Chapter 7 Thea #2
The bottoms I’m wearing ride up as I scramble across the seat to hug the window farthest from the door. I try the handle, but it doesn’t give. I’m still pulling at it when the congressman dips into the seat.
The driver slams the door, and I flinch. The man next to me only smirks.
Sick. He’s sick.
A roll-up metal door slowly lifts to expose the inky night dotted with city lights, and the limo squeals out of the garage.
I gasp as we emerge from underground in the middle of the city and maneuver the streets of Chicago.
Without thinking, I try the handle again and give the door a shove.
I’m not sure what I’d actually do if I tumbled out of a moving vehicle in my underwear, but I don’t care.
Anything would be better than what’s about to happen, what he’s going to force me to do.
When the door doesn’t give for a second and third time, I resort to banging my fist on the window. “Hey!” I scream. “Help me!”
Salty tears trickle into my mouth, and I wipe at my nose. Dragging a hand through my wild hair, I sigh. It’s no use. No one can hear me.
The quiet of the limo buries my pleas. There’s no music. No discussion between the driver and the congressman. Only a tiny rattle of metal against the glass, and the creak of the leather seat. It’s then I allow my gaze to drift to the right of me, eyeing him.
His tall legs are spread wide, right elbow propped on the arm of the door while his chin is tucked and resting between his thumb and forefinger.
He’s staring at me, but not at my face. No, his eyes sweep over my unruly head of hair.
Instinctively, I cross my arms over my chest, and he, once again, gives me a smirk before adjusting the frames on his face.
I ignore him in favor of the city outside the window, and watch as it dwindles away into suburbs I’ve never set foot in before. Lights and houses become few and far between, and I catch signage referencing the lake. My eyes widen when the limo turns into a gated driveway.
Dang it, I wish I could get out of this.
Go back to my directionless life. Back to when my biggest problem was Edgar Allan Poe and figuring out how to tell Tristan how I really felt—that maybe I didn’t love him the way he wanted.
At least with him, I knew what kind of mistake I was making.
I’d give anything to be that naive again.
Though, it still doesn’t stop my curiosity as the gates swing open and modern gas lamps light the way to the two-story home.
In the next few seconds, down the driveway and to the front door, I panic, longing for the stiff twin bed back in the underground bunker.
To think every week girls have rolled down this same driveway, here or other mansions across Chicago.
All to feed the addiction of powerful men who care only for their next pleasure point.
My sweaty palms slip against the crest of the seat beside my knees. The leather is cold and smooth beneath my fingers as I clutch the seat. Each bump down the driveway rattles my spine, and I grit my teeth to keep from letting loose a whimper.
When the limo pulls up in front of the double-door entrance, I don’t dare move. Instead, I grip the seat tighter, trying to look braver than I am.
Body trembling, I bite down on my tongue when the driver gets out and walks around the car. When the door finally opens, the congressman is staring at me again.
“Sir?” the driver says.
The congressman shakes his head and gets out while two new guards duck down to coax me out. I slide halfway across the seat to the door before they reach in to grab me, hauling me out with equal fervor as those who put me in here.
I tell myself I’m going to be brave and not show the fear coursing through my veins, but it’s no use. It’s like I’m sliced open on both wrists and letting the fear bleed out in front of me with how badly I’m shaking.
Another man stands with one door propped open.
Posture straight, he’s dressed in a pristine black tailcoat.
Beneath it is a starched white shirt fastened high up his neck and paired with a black bow tie.
He taps a polished shoe beneath the marble stone floor, like waiting on me is the bane of his existence … whoever he is.
The balmy air soaks into my skin the minute my heels hit the ground, and it’s wrapped in a hush. No city noise, definitely not the clamor of music and sadistic laughter from the club—just the soft rhythmic lapping of … water?
We must be on the lake. Either that, or there is a wild wave pool somewhere nearby. It would be almost soothing if it weren’t for the circumstances of my arrival.
And with that, the beauty of the night is squashed, and I shiver.
“Move it!” One of the guards pulls me before wrapping a hand around my waist and shoving me along my spine. His hand grazes my belly.
I jerk to pull away, but he grips me tighter. Looking forward toward the door, I spot the congressman standing on the single step up to the double-door entry. His glare is razor-sharp, and I forget how to breathe.
That stare.
His stare.
It’s crazy how much warning is wrapped in his fixation and beneath those glasses. They don’t even deter his cold focus. I flinch when he removes his hands from his pockets and stalks down toward the three of us, his footsteps fast.
The guards pause, their fingers digging into my biceps. In a flash, he grabs the neck of his guard on my right, and his fingers hook underneath the lapel of the tailored jacket, yanking it hard. He rips it off like it didn’t cost more than a few dollars from the thrift store.
I lean back as the fabric gives with a violent snap. The seams strain as the guard’s shoulders jerk back and he stumbles forward with the force of the congressman’s shove.
He bunches the jacket together in one fist, and eyeing me, he turns to jog up the step, pushing it into the butler’s chest. Glancing over his shoulder at me, he gestures in my direction before continuing into the house.
“I … uh. Miss, if you would.” The butler dusts off the jacket in his hands and flips it open, lifting it with both hands.
He waits as the only guard left holding me ushers forward.
He drapes the jacket over my shoulders, warmth settling across me, though I doubt that’s the reason I’ve been told to wear it.
The guards whisper to each other, and the butler’s kind smile—through pearly white teeth—finds me.
“I’ll escort her from here.” He extends an elbow, which I take, fighting the urge to vomit up the meager contents of my empty stomach as he leads me into the house.
It’s a mix of conjuring the worst and anticipating a different atmosphere than the four concrete walls I’ve been subjected to for the past week.
The house doesn’t disappoint, no matter how much I wish I didn’t notice. But it’s impossible to miss. What I’d assume to be dark, broody, and emotionless turns out to be the exact opposite.
It’s warm and coastal. The house opens into a long moonlit hallway, illuminated by vaulted ceilings with walls of windows offering a midnight view of the lake.
I’m awestruck as I’m led along the bleached hardwood floors that make me wish I was wearing flip-flops, opposed to these heels from hell strapped to me like some invasive vine.
A narrow staircase curves up to a pitch-black second floor with only streams of moon and starlight to illuminate the mezzanine that disappears out of sight.
I hate that I want a tour. That between my dingy community college and run-down, neglected home, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever stepped foot in, and I’ve only made it several feet into the house.
“You must be hungry. Congressman DuPont’s personal chef has prepared a meal for you. Are there any dietary restrictions we need to be made aware of?” He gestures ahead toward the right. “I’m Edmond, by the way.”
Edmond? A meal? Dietary restrictions? I was under the impression I was here for one thing, and one thing only. They’re going to feed me? Stuff me like some sort of fattening of the cow before slaughter. Could these people be any sicker?
“I’m—I’m confused,” I say, slowing the pace.
Edmond turns back toward me. “It will all be explained … Miss?”
“Thea. My name is Thea Harmon.” I want to hold my tongue. To keep my name out of this house. But I read once that if you share something personal with your captors, it may humanize you. I don’t know, maybe that’s not true, but what do I have to lose?
“Well, Miss Thea. If you would please follow me in here.” He doesn’t give me much of an option as he uses a gentle hand to usher me along. A quick check behind me shows both guards stationed inside, on either side of the now-closed door.
I stumble with Edmond’s pace as we pass an open concept living area, and I hate it smells so nice.
The faint scent of linen and cedar. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if the congressmen demanded they bottle the lake breeze aroma.
My nose inhales it all, greedy and finally relieved to have something other than bleach and chemical scents to smell.
I should be semi-appeased that the area we’re kept in isn’t gross.
They clean the bathrooms regularly and replace the linens every other day.
It could be a much worse terrible situation.
Like some of the horror stories you read of women being kept in basements in their own filth and feces.
I shudder, annoyed I have to be grateful for being kidnapped and used by the high-end variety.
I rub my dandelion tattoo as I’m directed into a dining room of sorts.
My mother would tell me to find the best in it all, but right now I just want to kick and scream.
I stop mid-step when we almost run into a massive table that spreads nearly the full length of the room. The dark wood looks freshly cut from a towering tree. Gosh. The amount of people that must fit here …