Camille
The moment Jon walked out the door for his supply run, Camille went to work. There was no way he could see this coming. After all they hadn’t talked about it at all, but she had her ways of getting information. Chief Jon Gallo’s birthday would not go unnoticed, not on her watch, and she would make it the best damn one of his life.
While she worked, the grin on her face never diminished. It only intensified each time she thought of his reaction as he read the additions to the list she made. Maybe corrections was the better word. She set about making her mother’s famous chocolate cake, with a few substitutions for things that were missing in the cabin.
Thinking about her parents always made a hollow ache form in her chest. She missed them every day. They were good parents to her, even if they didn’t recognize their first born son’s cruel nature. Every year until she was twelve, Camille sat on a stool and watched as her mother prepared this same cake for her birthday. Once she hit thirteen, she began to think her time was more important than her mother’s, and stopped the tradition. There was nothing she wouldn’t give for those few years back to do things differently.
Just as she slipped the cake tins into the oven, the front door creaked open. Heart racing, she slipped off the apron, rubbing her batter speckled hands on the stiff fabric. Shit, had she lost track of time while baking? Jon was about to unwittingly ruin all her surprises. Obviously, she couldn’t run out to the mall or hop on Amazon all the way out here, so she technically didn’t have a gift for him. But there was a particularly sexy set of lingerie she had been saving just for this occasion. Camille really could kiss Sophie her the things she’d packed in the hopes of getting Camille and Jon together.
“Did you forget something, Jon?” Silence was the only response to greet her. Strange. Usually he called out to her whenever he came in from outside, even to just gather firewood. Despite the hot summer days, the nights were beginning to cool off, and Camille loved sitting with him by the fire, talking and making love. But he hadn’t announced his arrival this time.
Fear pricked at the back of her neck. Jon wouldn’t forget anything either. The man was meticulous about everything. Something she loved about him.
No, someone else was in the cabin with her. Which meant they had found her. In some ways it was a relief. She’d spent the past few months constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for them to come. She thought she hid it well from Jon, the constant fear, the sudden overwhelming memories. The ghosts of pain in her now healed bones. But now that she was proven right, everything clicked into place.
This would be the end.
Camille could only hope Jon wouldn’t go completely off the rails when he found her either dead or missing.
“No need to creep around, whoever is out there I know you’re here, so just come out.” She grabbed a knife from the block on the counter, ready to defend herself for as long as she had to. There was little hope Jon would be back in time to save her, but she could at least put up a good fight. Leave some evidence behind to lead the police to this bastard. Like maybe some of his blood.
A slow, sinister chuckle echoed out from the cavernous living room. “Your brother always said you’re a bit of a pistol.” A tall, thin man stepped into the kitchen, carrying a bag that sagged with the weight of his trade, death. The face she would never forget swam before her, mixing with the memories from all those weeks ago. His sneering eyes as he leaned in to put out another cigar on her skin. As he crushed her fingers in his fisted hands. The whole time smiling this sick stretch of too thin lips across tobacco stained lips. Mac Henry wore the same expression now. “Oh no, wait, I think what he really said is that you’re a spoiled brat.”
Camille clutched the knife handle in her hand, ready to swing out the moment he got close enough. She tried to hold the panic and fear inside, not let this bastard see how much he truly affected her. But he was a bloodhound when he came to fear. He could sniff it out from a mile away, and trace it to its origin. No matter the tough bravado she tried to put on, he would undoubtedly see right through it.
“The good news, for me, not you, is that the boss has taken off all restrictions when it comes to your capture. I can do whatever I want to you. As long as I bring you back in some form, he doesn’t give a shit if you’re dead, alive, or so damaged from the things I do to you that speaking will be impossible.”
Chest rising and falling in rapid time, she tried like hell to keep it together. She knew what to do. Jon had taught her everything she needed to know in the mornings after they both ate breakfast. Her had taught her to fight, how to get leverage over larger attackers, and how to avoid getting pinned down. The handle of the knife solid and warm in her hand, behind her back, reassured her. She’d use it. She’d get away.
“Cozy place you have here.” He took another leisurely step forward, totally relaxed and unconcerned. “I always knew you were a piece of trash, but shacking up with the chief of police, that’s a little more than even I would have given a slut like you credit for. I’m going to enjoy plowing through what that pompous asshole thinks is his. I’ll make sure to tear you up good, make sure no man will over want what I leave between your legs; if you survive that is.”
She couldn’t stop the gag that lurched through her body, rejecting on a basic level the disgusting words that spewed from his mouth. And it only made him laugh more. The sick fuck got off on her fear and disgust. She’d known that since he spent a few days torturing her in the basement of a warehouse months ago. She still had nightmares about his empty brown eyes, lighting with fire, as he caused her even more pain. How the only time she really saw any life in his face was when he described in excruciating detail what he would do to her if there weren’t limits set by her brother.
Now there were apparently no limits. And every disgusting word he said over those days rushed back in a flood of filth over her body. But all at once she realized that might be his weakness, his propensity for loving the sound of his own voice. If she could keep him talking, maybe it would delay whatever plans he had and make it more likely that Jon could get back to save her from the worst of it.
“How did you find us? This place is totally off the grid.” Jon had been so careful about everything. Never using the phone in the house, even though it was a burner. The county the cabin stood in didn’t have electronic property records yet, according to him, so the only way to see who the owner of the place was involved wading through filing cabinets in the basement of a government building in town. No utilities were needed, solar panels and a generator provided electricity, and water was pumped in from the well and filtered through a system in the utility closet. So how had they been tracked?
“See, now this is where my skills are undervalued, by your brother, hell by everyone I’ve ever known. Because it is true, I couldn’t find the two of you, Chief Gallo did a fine job of covering your tracks. But what he didn’t do is make sure his men were using burners as well.” A proud smile stretched his face, but did nothing to make it any less terrifying. “All I had to do was track the calls made to his second in command. They usually kept those conversations short, so it took a few tries, but I got it a couple weeks ago. Once I found the end of the access road where he made the calls from, it was as easy as waiting in the woods until he left.”
Camille could only nod, because it had been a smart plan, and she knew Jon would blame himself for the rest of his life if he discovered how they had been found.
“You know, the other guys and I all had bets about who would find you first. Who’d get to do the honors of killing you.” Mac bent down to open the bag full of surprises at his feet, his eyes leaving Camille for the first time since walking into the kitchen. “Complese is going to hate handing over that fifty bucks.”
Seeing her opportunity, Camille charged him, swinging the knife down in the direction of his neck, hoping to get a slice into his carotid artery or even his spine. Before the knife’s sharp edge even came close to the asshole, he rolled away, a gun in his hand, and that damn smirk still on his face.
“Did you really think you’d get away with that? Put the knife down.” He waved the gun down, indicating she should put the gun on the floor.
Unable to hold back the sob building up in her chest, she let the knife fall to the floor at her feet, and kicked it away.
“You know, just for that I’ve decided to have a little extra fun with you.” Keeping the gun trained on her, Mac pulled the duffle bag toward him, pulling out handcuffs, another gun, and a small pouch. “I’ve been debating what to do about the cop. Your brother wants him dead too. I thought about just blowing the house up, but that calls too much attention. Now I’m thinking you can help me with this little problem. You know how to shoot a gun?”
Two months ago her answer would have been a big no. But since coming to the cabin Jon had made it his mission to teach Camille how to protect herself, because at some point they would have to go home, and then he wouldn’t be around all the time. She had fought him at first, insisting the self-defense moves he was teaching her would be enough. But he insisted.
“Yes, I know how to shoot a gun.”
“Good. I figure we don’t have much time until your boyfriend gets back, so this will be easier with you knowing what you’re doing.” Mac stood to his full height, towering above her as he stalked closer and grabbed her neck in a punishing grip. Hot breath slid across her skin, making her sick to her stomach as he whispered into her ear. “This gun--” he held up the piece in front of her face-- “is going to be the one to put a bullet in your old man’s head. But it isn’t going to be me that pulls the trigger. That’s too easy.” He slid the tip of the gun down her cheek, along the slope from her chin to her neck, and continued a path down between her breasts. “No, you are going to be the one to do the honors. The second he walks in that door you, sweet Camille, are going to point the gut at his head and pull the trigger.”
“Fuck you. I’m not doing a goddamn thing you say.” Just the idea of her shooting Jon sent a wave of disgust rippling through her stomach, threatening to push the contents out onto the floor. “I’d rather be raped and tortured then kill him. So just get on with it and stop with the histrionics you drama queen.”
Camille grunted as the fist holding the gun pummeled her in the stomach in two quick punches. “Make no mistake, you will be raped and tortured, either way. But you do have one choice in how this all goes down. You can either kill the honorable Chief Gallo yourself, quickly and get it over with. Or we can stay holed up here for days, just the three of us, with the Chief tied up watching as I make his woman bleed to death right in front of him. I’ll make him watch as I fuck you raw. As I cut your flesh into tiny ribbons. And the last thing he’ll ever see on this earth is the life being drained from you bit by bit before I finally take mercy and kill you first, then him. So what will it be?”
Knees giving out, Camille collapsed onto the floor, Mac letting her go to crumble in onto herself. She retched and sour liquid spewed from her mouth. Mac was a sick fuck in every sense on the word, and she had no doubt he would follow through with his plans. She couldn’t let Jon’s last experience on this earth be the picture her tormentor had painted. If they were both going to die anyway, maybe it should be her that did it. She could do it fast. Jon had been impressed with her accuracy during target practice, said she could hit the nuts off a squirrel from five hundred feet.
Mac shuffled around the kitchen, doing god knows what and she laid on the floor next to her own vomit, sobbing into her hands. But now her despair was at least partially an act, because Jon was right, her aim was good. She also knew where on the body to hit to make it look real, but still miss everything vital. Her anatomy classes had been some of the easiest for her. Just memorize the location, function, and names of organs, bones, veins.
Once she shot Jon, Mac would let his guard down. He’d gloat. It would give her another opportunity, and she’d be smarter about it this time. She could do this, for Jon. She could shoot him.
“Made your choice yet, little girl?” Mac grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet, dragging her over to stand in such a way that she would be the first thing anyone coming through the front door would see.
“I’ll do it.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll kill him. I don’t want him to see what you’re going to do to me.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m honestly a little disappointed this is the way things are going to happen. I think I would have enjoyed making him watch. I’ve never been one for voyeurism before, but in this case, I think I would have liked it.” Mac pulled the second gun from the back of his waistband and pointed it at her, backing away from her so Jon wouldn’t be able to see him when he walked in. “But it will be fun fucking you later with the same gun you’ll use to kill the man you love. Maybe even while the metal is still hot.”
Revulsion surged through her again. How did someone become this fucked up that they found the pain and torture of another person amusing and exciting? She would never understand it, and didn’t care to try. The only thing she could concentrate on was the shot she was about to take, making sure her aim was true.
As they stood and waited for Jon to arrive, Mac continued to torment her, telling her what he would do to her, how he would leave Jon’s body right where it fell and take her for the first time while she looked at his dead body. After a while she tuned out his mad ramblings, though at one point she became aware of his hand, not gripping the gun, rubbing his crotch.
The deep rumbling of Jon’s truck and the crunch of gravel announced his arrival. Mac fell silent, but Camille could practically feel the excitement radiating off him. He bounced on the balls of his feet, like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to be let loose so he could rip into his presents.
Mac forced the gun into her hand. “Don’t get any ideas. You try to pull something and it will just make everything worse. Don’t forget I know a lot of men with the same desires I have, and they’d love to be a part of this.”
The truck door slammed shut, and Camille’s heart thudded in her chest. She tried to focus, to slow her breathing and heart rate. She held the gun firm in her right hand, the left curled under to help hold it steady. As much as she tried to compose herself, she couldn’t stop the tears tracking down her face. If she missed, even by an inch, she would kill the only man she had ever loved.
The front door swung open, and Jon stood there, a look of determination shifting to one of shock. Mac whispered behind her to do it now, but she ignored him.
“I’m so sorry, Jon. I love you.” She squeezed the trigger, not yanking it back, just like Jon had taught her. The loud bang of the gun going off echoed through the room, and Jon flew back, his body coming to rest half in the house, half on the porch.
Panic seized her as blood bubbled up from the wound in his shoulder and poured down onto the wooden floor. Mac’s raucous laughter bubbled up from behind her, and he surged forward hovering above Jon’s still body. Too still. A scream in the distance startled her, until she realized the anguished sound came from her own mouth.
Mac turned to her, a wide smile on his face. She pulled the trigger again, but it just clicked. No more bullets.
“Have you learned nothing yet? I’m not an idiot, Camille. I only gave you enough bullets to shoot your dear Jon.” The smile widened as she frantically pulled the trigger, sobbing at each empty click of the gun. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”
Camille jumped as another gunshot rang out. Had he shot her? She looked down, but didn’t see any blood on her body. A gurgling sound pulled her attention back to Mac. Blood poured from his chest, a shocked expression frozen on his face.
“You’re not that smart, asshole. You should have checked the supposedly dead guy on the floor.” Jon struggled to sit up as Mac’s body sank to the floor between them. “Good shot, sweetheart.”
Camille scrambled to him, stepping over the now still and dead Mac on the floor. “I’m so sorry Jon. I had to. He was going to make you watch. I had to, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhhh. You did good, my sweet girl. You did amazing. You saved us.” Jon wrapped his good arm around Camille, and held her close to his chest, kissing the top of her head. “Fuck. I forgot how much being shot hurts.”
“Crap, we need to get pressure on that wound.” Running to the kitchen, Camille grabbed every towel she could find and raced back to Jon, now standing on his own two feet and leaning against the wall, looking down at Mac. She pressed the towels to his shoulder, stemming the flow of blood. Inspecting the wound, she had to admit the shot had been really good. Totally through and through, no bones seemed to have been hit, and she missed everything vital. “I think you’ll be okay.”
“I’ve got you, I’m perfect.” Jon took his eyes away from Mac, and began inspecting her in the same way she had him. “Are you okay? Did he touch you?”
“No. He liked to talk first. Was the same way when they worked me over the first time. Had to tell me everything he was going to do before he did it, but he didn’t get around to any of it yet.”
Jon tilted her face so he could see her cheek better.
“Okay, he slapped me once because I was mouthing off, but nothing serious.” The angle of her face had her looking at the ground, where a black box rested on its side by their feet. “Jon, what’s that?”
Jon followed her line of vision to see the box as well. “Shit. This is not how I wanted this to happen.”
Camille bent to pick up the package, stunned into silence for once.
“I love you sweetheart. Open it.”
She did as he asked, and the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen rested on a velvet pillow. “I shot you.”
“Yup. And I’m hoping you won’t do it again when I ask you to marry me.”
They both laughed, but Camille’s quickly turned into sobs. “Yes. I’ll marry you. And you better not have bought any more condoms.”