Chapter 12
EMME
I could hear if not see and the bump on landing was unmistakable.
The rotors wound down to a whine. With the chopper ride over, Mr. Scott helped me out and led me to whatever vehicle awaited us.
The tension inside abated, but not enough.
That tightening screw of doubt remained, teasing at my insides.
From the voices, I could tell Axl was driving. Scott sat beside me.
The cat mask and the goggles were taken off. The flare of oncoming headlights made me blink. They asked me nothing, and I judged it wiser to stay mute.
Cautiously, I observed the interior of the car as the mittens were unbuckled and removed.
The tiny holes in the goggles had allowed me to see a blurred, restricted view of everything tonight.
Mittened up, plugged, displayed to a crowd, I had heard their leering taunts.
Yet nothing else had happened to me, and I’d had plenty of opportunities to listen to the conversations going on around me.
Apart from that Wolfman assaulting me, I was fine, if shaken. Asshole, Mr. Scott had called him. I thoroughly agreed.
Most of what had gone on back there was not right or moral, and surely it wasn’t legal?
And when Wolfman tried to drag me away with a noose about my neck, the realization hit me that my life had been in danger. I touched the bruise and swallowed. I had found my limits, tonight.
That dark arousal, that amazing buzz I derived from CNC that Mr. Scott seemed to easily conjure, that I wanted. Not this. Mr. Scott might not be the Dom that Charity arranged, and yet he’d mindfucked me into being turned on when I shouldn’t be.
Axl, though, he seemed more prone to doing the unforgiveable.
What were they going to do with me? Really do with me? None of this pretend bullshit.
After a long stretch down a narrow country road, the car slowed and pulled into a driveway. The headlights bloomed across the pale front of a house I couldn’t recognize, then we drove inside a triple garage. The two vehicles in here had their license plates concealed by car covers.
From the conversation between the men, as I slid from the seat and out, this was Mr. Scott’s home, where many dubious things had been done to me. Illegal things. What if they shackled me to a basement wall and never let me out?
I hugged myself while he leaned in the driver’s window saying some last words to Axl. The chain leash casually connected me to Scott’s hand where he rested it on the car.
It seemed Axl was a real name. It slipped off Mr. Scott’s tongue too easily.
They were close friends, and the invitation to the party tonight had come from Axl.
“See you tomorrow!” Mr. Scott waved as Axl backed out and drove off, the engine thundering threats, like a storm on the horizon.
He swept onto a road some half a mile away, I guessed.
On the horizon, a small house lay in silhouette.
We were in the middle of nowhere. This place would be difficult to escape from.
Mr. Scott did not turn, yet he dropped the leash and left the chain trailing from my collar to the floor. Not that I could run. I hugged myself as I began to tremble. My skin-hugging suit wasn’t thick enough, not with the cold wind pushing in through the opening from that stark, spare landscape.
Idly, I kept looking.
If I ran, I would have to reach those trees.
It was dark and freezing. Memories returned to me, uninvited.
The woman I saw, her eyes were sewn shut. I shivered.
What Axl had threatened me with, in my presence, that was awful. I knew mindfucks and was sure that was not one. He had meant it.
I’d loved this at first, but now?
Now I was trembling and my skin was ice. My teeth ground against one another.
The car lights had vanished, and all we had to see by were lights shining from above the front of the garage, pooling on the driveway and reflecting back. When Mr. Scott turned, his face was dark, unreadable, and he stood looking toward me for what seemed ages.
“I’m taking you home.” Then walked to the rear of the car and popped the trunk. “In.”
Terrified I was about to be murdered and dumped, I froze, gulped down a lump in my throat. “Say it. I dare you.”
“Say what?”
“You’re going to kill me. Those…” I jerked my head in a vague direction. “Men. They wouldn’t let you release me. I know too much.”
His sigh was harsh and tapered into what I would call an ironic laugh. “No, I am not killing you. Get in the trunk. I have your address from your phone. I am not killing you.”
What use was struggling? If he wanted to, he would.
“Listen, Emme. I am a despicable deviant cunt of a man with a taste for fucking over girls like you, and fucking them while they cry. However, I don’t kill people. I’ve never even shot a gun.”
“I have,” I muttered, though unsure why. A threat? I laughed at myself. Nice try.
“Good for you. Who the fuck cares. Those people tonight, they creeped me out. Seriously, and that is the best you’ll get from me. Want to go home? Get in.”
I took some small steps, tripped, almost faceplanted. He grabbed my upper arm, laid the back of his hand on my cheek.
“You’re freezing.” His frown was monstrous, looming.
His gaze flicked over me. “No trunk ride for the trip then. I’ll put a blanket over you on the back seat, so you don’t die from hypothermia, because wouldn’t that be a joke.
But first, get in, while I fetch the clothes you came in, the handbag, and whatever else is yours that I should get rid of—”
“Like my phone.” Too tired to protest and remind him he’d torn up my dress and underwear, I let him roll me into the trunk, then he closed it.
Darkness and uncertainty, again. The same as when he took me, what…two days ago? It seemed forever before I heard him return.
Although I was resigned to him doing something awful, he did let me out.
With the garage door closed to keep out the wind, I quickly shucked off the cat-girl costume and dressed in a pair of trackpants, a shirt and jacket, then my old shoes—those were the only pieces of my outfit he had not destroyed.
“Did you f-f-f-forget you shredded everything.” Asshole.
“I did. Sue me. In.” This time he gestured at the back seat. “Get under the blanket. I’ll throw more over you. If you stick your head up to look at signs, I’ll put you in the trunk, so don’t.”
It wasn’t until we were a few miles down the road, turned onto a highway, and were humming along that I dared to say more. I knew it was stupid but could not resist asking him the obvious.
“If you’re letting me go, won’t Axl hate that?”
“I’ll deal with him.” He reached and turned up the heater, making a whole extra wash of hot air sift through into my bones. It didn’t make the ill feeling in my stomach go away, but it was good. Better than dead.
“I guess you’re going to tell me not to say anything? I know you are not the Dom.”
“Have you got a death wish, Emme?”
Maybe it was him using my name more and more that made me feel I could say that. Maybe it was that he seemed appalled by what happened at the party. Maybe I did have a death wish? Wanting CNC was close to that.
“No.” I shifted the blanket he’d thrown over my head and peered out at him, sitting there all big and masculine. Men smelled good when they weren’t overly sweaty.
I narrowed my eyes, thought some. I wanted to know the whys. I had to know.
“Why did you give me these clothes? They do forensics on threads, look for hairs and DNA.”
“You would rather I release you naked?”
I waited, but he said nothing more, and I listened to cars passing us, going the other way. The rock of the vehicle from the wash of their passing was weirdly comforting and reminded me of long car trips with my father when I was a child.
“Axl wants to keep you. That’s the truth. Forever. If you tell what happened, bad things will probably happen to all three of us. You might end up like one of those women at that party. Or maybe I’ll come and grab you again and lock you in my cellar, until the end of time.”
I let the quiet build again. That last bit hadn’t felt much like a threat. The first parts, yes.
After that, the quiet banked up like snow on a rooftop, muffling everything.
It was obvious when we reached the city, from the change of sounds and the lights. When he rolled to a halt, parked then came around and let me out, I was still amazed to see my apartment building across the road. Shocked, in fact.
This was the end of it all?
I took the handbag from him, and I already wore my shoes. The collar, though…I touched it.
Mr. Scott appraised me, a grim smile twitching at his mouth before he came nearer, closing the space. It was quiet and late, and no one else was out walking in my neighborhood. I was grateful for that. When he leaned in and gently moved the spiked collar around my neck, I swear I melted.
A familiar shimmy of lust ran down to my clit, and to my center, and I may have swayed into his touch. His fingers felt nice there, working at the buckle. His breath on me, ditto.
“Done. Your keys are in your bag.” He slipped free the collar, then pulled my head aside and placed a kiss on my neck. “What would you do, sweet, deviant Emme, if I hauled you into that alley and fucked you, now.”
Stunned, I stared back, and surely my eyes were as big as the moon.
He laughed and backed away a step. “Go. Before I do worse to you.”
After clearing my throat and scowling at him to show I wasn’t scared, I set off across the street. The tap of my shoes was a peculiarly vulnerable sound, for I walked away from the devil.
At the glass door, I turned in time to see his black Mercedes slip down the street. His car growled like a well-bred lion, same as he did. Crap. Stop thinking that.
Up in my apartment, I locked the door, thoroughly, verified it was secure, then flaked out on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Inwardly, I did a check of all my systems. Sore ass, sore there, hurting there, yes. Bruises on my neck. Anything permanently horrid? No.
My stomach had bulked up into a queasy knot, one that was currently trying to surge up my throat. I bolted for the bathroom and threw up in the sink, then I threw up some more.
I stared into the mirror, head hanging low, eyes red, wondering if it was safe to lie down again.
“Anyone normal would be phoning the cops by now.” Truth.
What had I done?
Eventually, I washed my face and the sink, and drank, then trudged back to the bedroom where I collapsed and tried to sleep. Instead the crying came. I wept into my pillow until the fucking sun arrived and strafed the room with light. I groaned and sat up.
“Done crying, Emme?” I muttered. I hooked my handbag off the floor with my toes and placed it on the dresser beside the cellphone. He’d said he would mine my phone for data. He knew where I lived. What else did he know. Should I worry?
The sane answer: Yes.
I felt desolate, as if I had lost something, but I was not sure what that something was.
Was it my CNC fantasy that was gone? I’d done it and messed up, ended up terrified, a bit. Not terrified like the good fear could be, either.
I sniffled and reached for a tissue to blow my nose, then ended up burying my face in my hands. I was in shock, or something. This too shall pass.
I should phone the police but knew I wouldn’t. I should phone Charity, but I wasn’t ready for that, either. How much did I want to tell her?
Maybe I should text the guy who had stood me up and indirectly caused this? He’d left me nothing while I was AWOL from my phone. That said, he was either uninterested or the phone lost his calls?
“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” I said softly. Those were his words. Mr. Scott’s.
I should shower. I sniffed the shirt I still wore and found it smelled of him. I pulled it off and for a few seconds stared at the cloth. I was not going to do that—keep it unwashed so I could smell my kidnapper. No. That way lay a trip to an asylum.