Chapter 33
KEIRA
Keira had never been good with silence. She appreciated the hustle and bustle of life, the sound of traffic and laughter, the clinking of glasses and noisy chatter. And music. The radio or one of her playlists was always on at home. It drove Greg nuts.
But this was different. The silence here made every tiny movement sound loud. Every breath, every cough, every swallow.
It reminded her just how alone she was.
She shifted on the thin mattress, trying to find a comfortable spot, but the concrete beneath it was unforgiving, and she winced as the movement sent a dull ache through her hips. She had tried curling up, stretching out, lying on her side, her front and her back. Nothing helped.
How long had she been down here? It was impossible to tell.
Days, she thought. It had to be days. But she had no idea how many. Time dragged so slowly, stuck here in the darkness with absolutely nothing to do.
The only time there was light was when he came down here, the overhead bulb flickering briefly on and off, but it wasn’t frequent enough to mean anything. Sometimes, it felt like hours passed between visits. Other times, it seemed much longer.
Or maybe it was shorter. She honestly didn’t know any more.
He never spoke. Not once. Not to explain or threaten. Nothing. And that was the worst part. Not knowing why she was here or whether she was ever going to escape this hellhole.
Her throat tightened and she tried not to go there.
That was the worst bit about all this time alone, all she had was her imagination and it had taken her to some very dark places.
And the worst thing of all was the realisation that he had never hidden his face.
She could identify him as the maintenance man who had serviced the villa.
Martin, she was sure Poppy had said his name was. So why would he ever let her go?
He had her phone too. On the first day, he had forced her to give him the passcode. Not shouting or threatening in any dramatic way. Just standing over her until she understood what would happen if she refused.
She pushed herself upright, ignoring the protest from her body, and wrapped her arms around herself. It was cool down here. She was in a basement, she assumed, as she occasionally heard him moving around above, and there were no windows at all in the room. She had checked.
Her clothes were a state. She knew that even without seeing them.
The white oversized shirt she had thrown on over her bikini would be creased and dirty.
It was clinging to her in all the wrong places.
Her hair was even worse. Tangled, greasy at the roots, and she could feel it sticking to the back of her neck, the ends knotting together.
And she stank.
God, she would kill for a shower.
Still, it wasn’t as bad as the other stench in the room.
She had found a bucket, using that to go to the toilet, but he didn’t change it often and the smell was ghastly.
Dragging herself to her feet, she paced the small space for what must have been the thousandth time. Eight steps one way, hand outstretched, her fingers touching rough concrete. Turn, careful not to knock over the bucket. Ten more steps and she could feel the wood of the door.
Realising it was her only way out, it had been the main source of her focus.
The cool metal knob that twisted uselessly in her hand.
There was no way of unlocking it without a key and she had kicked the door enough, throwing her full weight against it as well, to know it was too heavy for her to break down.
The only time it ever opened was when he came to dump a bag of food and water in the room, and each time she heard his approaching footsteps and then the click of the lock, she was on her feet, ready and waiting to try to fight her way past, desperate to reach the sliver of space beyond the door.
Unfortunately, he was much stronger, and the longer she was down here, the weaker she was becoming.
She had lost track of how many times he had manhandled her – firm hands gripping her arms and dragging her back across the floor with an ease that had her stomach dropping, or giving her a hard shove, her back hitting the wall and knocking the breath from her lungs.
One time she had managed to lash out, her nails catching his skin, her knee driving forward blindly.
He had hit her then, and the impact had been so hard, her teeth had snapped together.
She had sworn at him, threatened him, had even tried to plead and bargain with him. But he never spoke. He never even seemed angry with her. Always so calm and controlled.
That was the worst part of it for Keira. She had absolutely no idea what it was he wanted from her, or why she was even here.
A sound above her head made her freeze.
Footsteps.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she realised he was coming. Adrenaline surged and she moved as quickly as she could, fighting against the heaviness in her limbs. As she positioned herself against the door, pressing her body flat against the wall beside it, every muscle tensed.
This time she was going to beat the bastard.
The lock clicked, the door opening, and she narrowed her eyes, already prepared for the sharp, sudden burst of light. As he stepped forward, she shoved hard into him. Her shoulder catching the edge of the door as she tried to force it wider.
Then his hand was closing around her arm.
‘Get the fuck off me!’ she snarled.
Pain shot up her shoulder as he yanked her back, her body twisting as she fought him, kicking and screaming. Refusing to give in.
He shoved her hard and she landed back on the mattress, her head clipping the wall. White light burst behind her eyes.
Still, she struggled to get to her feet. But it was too late, he was already moving back towards the door. The bag he had brought now sat on the floor.
‘No! Don’t you dare go. I’m not staying down here!’
Her voice broke, but she didn’t stop. She charged for the door as it closed, clawing at the wood, her pleas turning desperate.
Throughout it all, he didn’t react. Didn’t say a word.
It was as if she was nothing.
The lock clicked and the silence returned.
Next time, she promised herself. Next time, she would be faster.