Chapter 7
Alani
Was I technically kidnapped?
I wanted a little adventure in my life, but this may possibly be a little more than I bargained for.
I watch him as he leaves the house, and I feel like I can breathe once again, the sense of smothering gone right along with his presence.
I hate the tears on my cheeks. They’re proof of how weak I am.
I can’t manage to pull my eyes from the doorway as I’m untied. He took all four of us, kept us tied to chairs for hours, and these men just let him walk out of here. If I were to call the police, which these men clearly aren’t, they’d threaten to lock me up. They’d call me crazy.
I know referencing a movie is ridiculous, but the bad guy ends up on the floor with a steel-toe boot on his neck at a minimum. He doesn’t just get growled at by the man who is obviously in charge and then allowed to walk away.
I stand, my hands trying to work out the soreness in my wrists caused by those stupid ropes, as Ayla approaches.
I have so many questions, but I’m not certain she’ll bother to tell me the truth.
She’s been lying to me for months. Despite knowing that I’m safe now, I’m left feeling a little insane for wishing I had the opportunity to leave with him.
Guilt swims in Ayla’s eyes as I look toward her, stepping around the woman who untied me from the chair. She can’t even approach me, but I guess keeping her distance is better than stepping up and spitting more lies.
I’m all for someone doing what they want with their life, but she didn’t have to lie to me about it.
I’ve been alone for months, spent the holidays with a friend because of what she’s been doing.
It’s been a hard pill to swallow these last couple of days, realizing exactly where I fit in her life when I’ve been the center of it since our parents’ deaths.
A million things are happening around me, and I don’t know where to focus my attention. Staring at the door would produce nothing. The guy is too smart to come back into the middle of this shitshow.
A man who looks like an older version of Landon is pressing a palm to his chest, preventing him from going after the guy who took us.
The second Blaine is untied, he’s in front of me, wrapping his arms around me.
I’m hit with a wave of guilt because I’d much rather him not touch me at all.
The man is trying to be my friend, and it pisses me off.
It makes me a complete asshole. My arms stay locked at my sides, my eyes once again darting to the front door.
Relief fills me when he finally takes a step back, only for it to ramp up again when the female who untied me steps back in my field of vision.
“Alani?” she says, her voice low and trusting. “You’re safe now. We need to get you to a hospital for evaluation. If he—”
“He didn’t,” I snap. “Nothing happened.”
Technically, we were held hostage, but other than the burn of the ropes on my skin, the man did nothing despite having hours’ worth of chances to do as he pleased.
I swallow down the regret, knowing that level of wickedness has no place in my life. Shame for wishing tonight was different heats my cheeks, and I hate that others are standing around witnessing it.
I lock eyes with my sister, needing to deflect that emotion.
I step around the woman trying to make sure I’m okay and walk closer to Ayla.
“I guess I have you to blame for all of this?” I snap. “This has something to do with all the twisted shit you’ve been involved in?”
Ayla looks likes she swallowed glass. Her mouth opens as if she’s going to explain or lie some more, but no sound comes out.
“Your sister was abducted from the parking lot outside of your dorm building,” some guy growls at me.
The words make me freeze as Ayla grabs the arm of the man who seems to hate me for some reason, but it doesn’t keep him from speaking.
“She was abused, tortured, fucking raped, countless times, to fucking protect you.”
I shift my eyes from his, back to my sister’s, my head shaking because that can’t be true. My chin trembles, fear, and self-hatred threatening to take over. Ayla doesn’t argue, doesn’t deny what he’s said.
“Ayla?” Her name is a plea, a way of begging it all to be a lie,
Goddamn, I need it to not be true. I need it to be a lie. Just the thought of her suffering the way he claims would be unbearable. I can’t imagine what it would mean for her if it’s true.
Her lack of response hits me like a ten-ton truck, right in the chest and having the power to lay me flat.
“Donavan may have gone about it the wrong way, but he was here to keep you safe. The video you were sent was a threat.” Her voice is monotone, emotionless.
My hands lower to my stomach, the threat of getting sick right on the floor becoming more real by the second.
“They made you do those things?”
Bile burns my throat, both from imagining what she went through and also from my guilt for how I handled being sent the video.
I blamed her. I hated her for what I thought she was doing.
Knowing that she was forced, that she’d been tortured for months, all the while protecting me from knowing the truth since the moment I arrived on campus, makes me sick.
Her head dips, the motion too simple for the truth the confession holds.
“You’ll tell me everything?” It’s a plea, and I know the last thing I want is details of her abuse, but I deserve the pain too. If she weren’t on campus for me, she wouldn’t have been forced into that situation.
Guilt eats away at me, and instead of making excuses and trying to point the finger somewhere else like I normally would, I let it sink inside of me. I deserve the pain from it.
The woman who untied me steps forward. “We have a room set up for you two to stay in tonight.”
Ayla looks to the man who made her confessions, but he takes a step back. I have no idea who he is, but it’s clear that he’s someone to her when she looks a little disappointed at the distance he’s put between the two of them.
“That would be great,” Ayla says.
I can guess the female sticks close to us as we are escorted to a waiting SUV because she either doesn’t believe me that the man didn’t hurt me or she’s here for Ayla because of how badly she was hurt.
At my sister’s insistence, we’re driven to my dorm so I can get some clothes.
The woman escorts me inside, her eyes looking everywhere, as if she expects more danger than I’ve already encountered.
I make quick work of gathering clothes, including enough for Ayla, before heading back down to the SUV.
The hotel they drive us to is a hundred times better than the one I stayed in last night, but I find myself more apprehensive than I did walking into a motel room with a stranger.
I know Ayla will answer every question I have, but I’m wishing she’d refuse as we’re shown the room provided for us.
The woman issues a warning, telling her we’re free to go, but requesting we take an escort with us if we decide to leave. I catch a glimpse of a man before the door closes, and the shadow of his feet outside our room never leaves.
Ayla seems as nervous as I feel as she drops to the sofa in the living area of the massive suite.
We spend the next several hours crying as she explains what happened and how she made all these sacrifices to protect me.
She doesn’t point fingers. She doesn’t put the blame on me for what she went through, and I hate her a little for not doing it.
She’s so much stronger than I could ever be, and I know I would’ve caved early on.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m the younger sister and had so much protection growing up, but I know myself enough to know I would’ve given in.
“It wouldn’t have mattered. The deal wasn’t ‘do what we say or we’ll take her and set you free.’ I was always going to be hurt,” she says as tears stream down my cheeks. “I just couldn’t let you get hurt too.”
I nod, her explanation making me feel a little better, but I don’t think there’s an answer or anything she could say to make it all go away.
“We still aren’t safe?”
The man standing outside the door is proof of that.
“That’s why Nash sent Donavan,” she explains. “He wasn’t supposed to fucking kidnap you though.”
I swallow against the lump lodged in my throat. It’s weird to hear my sister use such language, but I guess she’s no longer the same person I once knew. What she’s been through has changed her as much as it would anyone.
“I hate him,” I say, running the man’s name through my head.
He doesn’t exactly look like a Donavan. It’s a little too clean and proper for such a vicious person.
“He has a different way of going about things.”
I snap my eyes to hers. “I hate Nash for what he did to you.”
She shakes her head, tears renewed on her lashes.
“Don’t hate him,” she begs. “I hurt him as much as he was forced to hurt me.”
I keep my mouth shut. I’m no fucking expert on knowing how people should respond to their own trauma, but looking at him with hope the way she did back at the house doesn’t seem like a smart plan.
Eventually, we get to the point where we can’t hold our eyes open, and after one more quick hug, I crawl in between the sheets somehow hating the fresh scent of the linens and their softness against my skin.
I feel like I should be punished rather than wrapped in comfort. I’ve been taking my life for granted, feeling bored, all the while Ayla has been suffering unmentionable pain and humiliation. What would bring me to my knees has left her standing tall and resilient.