?
My hands shake as I raise them to my mouth, fingers tracing over the thread stitched through my skin, the x’s that criss cross over my lips.
“Don’t touch, Rosie. You don’t want an infection.”
His fingers brush through my hair, working too gently through the knots.
“I know I promised to get you out,” he says, sectioning my waves into four parts, “but what if something happens and I never see you again?” He crisscrosses the hair over itself in a pattern, effortlessly weaving the pieces into a braid while I watch through the mirror.
“At least this way, I’ll always know where you’ll be. ”
The fishtail hangs down the centre of my back. He tugs on it when he finishes wrapping the elastic tight, tilting my head back far enough to plant a kiss on my forehead.
Rage and betrayal swirl into a violent storm.
How could he do this to me? Jealousy is one thing, but all of this is on another level.
I whirl on Sam so fast my head spins. Driving my fist into his face with every ounce of strength I have sends him stumbling back.
I take a page from Cynthia’s book, grabbing the lamp off the dresser to my left.
The cord rips free from the outlet, trailing behind me as I advance on Sam, ready to pummel his face until it's unrecognizable.
Despite all my anger, he’s bigger than me. Smarter too…with a wealth of experience subduing women under his belt.
I whip the heavy lamp at him, not watching to see if it hits him or he catches it, and race for the door. The light I’ve come accustomed to seeing isn’t glowing in the dim room, and I pray that means the door is unlocked.
There’s no resistance when I turn the knob, and the door swings open without a sound.
“Rose!” Sam bellows after me, but I’m not stopping. I close the door behind me, slamming my palm down on an illuminated button I hope locks it behind me.
Without waiting for confirmation, I take off as quietly as possible to my left.
My bare feet pad silently down the hallway, the sporadic moaning of happy clients echoing through the charged atmosphere. I hear Sam’s aggressive bangs against the door diminishing in intensity with my every footfall.
If he doesn’t shut up he’s going to get us both caught.
Whatever drugs he gave me are starting to wear off. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep my whimpers of pain silent.
Cautiously, I approach a stairwell. It winds down to the cold marble floor of the main level, where with careful observation, I can make out the guards stationed at the front door.
Brad’s bald head reflects the light from the entrance way, head tipped back, eyes closed. Possibly snoozing on the job.
He’s blocking my escape route, so I’ll have to find another way out of this sprawling complex.
Slowly, I descend the staircase, tucking myself close to the railing and crouching to avoid detection.
“Gotta take a whiz.” The voice comes from the man standing opposite of Brad, who in return nods. The worker I recognize as Rylan, abandons his post, disappearing down a hallway to the right.
Fuck, can I make it past Brad? I just need to get outside. Hopefully, Maximus’s dogs are asleep and I can get over the fence without issue.
Gathering all the courage I possess in this battered body, I move down the final few steps. Relief threatens to rush through me when I touch the marble floors, but I have so much farther to go, not to mention the woods around Bleakcrest to navigate. Any celebration now is premature.
Brad’s oblivious as I creep without a sound across the entryway. Slipping into the shadows around the corner and out of sight, I allow myself a moment to catch my breath and take in the area around me.
Moonlight beams through a window, casting across the floor. Thankfully, I’ll have the cover of night once I make it outside.
Moving to the adjacent room, patio doors lit up by the moon shine like a beacon in the night. Hurriedly, I rush for them, only to collide with something in my haste.
It halts me in my tracks. I look away from the light, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the shadows once more.
“Hello, whore. Fancy meeting you here.”
Richmond.