Chapter Twenty-Five
SLOANE
RINGING IN my ears and pounding in my head pulls me back to consciousness and then pain radiates all over my body, starting at my face. Keeping my eyes closed, I lift my hand and slide my fingers across my cheek, which feels twice as big as it should.
Fear squeezes my chest, and I try to open my eyes, but they feel like they have gum holding them together. I try to roll onto my side, but it feels like the cold, concrete floor is attached to my back.
Every body part I move feels like it weighs ten pounds more than it’s supposed to and is attached to the floor with rubber bands.
When I finally get my eyes open, a concrete jail cell with one bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling outside the bars of my cell comes into focus. Shadows are everywhere and a memory of my dad sitting on the edge of my bed reading me a story because I was scared floats across my mind.
My eyes sting with tears. I miss the safety and warmth of my dad; the days of happiness, comfort, and security almost feel like a dream.
My thoughts then turn to Mason and the safety and warmth I always feel with him, he’s never expressed any feelings to me, but I always feel that same type of comfort when I’m with him.
Covering my face and pressing my palms against my mouth, I let myself have a minute to break down and quietly cry into my hands.
Crying makes my head hurt worse, so I take a few deep breaths and wipe the tears from my temples, very gingerly around my left cheek.
Is that just from a fist? I’ve never been hit like that before.
There are no windows and it’s really cold in here, my coat, hat, and gloves are gone, but I’m still wearing the sheepskin-lined boots and heavy sweater Marley gave me.
I try to roll onto my side again and my body hurts all over, it feels like they dropped me on the floor because my elbow and hip hurt.
Rolling onto my other side, I push myself up and close my eyes when a wave of nausea flips my stomach, and I wait for it to pass. There is a cot on the wall opposite the wall of bars and I crawl to it and pull myself up to get off the cold concrete.
The room is small and on the other side of the bars that serve as a door, is a small wet-ish-looking walkway. Where the hell am I? Is this a basement? How long was I out? Is it still nighttime?
I have to pee.
Glancing around the small cell, I spot a bucket in one corner, but I decide to see how long I can hold it.
The cot is not warm, but it’s not freezing cold like the floor, so I pull my knees up and hug them to my chest to try and retain as much heat as possible. Does Mason know I’m gone yet? Is he looking for me?
Another wave of despair threatens to extinguish the small flame of hope that’s keeping me from looking down the long barrel of desolation and anguish that’s begging me to find a way to pull the trigger.
What if Mason is not looking for me? My parents are gone, my brother put me here, and I have no one else in this world.
If this is where fate has brought me, then I would rather die.
I’ve already escaped from them once; they won’t let that happen again. What if I am pregnant? They won’t let me stay that way. The more I think, the darker my thoughts become.
The high-pitched squeal of a metal door swinging open echoes down the hall and my heart starts to thump even harder against my chest. Lazy footsteps echo down the walkway and I’m practically holding my breath as I wait for the owner of the steps to show themselves through the bars.
My heart lodges in my throat when the man I stabbed steps into view behind another man that I’ve never seen before. There is a raised, angry red mark on his neck.
The intense anger and hate that he is directing toward me sends a chill skittering down my spine and I hug my knees to my chest tighter. I have no doubt that man is going to hurt me as much as he can.
The man I stabbed and the man in front of him are both in expensive-looking suits and their cologne is sweeping through the small room, overtaking the mustiness of the cell. The man in the front is looking over me like he is examining me, a cigarette in his hand in front of him.
“What do we know about her?” His voice is sharp like his eyes that are looking over my body.
The man behind him, who hasn’t stopped glaring at me since he laid eyes on me opens his mouth to talk and when I hear the ragged whisper that comes out, I know for sure that he wants to kill me.
“She’s been hiding on a horse ranch north of here, sir, we sent a team to take care of the family and burn the house, but they haven’t checked in yet. ”
Maybe that means that Mason and his guys were able to take care of them, maybe they are all still alive.
His head tilts to the side just a fraction, but his eyes don’t leave me, they are small and beady like a snake, and he gives me the creeps. “Why not? They’re just a bunch of hillbillys.”
Rolling his head from side to side, the popping sounds in his neck echo through the small cell, “We’re looking into it, sir.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-six, her brother misrepresented her age when he first sold her. He led us to believe she was younger.”
The man in front takes a drag off his cigarette as he looks at me, his exhale of smoke billows into my cell and nausea squeezes my stomach again.
“There is a transport tonight to The Gulf, we can put her on it. They won’t care about her age down there, just that she has a hole.”
My nails dig into the skin on my thighs as I squeeze my knees tight against my chest, sweat beads along my hairline regardless of the cold. If they put me on a transport, I’m lost, my mind starts to race in every possible direction that could get me out of here.
As he turns to walk away, the glare on the guy behind him turns to a sneer, his lips tipping up on one side. If I had x-ray vision, I would be able to look into his brain and see all the ways that he wants me to suffer.
If he lets me out of here alive.
***
I end up having to use the bucket.
Several hours have gone by since they left me down here, at least it feels like hours. My mind has started playing tricks on me and I’m second-guessing my decision to walk into this nightmare. But they said they would take Lainey Rai if I didn’t.
I didn’t think it through when I read the note, I just reacted.
Maybe I should have gone to Mason with the note instead of trying to do this on my own, I don’t know what made me think that I could do this by myself. My heart sinks as I hear my brother’s voice in my head ‘why would he want to keep you around’?
Mason told me he would do whatever it takes to keep me safe.
I think I fucked up.
The squeak of the door fills the silence of the room and another man I’ve never seen before steps up to the bars with a key, “Time to go.”
He swings the door open and drops the key into the pocket of his jeans. He’s not dressed as nice as the guys who were here before, and he looks like he would rather be anywhere else but here.
Unfolding my body to set my feet on the floor, I say, “Where are we going?”
“To Disneyland.” His voice is flat, and he stares at me blankly, his hand gripping one of the bars.
I curl my fingers tighter around the edge of the cot knowing that this is the beginning of my end, resisting the urge to place my hand over my stomach. The last thing I want to do is bring that to their attention.
My breaths are shallow, fear is clutching my chest and as I stare at the guy I wonder if there is any path that could possibly lead to him letting me go.
Irritation flashes across his face and he says, “If I have to come in there and get ya, I ain’t gonna be nice.”
Standing on shaky legs, I slowly step toward him, “If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone that I saw you here.”
He snorts and cocks his head to the side as he stares at me, “I ain’t never heard that before.”
I’ll take that as a no.
He reaches into the cell and closes the distance between us by grabbing my arm and jerking me into the walkway. My braid swings over my shoulder with the force of the jerk and the guy pushes me so that I’m walking down the short walkway to the iron door that is open to a stairway.
What is it with these guys and basements? Is it a prerequisite to have a musty, wet, cold basement to put women in before they lead them to a tortured life?
The kitchen on the other side of the door at the top of the stairs is almost nicer than the kitchen at the ranch. The morning sun is shining through the windows that line one wall and the smell of bacon and eggs makes my stomach growl, and my mouth starts to water.
The full room comes into view as I step around the doorway and a woman is standing in front of the stove making breakfast, she is young and dressed nice, and there is a small child squealing and slapping its hand on the tray of a high chair next to her.
She offers me a glance and goes back to flipping bacon, she purposely turns her head so that she can’t see me, even from her peripheral.
At this point, I don’t have anything to lose, so I say to her, “Please don’t let them take me. Please help me.”
Her shoulders tense up and her back goes straight but she pretends she can’t hear me.
The guy behind me grabs my arm and pulls me through the room but I crane my neck to look behind me, “Please!” My voice cracks, her head lowers toward the breakfast she’s cooking, and she rotates her body to keep me at her back.
My arm is jerked again and when I turn my head to look in front of me, a fist is coming at me fast. Pain explodes around my eye and spiderwebs across my face as my head flies back taking my body with me onto the floor.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I cover my head with my arms, but a booted foot slams into my shin just as I get them pulled up. A sickening crack echoes through my body, and I yell out in pain.
“What’d ya do that for?” The guy who got me from the cell yells. “Now I gotta deal with her.”
Afraid to look up or move my arms away from my head, I hear the guy I stabbed whisper, “Let’s see if she can run this time.” He spits and it plops onto the side of my head, “Bitch.”