Chapter Five - Elise
CHAPTER FIVE
Elise
There’s no way to tell time: seconds, minutes, hours, days—it’s all a blur of drifting in and out of sleep, eating oatmeal and bread when it’s brought to me, and staring at the wall.
Cuts and bruises cover my arms and legs, visible through my ripped and bloodied clothing.
It’s been days since I woke up in the basement, but the wounds are still sensitive and raw.
My meager meals aren’t enough to energize my body, and I can feel myself growing weaker.
The lack of good hygiene and nutrients has minimized any healing that should’ve taken place by now.
I’m about to drift off to sleep when I hear the faint sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.
My eyes dart to the tray of food, steam faintly rising from the oatmeal, still warm.
If someone is coming to see me, it isn’t a routine visit.
I scramble backward on instinct, getting as far away from the solid metal door as possible, but the effort is in vain.
The doorknob turns, and my visitor enters the room.
This can’t be good.
The man who was with Moreno the other day, Ryder, marches right to me. I scramble away, but before I know it, he has an iron grip on my arm.
He drags me to stand, and I yelp when he twists my arms behind my back to handcuff me. Within seconds of him entering the room, he has me restrained and is leading me out.
He guides me down a hallway of off-white stucco walls, and, much to my disappointment, there are no windows that could indicate where I am or even what time of day it is. I try to remember the direction of the basement, but I had been so exhausted that I wasn’t paying much attention.
I hope Ryder won’t take me there again.
We turn down a wide hallway with doors lining either side, but it’s the one at the end of the hall that draws my attention. Twin dark oak doors tower high above the rest, with intricate designs carved around the edges in no notable pattern.
Sure enough, Ryder takes me right to it and knocks.
“Come in,” a familiar voice calls, and my skin crawls.
Ryder opens the door and pushes me inside so carelessly that I trip over my own feet and crash to the ground.
“Ah!” I cry out, and every inch of my body throbs from the impact.
The door shuts, and I lift my head, blinking to adjust to the bright light.
When I finally do, I observe the office—large windows dominate the far side, overlooking a wall of tall trees. Bookshelves, paintings, and statues decorate the room, but my eyes land on the mahogany desk, or rather, the man who sits behind it.
Moreno stands, making his jeans and dark T-shirt visible as he steps around the desk.
I want to move, run, or hide from him, but I don’t. What’s the point?
I’m not going to win.
“How are you feeling today?” His soft tone catches me off guard, but I’m not fooled by it this time.
“Go to hell,” I bite.
An amused grin spreads across his face as he unceremoniously grabs me by the arm and places me on one of the seats in front of him.
I clench my teeth to conceal the amount of pain it elicits.
“I’ll ask again.” He leans against the desk, arms crossed over his broad chest. “How are you feeling today?”
“Like I’ve been kidnapped and put through hell by an asshole.”
He shakes his head. “Such a dirty mouth.”
“You didn’t seem to think so the other night.”
To my surprise, he laughs. “At least I bought you dinner first. You can’t say I’m not a gentleman.”
“You’re a pig.”
“You didn’t seem to think so the other night,” he says with a wink.
Against my better judgment, I stand and step toward his desk. “I can’t wait until my dad kills you. He’ll torture you for weeks, maybe even months, before showing you the mercy of a bullet in your head. Hell, maybe I’ll get to finish you off myself, you sadistic bastard.”
My chest heaves, and I’m feeling triumphant, that is, until his smile twists into a malicious sneer.
He straightens from his desk and steps slowly until he’s towering over me, and my confidence vanishes.
“You have a lot more fire in you than I expected. It’s cute, but it’s getting annoying. I don’t have time to deal with your temper tantrums, so they stop now. As far as your father goes”—he lets out a humorless chuckle and steps behind me—“I’d love to see him try.”
He moves my hair to one shoulder, and I hate the shudder that travels down my spine when his warm breath tickles my neck. “Your dad can’t save you from me, Elise. No one can. You’ll go home if and when I say so.”
I try to process his words, but it’s difficult when he places possessive hands on my waist, inspiring conflicting emotions. Fear, of course, but it’s more than that. I’m taken back to my apartment and how it had felt to have his hands on me.
There’d been no fear then.
A wave of relief washes over me when he finally steps away.
“Sit,” he orders, walking back around his desk.
I glare at him but obey, prompting a smug grin from Moreno.
“Speaking of your father,” he says, “it’s about time we send him proof of life, don’t you think?”
“You’ll let me call him?”
He laughs. “I’m going to send him a video, and you’re going to say exactly what I tell you to, or else we’re going back to the basement, understand?”
The threat is a noose tightening around my throat. I can barely pull air into my lungs, let alone speak, so I only nod.
When Moreno raises an expectant brow, it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s waiting for.
“Yes,” I manage in a whisper.
As I drop my gaze, I catch sight of a small device on his desk.
A cellphone.
I don’t let my eyes linger for fear of Moreno getting suspicious.
He turns to grab something on the shelf behind him, and I notice a gun strapped to his side.
A crazy plan formulates in my head, but I need to be careful. I doubt I’ll get another opportunity like this.
He walks around the desk, holding a video camera and newspaper.
“Seriously?”
“Watch it, Princess. My patience only goes so far.” He sets the items on his desk and moves closer to me. “Now, I’m going to take off the handcuffs. You’re going to be a good girl, right?”
I grit my teeth and give him my most vicious glare.
His lip twitches upward as he crouches. I flinch away when he reaches for my face, but he ignores my recoil and gently cups my cheek with his palm.
Having felt both pain and pleasure at his touch, the conflicted feelings his touch inspires twist my stomach to the point of physically aching.
“Now, that wasn’t very convincing,” he chides. “You’ll be good, right, Elise?”
“Get your hand off of me,” I whisper, hating that his closeness is making me dizzy.
He tightens his hold.
Wincing, I look up at him through full lashes. “I won’t do anything. You can take them off.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, expression unreadable, then releases my face to remove the cuffs.
I rub my newly freed wrists, and Moreno stands before me, leaning against his desk. He tosses the newspaper onto my lap, and I instinctively catch it there, searching for a date.
It’s Friday, meaning I’ve been here for five days—I only remember three.
“I was unconscious for two days?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Moreno gives a tight nod.
How is that possible? Two days of my life just gone. What could have possibly happened during that time?
My stomach drops with the weight of dread as terrifying, perverse theories surface.
“What happened?” I whisper.
His eyes narrow, and I unconsciously shrink back.
“I mean”—I cross my arms over my chest—“no one, you know, did anything… to me, right?”
The reasoning behind the question registers, and Moreno’s expression softens the slightest bit.
He meets my gaze with perfect sincerity. “I can assure you that no one has laid a hand on you—aside from myself.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I drop my gaze. “And you—you didn’t do anything? While I was unconscious?”
I hear a rustling, but I don’t move my eyes from the floor. A second later, a gentle finger lifts my chin, and Moreno is crouched in front of me again.
For just a moment, his eyes carry the same warmth they did at the bakery.
“Elise, I have no desire to take you against your will—in that sense, anyway,” he says with an unapologetic shrug. “Aside from carrying you to and from the car, you have remained untouched.”
Staring into his deep, brown eyes, I see no ounce of deception. He’s telling the truth.
The tension of our intimate moment breaks when Moreno pushes to stand, and any hint of the man I met at the bakery disappears.
We’re back to normal—a captor and his captive.
“Ready, Princess?”
After twenty minutes, we’re done with the video. It took a few tries—much to Moreno’s frustration—but it’s difficult to say I am safe and unharmed without rolling my eyes because it’s not even close to the truth.
I am far from safe and unharmed.
He returns the camera to the shelf behind his desk, and I eye the cell phone and his gun once again.
If I’m going to do this, I need to do it soon.
I take a calming breath, refusing to let my nerves get the better of me.
I can do this.
“Why me?” My voice is hardly above a whisper, but I know he can hear it.
He stiffens, raising an eyebrow but not bothering to answer the question.
“Why me? And why at all? What do you even want?”
His eyes spark with dark amusement, and he steps closer.
Good.
“Elise, do you remember what happened the last time you asked me questions?” He steps closer again, then crouches to my level.
Almost there.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
The question catches him off guard, and he thinks for a moment, visibly deciding whether or not to tell me.
It’s just the opportunity I need.
Before he can react, I grab the gun from the holster at his waist. His head turns, but he doesn’t understand what I’m doing until it’s too late, and I’ve bashed the butt of the gun against his head. He makes a hissing sound and I hit him again.
Moreno falls to the floor, and I take the lack of groans to be a good sign. I rush to the desk, scrambling to grab the phone in my frenzied state.
Holding the gun in one hand and the phone in the other, I fumble with the keypad, and my finger accidentally hits the call button, which triggers the phone to call the most recent number. I go to hang up, but the recipient answers before I get the chance.
“You got the video done already? My dad’s flipping out right now. That’ll send him over the edge for sure.”
I know that voice. I grew up with that voice. I love that voice.
It’s my brother.
It’s Mason.