Chapter 16 Anna #2
"And you." His voice dropped to something quieter, more intimate, more terrifying. "You ran. You hid in your little shelter with your victim story. Then you crawled into his bed, didn't you? Became part of his little replacement family. Playing house with his daughter. Playing mommy."
The last word was coated in venom.
"It's not like that," I whispered, though my voice came out weak, uncertain.
"Isn't it?" He released my chin with a shove. He stood, pacing slowly in front of us now, a professor delivering a lecture. "Let's examine the evidence, shall we? Anna Stewart, professional fixer of broken men. It's pathological at this point."
He ticked off items on his fingers, each one a needle finding an old wound.
"Father drinks himself to death despite your best efforts, check. Mother abandons you because she couldn't stand the weight of your need, check. String of boyfriends you tried to save, each one using you up until you were empty, check."
Each word pierced me deep, and he knew. He had always known exactly where I was weakest, which scabs to pick until they bled.
"Then you found me. And for a while, you thought you'd finally succeeded. Until the accident." He stopped pacing, looked down at me. "And then you ran again. Straight into the arms of another broken man. Rich, grieving, angry. Perfect project for you."
My throat closed. Because part of me, as much as I hated it, wondered if he was right.
"He kept you close, didn't he?" Carter continued, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial.
Almost kind. The fake kindness he'd used before, the one that had made me doubt my own reality.
"Had you cleaning his house at first. Watching his kid.
Bet he told you it was a fresh start. Bet he made you feel special. Needed."
He crouched again, eye level now.
"But we both know the truth, don't we, Anna? Men like that, men with power, with money, with options, they don't forgive. They use. He used you to ease his guilt. To be a warm body for his daughter. A convenient replacement for what he lost."
His eyes searched mine, looking for the doubt. Finding it.
"You were never anything more than a convenience. When's the last time he said he loved you? When's the last time he chose you over his dead wife's memory?"
The words burrowed in like parasites, feeding on every insecurity I'd ever had about my growing feelings for Jack. Every moment of distance. Every time he'd pulled away.
The doubt bloomed thorns in my chest, wrapping around my heart, squeezing. Had Jack's kindness been real? Or was I just another project, another broken thing he thought he could—
"Daddy loves Anna."
The voice was small but clear. Cutting through Carter's poison like a bell in fog.
Daisy.
I felt her shift behind me, felt her lift her head from where it had been pressed against my shoulder blade. She was looking at Carter. I couldn't see her face, but I could feel the tension in her small body. Not the loose, trembling terror from before, but something rigid.
"What did you say?" Carter's voice was soft. Dangerous.
"Daddy loves Anna." Daisy's voice shook but didn't break. "She is nice. She reads stories with funny voices. She makes my daddy smile, not the sad smile like when mommy died."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then Carter laughed. A low, genuinely amused sound that was somehow more frightening than his rage.
"She speaks," he said softly, almost admiringly, turning his full attention to Daisy now. And the shift, the predatory focus of all that calculating intelligence turning toward a five-year-old child, made my blood run cold. "The little mute girl speaks. For you."
He looked back at me, something terrible dawning in his eyes. Understanding. Realization.
"You did replace me," he said, voice filled with a twisted kind of wonder. "You found a new broken thing to fix. A widower and his traumatized child. And you gave them a voice. You gave them a family."
The smile that spread across his face was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen.
"And now I'm going to make you watch me take it apart. Piece by piece. Starting with her."
The sense of protectiveness that surged through me burned away everything else. The doubt, the fear, the shame, all of it evaporated in the white-hot need to protect this child.
"If you want to hurt someone, hurt me."
My voice came out low, steady, stripped of everything but truth. It echoed in the vast space.
"Terrorize me. Humiliate me. Do whatever sick thing you've been planning for twenty months. Cut me, burn me, break every bone in my body. I won't fight. I won't scream. I'll be whatever you need me to be."
I meant every word.
"But you let that little girl walk out of here. She is innocent. She has done nothing to you."
Behind me, I felt Daisy trying to shake her head, trying to protest. I pressed harder against her, silencing her without words.
"Take me, Carter. Isn't that what you really want? To prove you still have power over me?"
My defiance was the wrong trigger. I saw it immediately. The way his expression shifted from cold calculation to something hot and uncontrolled.
Pure and undiluted rage.
His face contorted. He strode toward us violently.
"You don't get to make the rules anymore, Anna!" His voice bounced off the walls, magnified by the empty warehouse room. "You don't get to be the martyr!"
His hand went to his pocket. And I watched with horror as he drew out a knife.
A sleek, black folding knife with a wicked-looking blade. He snapped it open with a practiced flick. The sound impossibly loud, metal on metal, a promise of violence.
Behind me, Daisy whimpered. Her small body pressed so hard against mine I could feel every tremor, every terrified breath.
"Carter, no—" My voice broke. "Please, whatever you're going to do, do it to me. Not her. Not her—"
He was coming closer. Dropping to one knee.
Not in front of me.
Behind me.
Behind Daisy.
"NO!" I screamed, thrashing against my own bindings, ignoring the searing pain as plastic bit deeper into torn skin. "Carter, don't you TOUCH her!"
"Or what?" His voice was eerily calm again. I heard him move. Heard Daisy's sharp intake of breath.
Then—the sharp snick of plastic being cut.
Her hands. He was cutting the zip tie on her hands.
He hauled Daisy to her feet with one hand, the knife still in the other. She was crying now, her small hands free but useless as she struggled in his grip.
"Let me go! I want my daddy! Anna!"
"It's okay, Daisy!" I shouted despite my voice cracking. "I'm right here! You're so brave, sweet pea! So brave!"
Lies. All lies. Nothing was okay. But I needed her to hear my voice. I needed her to know I wasn't leaving her, even as he dragged her away.
She was kicking, struggling, her small fists beating uselessly against his legs. "DADDY! ANNA! HELP ME! PLEASE!"
Each cry was a knife in my heart. Twisting.
I watched him carry her toward the metal stairs, her small form thrashing in his grip, her unicorn pajamas bright against his dark clothes. I watched her reach back toward me, one small hand extended, fingers grasping at air.
Trying to reach me.
Trying to hold on.
"I'm here!" I screamed. "Daisy, I'm here! Your daddy is coming! He loves you so much!"
They reached the stairs. He started climbing. She was still crying, still screaming, the sound echoing off concrete.
"LET ME GO! ANNA! ANNA!"
"I'm not leaving you! Never! I promise!"
But I was. I was staying here, bound and helpless, while he took her into darkness.
They reached the top. The shadow swallowed them. One last glimpse of her face—pale, terrified, looking back at me over his shoulder.
Then the heavy door slammed shut.
The sound echoed through the space like a gunshot.
Silence.
A silence more terrible than any sound. It was suffocating.
I was alone.
The silence pressed down like a physical weight. Crushing my chest. Making it impossible to breathe.
The guilt sat on my chest like a living thing, claws digging into my ribs.
This was my punishment. For that night two years ago. For being weak enough to love Carter in the first place. For staying silent. For believing I deserved a second chance when Elena never got one.
For being arrogant enough to think I could be part of Jack's family.
I'd brought this beautiful, innocent child into the crosshairs of my monster. My past. My failure.
From upstairs, through the heavy door, I could hear sounds. Muffled. Distorted. But enough.
Carter's voice. That sugary-sweet tone he used when he was being "patient" before the explosion.
"...such a pretty girl... just like your mommy... Does your daddy love Anna? Does she sleep in his bed?"
My stomach lurched.
He was interrogating her. A five-year-old child. Planting seeds. Twisting her understanding. Making her doubt.
Then Daisy's voice, muffled but unmistakable.
"I want my daddy! I want Anna! I want to go home!"
I threw myself against my bindings. Pain exploded in my wrists as plastic dug deeper into already torn skin. I felt the warmth of my blood as it trickled down my palms.
"CARTER!" I screamed, voice shredding. "brING HER BACK! IT'S ME YOU WANT! HURT ME! PLEASE!"
There was no answer. Just that terrible, unanswering silence.
I slumped against the column, my strength gone. My wrists burned. Blood was sticky on my hands. The pain was distant now.
In the utter darkness of my despair, a single, stark realization crystallized.
This was no longer about survival. It was about sacrifice.
Carter wanted to break me. The only power I had left was to choose how I broke.
I could let him use Daisy to shatter me. Or I could offer myself up completely. Become the target he really wanted. Draw every ounce of his focus, his rage, away from that little girl upstairs.
I would endure anything. Any torture. Any humiliation. I would beg if that's what he wanted. I would crawl. I would debase myself in every way imaginable.
I would become whatever he needed me to be to keep his attention off of her.
To give Jack those precious extra minutes to find us.
Because Jack would find us. I had to believe that. He was brilliant, resourceful, and connected. He would tear this city apart looking for Daisy.
And when he found us, I needed Daisy alive and whole.
Even if I wasn't.
The love I felt for that little girl, a love that had grown in the sunlight of storytimes and tea parties, now hardened into steel resolve in this cold, dark place. That love was the only real thing I'd ever done right.
I would be her shield. Her distraction. Her sacrifice.
Until my last breath.
I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against the cold concrete. My wrists had gone numb. The blood had stopped flowing, or I'd stopped noticing.
"Okay," I whispered to the darkness, to Carter somewhere above, to whatever fate awaited. "You win. I'm yours. Do what you want with me."
"Just leave her alone."