Chapter Fifty-Four
Emily
“Time’s up,” he gloats, with sick superiority and a bit of drool dribbling from his mouth. His words slur a little, and it doesn’t surprise me he’s somewhat drunk. Jay hates me, regularly fantasizes about killing me, but in doing the actual deed, I’m not shocked he needs a little liquid encouragement. “Your deadline has come and gone. No paper, no degree. You are officially a failure in a brand new way. You failed as my girlfriend, you failed as Hunter’s girlfriend, you failed as a fucking babysitter, and now, you’ve failed as a student. Looks like everyone is going to finally see you as the waste of life you are.”
I look up at the ceiling of my concrete cell. There’s nothing up there except the security camera that I know Jay has set up just so he can record my death and watch it over and over, probably while masturbating, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the hurt that goes through me as I realize that he’s right — I have failed, and in so many ways.
“You won,” I say, my voice a weak, broken thing.
“I have. But you’re not getting off so easy,” Jay says. He sets a bottle of water onto the floor, and a few plain pieces of bread beside it. My stomach rumbles audibly at the sight of bread. I haven’t had a thing to eat since he took me, and that’s been a long time. All I’ve had is the occasional bottle of water, and the only thing I’ve had to use as a bathroom has been the drain in the floor. “Sounds like someone’s hungry. You want this bread?”
I don’t answer. I won’t give him the satisfaction of hearing just how hungry I really am.
“You know you do. I can see it in your face. Oh, you’re just aching to put this bread in your mouth, aren’t you?” Jay chuckles darkly, then reaches from his belt. It comes off with the slick sound of gliding leather. “But if you want to eat, you’re going to have to work for it.”
I shake my head.
It’s not enough of a ‘no’ for him. Jay reaches down and grabs one piece of bread and holds it in front of my face. I can smell it. It’s the most bland, store-bought, crappy bread in the world, yet I can smell the baked, floury, mouth-watering deliciousness. And, fight it as I might, I salivate.
“You can’t hide it from me, Emily. You want this. Well, before you can eat, you’re going to have to do something for me. So take off your clothes and get against the wall. I want to see that dirty little bitch I remember fucking.”
“Go to hell,” I whisper.
“What’s that, slut?”
“Go to hell,” I scream with every ounce of strength remaining to me.
Jay laughs and crushes the bread beneath his heel. Silently, I whimper.
“I knew you’d still have a little fight in you. Oh, I love it. It just means we get to have fun a little longer. Isn’t that great, babe?” He laughs and then strikes me with his belt, hard across the face. I whimper, not-so-silently this time. He lowers his face right next to mine. “Keep fighting. I love it. Love to watch you struggle. Eventually, you’re going to break, and I’m going to fucking enjoy it.”
* * * * *
Some time passes.
I drink the water; I piss through the drain; I ignore the bread. I refuse to debase myself like that for Jay. People can live a long time on just water — though I won’t be living much longer, no matter how much water I get .
I have no idea how long I’m kept prisoner, only that Jay visits me twice, and each time he’s wearing different clothes.
Each time, he offers me bread and the same deal, and I turn him down.
Each time, he gloats and tells me that Officer Abrams has been monitoring the situation and no one’s filed a missing person’s report for me.
I’m alone. Unwanted. Unnoticed. And about to be un-alived.
The third time Jay opens the door, he’s carrying the same bread and water as before, but something new this time, too — there’s the handle of a knife poking out of his pocket.
He enters, grinning. “Let’s see how hungry you are this time. One last chance to get a taste of something good before it’s all over.”
“You mean?”
“This is your chance to get a good fuck before you die, Emily.”
“If that’s so, then why are you here?”
He snarls and reaches for his belt. “Maybe I’ll give it to you, anyway. I was trying to be nice, but if you fucking want me to rape you, I’ll fucking rape you.”
As his hands clasp on his belt, I lash out. In the time that I dated Jay, I learned he had a weak point: his dick. It’s not unique to him, but when I strike him there with a desperate kick, he crumples to the urine-covered cement floor.
The moment he drops, I run.
Run through the open door behind him.
I bolt through the open door, my heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it might burst. I find myself in a grimy basement, dimly lit by a single, flickering light bulb. My eyes dart around, landing on a dark set of stairs at the far end. It’s my only option. With a guttural cry, I sprint towards them.
The stairs creak under me as I race up, my hands skimming the rough wooden banister. Each step feels like it might give way beneath me, sending me crashing back down into his waiting arms. The air is thick with mildew and fear as I climb, each breath like shards of glass in my lungs.
At the top of the stairs, I shove open the door and stumble into Jay’s living room. It’s painfully familiar — like stepping into a nightmare that used to be my reality. The worn couch, the dented coffee table, even the faded posters on the wall — they all scream the same thing: Jay had been planning this for a long time.
My stomach turns to ice when I see Officer Abrams sitting on the couch, beer in hand, looking far too comfortable. His eyes widen in surprise but quickly narrow in anger.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he snarls, setting his beer down and rising to his feet.
For a split second, I’m frozen with fear. Then instinct kicks in and I dart towards the front door. But Abrams is fast — faster than Jay ever was. He grabs me from behind just as my fingers graze the doorknob.
“No! Let me go!” I scream, thrashing wildly.
Snarling, he strikes me so hard I see stars.
But I don’t break. I strike back, punch him the way Hunter taught me — a right hand that snaps his head back and a cross that sends spit flying.
“You bitch,” he growls. He staggers, spits blood, then attacks.
His weight slams into me, sending us both crashing to the ground. I claw at his face, my nails digging into his skin, drawing blood. He roars in pain but doesn’t let go. We roll across the floor, a tangle of limbs and desperation.
I get a knee up between us and shove with all my might. For a moment, I break free. I scramble to my feet, panting and dizzy from the blows and adrenaline. My eyes dart around the room for anything I can use as a weapon.
Before I can grab anything, he’s back on his feet, charging at me like a bull. I dive to the side, narrowly avoiding his grasp. He crashes into the coffee table, shattering it to pieces.
“Stay down!” he barks, spitting blood.
My hand closes around a shard of broken wood from the table as he lunges again. With every ounce of strength left in me, I drive it towards him. It punctures his side, and he howls in pain while blood spurts and soaks my fingers.
But he doesn’t stop.
He punches me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I collapse to my knees, gasping for breath. He kicks me in the ribs, and I curl up in agony.
“You stupid bitch,” he growls. “You think you can get away?”
Through the haze of pain, I hear another sound — Jay’s grunting from downstairs as he recovers and starts up the stairs. They’re both about to finish what they started.
“No,” I whisper through clenched teeth.
As Abrams locks his hands in my hair, yanking my head back while I moan in pain, I look to the basement doorway to see Jay emerge, holding his knife and a smile on his face. He approaches slowly, savoring my helplessness. "You really thought you could escape?" Jay laughs, twirling the knife between his fingers.
Abrams tightens his grip on my hair, forcing me to kneel as he towers over me.
Jay crouches down to my level, his eyes cold and predatory. "This didn't have to be so difficult, Emily. But then, I don’t know why I’m surprised. You always were a bitch who liked to make shit difficult." He raises the knife to my throat, pressing just enough to draw a thin line of blood. My entire body tenses, every nerve screams in terror and defiance.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
Jay freezes, and he and Abrams trade a look.
Maggie’s voice rings through the wood, as if the inches of timber aren’t an impediment to her command. “Open up. I know you have Emily. I’m here for her. Be reasonable and this can still end OK for you. You won’t get another chance.”
There’s a moment of silence, in which Jay removes the knife from my throat and stands as if to approach the door.
But after that tick of quiet, there’s another knock and another voice. Sophie’s.
“That was your one chance, motherfucker. Fuck this patience and kindness bullshit. Do your thing, Hunter.“
The front door erupts.
Then the back door, too.
Through the front, I see Hunter charge in, gun ready, and behind him, I glimpse Maggie, Harper, and Sophie, standing a safe distance away. Several other bikers follow Hunter through the front door. Through the back door come a few other armed bikers as well, all wearing the Twisted Devils MC patches.
Jay screams something and lunges at me, the knife blade glinting with menace.
A thunderous crack cuts the air. One solitary shot that erupts from Hunter’s gone and pierces Jay’s left temple, then explodes out of his right eye socket, spilling blood, brain matter, and shredded gelatin from his ruptured eyeball. He crumples immediately.
As does Officer Abrams, who hits his knees and raises his hands, a placating mewling shriek babbling from his mouth.
"Don't shoot, don't shoot!" Abrams stammers, his eyes wide with terror. He's a far cry from the menacing figure who had just been towering over me moments ago.
Hunter keeps his gun trained on Abrams, while two other bikers rush to my side. Maggie is there in an instant, her hands gently touching my bruised face. "You're safe now, Emily. We’ve got you."
Sophie steps forward, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. "Get him up," she orders two of the bikers, who roughly haul Abrams to his feet.
Abrams trembles, looking more like a cornered animal than a powerful officer of the law.
"I was just following Jay's lead," he blubbers.
"Shut up," Harper snaps. "We don't want your excuses."
Hunter steps closer to Abrams, his gun never wavering. His voice is deadly cold. "You think you can mess with our family and get away with it?"
Abrams whimpers, falling to his knees again as if begging for mercy. "Please don't kill me."
Hunter lowers his gun slightly but keeps his eyes locked on Abrams.
“We don’t need to kill you,” he says ominously. “But we will make sure you regret ever laying a hand on Emily.” His eyes turn to me, and for a moment, beneath the vengeance, I see a flash of something close to love and compassion that makes my heart leap in my chest. “Are you OK?”
I nod. “I am.”
“They kept you prisoner here somewhere, didn’t they?”
“There’s a secret room in the basement. The door is hidden behind a shelf.”
Hunter grunts and nods. “This is your decision, Emily. If you want to let him go, or have me shoot him here on the spot, whatever you want, we’ll do it. But I’m inclined to think that the punishment should fit the crime.”
I nod. “We lock him up, leave him there. And who knows, maybe someone will miss this sicko enough that they’ll find him before thirst and starvation take him.”
“Please, no. Please. I’m a cop. You can’t kill a cop,” Officer Abrams begs.
Hunter strikes him across the face. “You signed your fucking death warrant the second you touched her.” With a gesture, Hunter signals to two of the bikers, who drag Abrams away. Then Hunter approaches me. His face is unreadable — a mix of fury, vengeance, and love — and he extends his hand. “You and I need to take a ride.”