Chapter 5
Grace
A million thoughts battle for my attention all at once.
He kidnapped me. He tied me to a bed, naked.
He burned me with a boiling hot teapot!
He’s a psychopath.
He wants to hurt me.
He might kill me.
Panic blossoms in the depth of my chest, and this time, I allow it to settle. If he really is as dangerous as it seems, I need to be as alert as I can possibly be. I reckon this will become easier with time, because I don’t have access to the medication they used to keep me under control—or “stable” as they called it—at the ward. However, I might run into other problems once the effect wears off. The pills may have made me drowsy and falsely at ease, but I can’t deny that they silenced some of the more disturbing voices inside my head. However, as destructive and aggressive as those voices are, they might be of benefit to me when it comes to dealing with this man.
His hand is still on my cheek, warm and oddly reassuring. I want to lean into it and receive the comfort I so desperately seek, lured to believe that he could actually provide me with such. It’s a trick, a part of the mind game he’s playing with me, I’m sure.
Because he’s a psychopath, no matter how handsome he looks or how much I love his scent. He smells of wood and warmth, a subtle hint of fire adding to his allure. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he smells like home, a safe haven full of solace and shelter. Just that he’s anything but those things.
I make sure to hide my disappointment when he retreats and I’m left without his soothing touch.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask to fill the void he left. “I am yours?”
“Exactly what I said,” he replies, as a dark smile plays at the corner of his mouth.
“And who decided that?”
“I did.”
I frown at him, but he appears to be unfazed.
“Why?” I want to know.
“Because it’s for your best.”
I don’t know what to make of that. Is he saying this, because he is in fact a psychopath who bends reality so it fits his own narrative, or is he working on behalf of the ward after all? Are they testing a new, radical therapy on me?
A therapy that involves leaving singes on my skin?
“I saw you at the ward,” I let him know. “Are you working for them?”
He shakes his head. “No. I was visiting.”
He doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that I saw him, nor does he deny his presence at the ward. This confuses me even more.
“Visiting who?” I implore.
“You,” he responds in a matter-of-fact voice.
I release a helpless chuckle to hide the fact that his words leave me flattered and cajoled. He’s lying, obviously. He must be.
“That’s bullshit. We don’t even know each other,” I point out. “Why should I believe you?”
He frowns at me, and for a moment I worry that he might punish me with another painful infliction like he did before. But, fortunately, he refrains this time.
“I’m not a liar,” he insists, not very convincingly. “That’s why you should believe me.”
He may claim otherwise, but I know he’s not telling me the full truth.
Unless this has something to do with my brothers? Did they piss off the wrong guys and finally cause the disaster my family has been so afraid of all my life? Ever since birth I was their weak little nestling, poor, fragile Gracy, in need of protection from everything and everyone. They were scared to death that I would get caught up in their criminal activities one day, keeping me sheltered and protected from the life they chose.
Their worry essentially led to me being locked up at that ward, so there’s a sweet taste of irony to the fact that I was kidnapped now of all times.
But this man doesn’t look like a criminal or a mobster. He bears no resemblance to the characters I saw around my brothers.
Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some kind of issue with my brothers and is trying to use me as bait.
Either way, I decide that it’s probably best not to mention my family. Rather than providing him with information about myself, I should ask questions to gather as much as possible about him.
“Are you going to rape me?” I blurt out, unable to come up with a more eloquent question.
He jolts back as if I’d just hit him, a deep frown on his face when he reprimands me: “What an ugly word.”
The fact that he didn’t say ‘No’ gives me enough reason to worry.
“Why am I naked then?” I probe further.
“Because, as you may remember, your clothes were soaked when I found you,” he answers. “Besides, you’re not allowed to hide anything from me.”
“Found me?” I repeat. “You just said you came to the ward to visit me. You followed me. You didn’t find me, you kidnapped me!”
“Touché,” he says, chuckling.
He’s smiling when we lock eyes this time, and as much as I hate to show any sign of weakness, I’m unable to maintain eye contact with him for too long. I turn away, shifting my focus to the tea mug in my hand as I bring it up to my lips again. He will never hear me say it, but this is the best tea I’ve ever had in my life. It’s sweet, but not too much, spicy and fiery as it travels down my throat, leaving an invigorating sting before comforting warmth blossoms throughout my core.
I can feel his eyes on me, but don’t dare to meet that misleading smile again. He’s deceivingly beautiful, but a monster. Just like that guy back in the 80s. What did they call him? The nightstalker? A tall, dark-haired Adonis who wreaked havoc across an entire city for months. But he killed his victims right away, as far as I know. It was all about the act of killing for him, not captivity, not torture.
This guy is different. I am his victim, but I am not dead.
Yet.
He may still want to get rid of me once he’s done with whatever plan he has for me, but he didn’t kidnap me for the pure joy of killing. No, he’s doing this for something else. But what?
“You obviously enjoy hurting me,” I say without looking at him.
“And you enjoy getting hurt.”
His response provokes me to look back at him. I find the same, oddly warm smile on his face, as he surveys my body. The smile widens when his eyes rest on the red mark on my belly, and remains fixed when he finds the scars on my upper thighs. I shake my head when he lifts his gaze to meet mine, feigning disagreement even though I know he’s not wrong.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.
“Whatever I want.”
I huff. “That’s not very specific.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I do the same, which only makes him laugh.
“Don’t get cocky with me, little girl,” he reprimands me. “You might regret it.”
“I’m not being cocky, you’re being vague,” I let him know. “You took me-”
“Saved you, actually,” he corrects, arching his eyebrows a little higher than before. “You’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for me.”
“You don’t know that!” I argue. “I have done this plenty of times before, I know how to...”
I bite my lip to stop myself from revealing any more to him. He doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know anything about me. The less he knows and the more I know, the better my chances to get out of here alive.
“You can thank me later,” he says. “But you’re right. We should get started.”
“Get started with what?”
A sinister smile spreads across his face.
“Your training,” he says. “Let’s start with some ground rules. And you better listen carefully, if you hate punishment as much as you claim.