CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

An ache in my neck is the first thing I feel when I wake. I realize it’s because I’m sleeping sitting up. What? I swallow and my throat burns. I go to grab my throat with my fingers; however, my hands meet a hard, sticky resistance. I look down and see silver packing tape wrapped securely around both my wrists and ankles. I’m tied to a dirty, metal, dining chair.

Oh, God. Donovan. He found me. I’m caught. No!

My head shoots up and I examine my surroundings. I’m in a small living room with faded yellow walls and old, brown sofas. There is nothing else in the room except those old pieces of furniture and me, trapped to a chair.

It looks like nobody has lived here for a long time.

My eyes dart to the left as I see movement outside the window. I swear I just saw long black hair run past the window.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

My head spins to Donovan, who is standing right in front of me. Dressed in his suit, he looks every bit of the gentlemen he isn’t.

He kneels before me and lifts his hands to my face, but doesn’t touch me. He just outlines the curves of my cheeks, close, but not touching.

“God, you become more beautiful every time I see you.” I narrow my eyes and scrunch my nose up, hating that he likes me at all.

He laughs at my reaction.

“What’s wrong, Emily, five months away from the collection and you suddenly don’t fear me? I remember our last encounter; you were just a shell of a woman, no emotions or fears. Just a whore who opens her legs when told to.”

I pierce him with my eyes, and resolutely state, “Not a whore, a rape victim.”

Donovan’s eyes widen minutely. Not enough to think I’ve shocked him, but enough to know he wasn’t expecting me to have that kind of answer.

Two figures move into the room and stand behind Donovan.

“Donovan, we’re heading out now.”

Donovan speaks, but keeps his eyes and body facing my way. “Go, and take Pete. I want some alone time with Emily.” His voice, dripped with honey, is disgusting. He smirks at me.

Shivers rack my body at hearing his words. My eyes dart around the room wildly. No, I won’t let this happen again.

“Are you sure? What if—”

The man doesn’t get any further in his sentence as Donovan stands, turns toward him and cuts him off. “Don’t think, Jimmy. Just fucking do what I say,” Donovan grinds out, his shoulders stiff and I can only imagine his face hard and angry. That expression has been directed toward me many times in the past.

The man shrugs and yells out, “Pete, you’re coming with us.” A third man comes into sight and they all leave through what I’m guessing is the front door.

Donovan turns back to me and I hiss, “I’m not going to let you touch me. Never again.”

His mouth curves up into a sleazy, slimy grin and then as quick as a flash, his hand is on my right breast and he’s squeezing it hard.

I scream out in agony as sharp, stabbing pains, radiate around my chest.

Donovan lets go and steps back.

Tears are escaping both my eyes and my face is scrunched up in pain.

“You’re tied up, Emily. You can’t stop me. Time to remind you just how worthless you are.”

Fuck. Shit. God, please don’t let this happen again.

I begin thrashing around in the chair. I refuse to let this happen. I refuse to be that woman again. This time, I will fight to the death, and if I die, at least I die with my soul intact and my heart full of love for the man I know who loves me, who loved me even at my weakest.

Donovan grasps the top of the chair in an attempt to stop me rocking it. He has an arm on either side of my face. He’s laughing through his puffy breathes at trying to hold me steady.

“A lots changed in the last five months I see. Well, that just makes the next few months for me a lot more fun. I will beat this fight out of you.”

All of sudden, Donovan’s body spasms. His arms rock my chair. I’m frozen watching him. Then his hands fall away and his body slumps to the ground.

With him out of my way, I’m left staring at a woman I know all too well. Alexa Kingsley. She hasn’t changed at all. Still a stunningly beautiful woman with long, black hair and a body most woman would kill for. She has a stun gun in her right hand and she’s panting heavily. Fear evident in her features.

She drops the stun gun to the sofa and runs over to me, desperately trying to untie the tape around my wrists.

“I need a knife,” Alexa says, more to herself than I think to me.

“The kitchen, there might be something in the kitchen you can use,” I tell her and she moves quickly away.

I stare down at an unconscious Donovan as I listen to Alexa slamming cupboards and draws. She returns with a pair of rusty scissors and begins to cut through the tape. It takes a few minutes as the scissors are fairly blunt, but finally, she frees my right hand and has my left freed quickly. She bends and slices through the tape at my ankles.

Relief floods my veins as I jump up from the chair, rubbing my sore wrists.

I glare down at Donovan and realize I’m now the one in control.

“We need to get him in that chair and strap him to it. Did you see the tape they used on me in the kitchen?” Alexa nods and runs off to grab it.

When she returns, we lift a heavy Donovan into the chair. I hold his upper body steady by his shoulders from behind while Alexa tapes his ankles and knees to the chair. She moves on to his wrists, and when she’s finished, I let go of his shoulders and we step back to look at him. However, the chair falls forward and Donovan’s face smashes into the ground. He’s too heavy.

Alexa and I stare down at Donovan thinking the whack to the face would have had to wake him up, but nothing; he doesn’t move.

Alexa and I turn to each other and shrug. We left the chair upright again and tape around his chest to the back of the chair. Using the whole roll of tape, we’re done and he’s sitting upright. He isn’t going anywhere.

I stare at him and a wave of intense power radiates through my body.

“The guys are on their way. They told me to tell them when I knew where you were, but I haven’t yet,” Alexa explains. I turn to her as she continues to speak, “I wanted to know what you wanted to do first. You can do what you wish with him now or I call the guys. They will come and deal with him. But you need to decide fast, because if they turn up, they are going to take us somewhere safe and you won’t have this chance again. Donovan won’t be leaving this house alive.”

I stare back at Donovan, thinking over her words.

“So what do you want to do?” she inquires.

“I want to hurt him. Make him bleed and scream,” I reply.

She raises the rusty scissors in the air and says, “Time to wake an asshole up then.”

I reach out and she slaps the scissors into my hand.

“But we can’t be long. Donovan’s guys will be back anytime and we need to let our guys know where we are before then.”

I nod to her and move toward Donovan. I notice his fingers are lazily moving. He’s waking up.

I twist the scissors around in my grip and place the handles together in my palm with the sharp end pointing down. I want to wake him up with pain. Yes, I want to hear him scream, right now. With that thought, I slam the scissors down into the back of his left hand.

The scream which rips from his mouth is intoxicating. It fills my veins and gives me purpose.

Donovan bucks in the chair, confusion written all over his face. His eyes roam the room crazily and then his gaze settles on me. His focus then goes to the pain and the scissors firmly planted in his hand.

“FUCK! You bitch!” His voice is guttural and I spot tears seeping from his eyes.

I take a step forward and very slowly I pull the scissors out of his hand. A long, agonized scream bubbles up and out of Donovan.

My heart’s pumping madly at seeing the red, sticky blood on the scissors.

I glance to Donovan and put my hand over my mouth in a fake, shocked expression.

“Oops, was that your hand? Is this your blood?” I point to the scissors with a grin on my face.

“You fucking bitch.” His voice is low and shaky.

He glimpses Alexa, who is standing behind me. She shrugs and leans against the wall with a bored look on her face.

I smile and move to the other side of the chair and stare down at his other hand. Those big, vile hands that have strangled and bruised me so many times.

I raise my arm and Donovan shouts out in protest. “No, no, no, no, no. Argh!” as I plunge the scissors down into the back of his other hand.

I stand back and watch as Donovan thrashes around in the chair. His face cringing as the movement hurts his injured hands.

My body is buzzing with excitement and power.

I step forward and again, I slowly drag the scissors out. The tormented scream from his lips to my ears is magnificent and overwhelming. Hearing a person in pain does cause my soul to flinch, but knowing it’s Donovan only drives the desire in me to do it again.

God, if he’s in this much pain just from his hands, I can’t wait until I reach his groin area.

Blood seeps from his hands, around his fingers and drips onto the carpet. Donovan bleeding before me, defenseless and weak. I’m searing this memory into my mind.

He lets out a crazy laugh and says, “You are fucked, Emily. Whatever you do to me, I will do to you tenfold when I’m out of this fucking chair,” he ends in a frustrated yell, still thrashing around trying to free himself.

“You aren’t leaving this house alive, let alone that chair, Donovan. You are the one who is fucked. Now, where should I stab you next? Ah, I know, your thighs, let’s work our way up to your pathetic, disgusting dick shall we?”

Donovan tries in vain to lift the chair with his toes in order to get away from me. I laugh. It’s a sound I’ve never heard come from me before. It actually reminds me of him. I freeze on the spot right before I stab his thigh and a little girl’s giggle drifts through my mind.

I swear if I turned around, she would be standing right behind me.

My dream. My family. Could I still have that if I took a life? If I turn to the dark side for just a moment, would I be able ever to fully leave the dark, or would this moment follow me for the rest of my life?

I step back from Donovan and look around the room. A crushing weight hits my chest as I realize what I’m doing. This isn’t me. This is him. This is what he does to people. This is what he did to me. He stripped me of my dignity and power and destroyed me. I won’t let him turn me into a monster. I won’t go down that road. He will die, but he won’t take me with him.

Taking a life isn’t something I can do. My soul already holds too many scars. I won’t give it another. Killing, even someone like Donovan, isn’t built into me. I won’t be able to move on from something like that. He’s tainted my life for too many years. I won’t let him have another second.

I turn to Alexa and say, “Call the guys. Tell them where we are.”

I drop the scissors to the ground and walk away from Donovan.

“You think he’s coming for you. Your fucking boyfriend.” He spits out the word boyfriend as if it’s a bad taste in his mouth.

I move up next to Alexa as she begins to dial a number on her cell and we both turn around to face Donovan. How does he know about Kanye?

“He’s not coming for you, ever. We received information they were headed for the airstrip. Where I knew all along they would go if I took you toward an airport. That’s where my guys were going, to kill him and whoever is with him. Then no one can fucking follow me or you, Emily. No loose ends this time. I’m fucking smarter than Marco. Dumb fuck should have done this in the first place.”

Alexa softly breathes out, “No.”

I extend my hand and speak in a panicked voice. “Give me the phone, Alexa.”

She quickly hands over her phone, and when she does, I can feel she’s shaking. I tip my head up to her and notice the fear in her eyes.

“Joseph is with them?”

“Yes,” she says softly and her eyes go glassy.

I hold her hand and state, “It’s going to be okay. They can take care of themselves.” My voice comes out strong; however, I’m not sure I completely believe my own words as my heart continues to pound against my chest.

I dial Kanye’s number. It rings out only once before a panting Kanye answers, “Where are you, Alexa?”

Thank God. My body instantly relaxes and I look up to Alexa with a smile on my face.

“Kanye, it's Emily.”

“Emmy, baby. Fuck. Are you okay? Where are you?” he demands.

“I’m fine. Alexa is here and she helped me escape. Donovan is tied to a chair at the moment.”

I peer up to Alexa with expected eyes and trail off to Kanye, “We are?” Alexa quickly answers for me loudly into the phone.

“We’re in an abandoned house on the right side of the airstrip. Its yellow and the only one on the road. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay, girls, hang tight. We’ll be there soon.”

“Wait, Kanye!” I yell into the phone before he can hang up. “Donovan sent some guys to the airstrip for you all. They’re trying to kill you. You need to be careful.”

“I will, Emmy. Don’t worry about me. We came prepared. Jake had everything we needed in the trunk of his car. They’re on the other side of the strip looking through some warehouses. I haven’t heard gunshots. I’ll call them and we’ll get out of here and come to you and Alexa.”

I let out a big breath, feeling so much better now having talked to Kanye.

“Okay, I love you, Kanye, please be careful,” I beg. My words come out strangled as my lips tremble with relief.

“I love—” Kanye doesn’t finish his sentence, as there is a loud bang and then an oomph from Kanye. “Ah, fuck. I’ve been hit. Fuck, Emmy, get out of the house, run and go with Alexa now. Leave and get somewhere safe!” Kanye shouts into the phone.

I’m frozen. Pure, undiluted fear has taken hold and my voice is too petrified to speak. My mouth won’t move out of fear that time will shift to the next moment, reality will come slamming down onto me, and I will lose the impossible. Lose what I will never recover from. I can’t even think the possibility.

I listen helplessly as the phone falls to the ground and Kanye continues to scream at me to run and find safety.

I flinch, my body recoils on the spot as I hear another gunshot and then nothing. Silence. No more shouts from Kanye.

“No!” My heartbroken scream booms around the small living room. That’s all it does, bounce off the walls in sound waves. It doesn’t save Kanye, and it can’t save me.

Heavy footsteps come closer to the phone and then the line goes dead. Kanye!

My knees are shaking violently. Unable to hold myself up, I fall to my knees. Silent tears sear down my face. Sobs are begging to be released, but I can’t let them go. I want to be numb. I want this crippling agony and sorrow to dig a deep hole into my soul and never be released.

“What?” Alexa asks, her voice shaking. She shakes my shoulders roughly and screams, “Emily, what happened!”

“He’s dead,” I whisper.

Tears reach my lips and I lick the salty grief into my mouth.