CHAPTER 1
LOLA
Have you ever been caught between that place of wakefulness and sleep? When your mind tries to drag you back to the world of the living, but your body refuses to follow? I was currently trapped in that sluggish void, and it was pissing me off. Even in my semi-conscious state, I knew something was wrong, so very, very wrong. My body felt too heavy, and it was arctic cold when I should have been wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets. Pushing my eyelids open took considerable effort, and before I could find consciousness, I fell back into that hazy grey sub-existence once more.
Dark eyes filled with manic lust hovered over me. A tight fist gripped my throat, and I gasped for air that eluded me.
“You thought you were too good for me. I had to sit through months of bullshit with a psychologist because of you! You almost ruined everything!” Ben’s voice grew louder during his tirade until spittle flew into my face in his crazed rage. Black dots swam before my eyes, and my lungs burned with the need for air. Panic gripped me, and just when I thought my end was near, the tightness around my throat disappeared. I greedily gulped down the oxygen of which my body had been deprived.
This time, when I tried to wake up, it was with a desperation that made my heart thunder like a galloping horse. Terror filled my senses, and my body jolted with the need to find wakefulness. Engulfed in a wave of pain, unconsciousness quickly lulled me to a place of safety.
The cool, smooth blade of a knife traced patterns across my chest. Ben’s wild eyes followed the knife almost hypnotically as he glided it over my body, not piercing or slicing, simply kissing my skin with the promise of pain. My chest rose and fell rapidly, and fear left a bitter taste in my mouth.
“I’m going to leave my mark on you so you never forget who you belong to.” Ben spoke with a calm resolve that terrified me more than his mad screams. “Right across your tits, so every time I suck on them I can see my work.” His gaze left the knife and found mine. “I’m going to keep you, you know. After tonight, we’ll go home, and you’ll behave because you’ll finally be tamed. I’ll be seen as a hero, broken little Lily rescued by her brother. The voters will suck it up like a sponge. You’ll be mine, forever.”
I’d almost forgotten about the knife; Ben’s words swept me away in a tide of fear. As the blade sliced into my skin, my body arched and I screamed, but my bruised, raw throat let nothing more than horrified gasps escape my lips before darkness claimed me.
This time I woke with start. Third time’s a charm, they say. It shouldn’t be. Three was an odd number, and I didn’t like odd numbers. Three was supposedly the number of good fortune, harmony, and wisdom, but I hated it. However, this time when I opened my eyes, on that dreaded third attempt, my foggy brain cleared a little, and my eyes remained open.
It’s a disconcerting feeling not being able to recognize your surroundings. Intuition told me to be afraid. My heart beat too fast and my chest heaved rapidly; however, my mind was still somewhat foggy, and I couldn’t understand why I was panicking. As I took in the room around me, my frantic heart began to calm as my familiar bedroom came into focus. It was dark, the room still full of shadows, but a moon-shaped nightlight on the wall helped me recognize the quote-a-day calendar by my bed. Tuesday: Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever. How apt, considering I had never been a quitter. I’d spent my entire damn life fighting for myself.
The digital clock beside the calendar told me it was four in the morning, far too early for my brain to properly function, but a demanding ache from my bladder had me attempt to rise from the bed. The subtle movement shot pain through my body. Every single inch of me burned with furious agony, and to top it off, I couldn’t move my arms. That panic that had begun to recede was back with a vengeance. I wanted to toss and turn, I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, but every inch of me throbbed in agony. Instead, I kept deathly still as my heart tried to thump its way from my chest. Glancing up towards the headboard with gut wrenching fear, I noticed my wrists were tied. A weak whimper escaped my lips, and I pulled on the restraints. Not finding any give, I began a frenzied jerk on my bindings while my eyes darted around the room. My terror chased all thoughts away except the most prevalent need: escape. Not being able to move created a feeling of claustrophobia; my panic at being so vulnerable and helpless tumbled into hysteria. Before I could be completely subdued by my loss of sanity, I recalled the words of one of my many therapists: “Stop, breathe, listen, see, feel.” Gasping short breaths soon became longer, controlled breaths, and eventually, I was able to calm my ass down and push back the raging fear. Looking around, I confirmed I was alone; my door was wide open, and no noise or movement caught my attention from the small living room.
Was I alone though, or was there someone waiting for me just outside those doors? I couldn’t see into the bathroom from here so I had no idea if someone was in there. It was difficult to hear anything over the echo of my heartbeat. Lifting my head, I fought the dizziness and nausea to glance down my body. All the air left my lungs in an audible gasp. I was naked. My chest was coated in crusted dry blood, which had slid down my rib cage and seeped into the sheets. A small puddle of red had pooled in my belly button. When I glanced lower, I found more blood caked to the inside of my thighs. A raw sob tore itself free, and I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the sight away. This had to be a nightmare. This wasn’t real.
When I finally found the courage to open my eyes again, reality slapped me hard. This was real, so fucking real. Glancing down my body once more, I tried desperately to ignore the bloody mess. My ankles were unbound and blood free.
Ben had found me. The memory of him slamming by body against the kitchen door hit me hard. The ever-vigilant attention to my surroundings had waned in the comfort in which the town of Claymont had lured me. He had found me, and now he had used me and broken me, just like he always promised he would do. But was he still here? And if not, where had he gone and would he be back?
My gaze lifted to the bindings around my wrists once more. Wrapped around my right wrist was a belt, pulled so tight it dug deeply into my skin. On the left wrist was a fluffy cotton sash that tied around the waist of my robe. Deciding I had a better chance of freeing that hand, I wriggled and pulled and wriggled some more, becoming more desperate to be free as the fabric ever so slowly loosened. Another sob tore free from my lips, and I tried to swallow. The action brought attention to the fact that my throat felt as though it were filled with razor blades. When my hand finally slipped through the soft belt, the desperate sob became a relieved cry, and I quickly tried to sit up and reach the leather belt on my other wrist. Pain shot through my stomach and ribs, my shoulder twisted in agony, and black spots danced before my vision. Don’t pass out, I commanded myself. If I blacked out now, I’d be defenseless. Finally, the dizziness receded, and after a few moments of just sitting and breathing, the pain dulled to a manageable level. There was something wrong with my right shoulder; it felt . . . broken. Regardless of the pain and discomfort, instinct forced me to move, and desperation made my movements clumsy. With fumbling fingers, I released the belt from around my wrist.
Rubbing my fingers until feeling found its way to the numb extremities, I stood slowly, taking note of every twinge and ache in my battered body. The burning agony between my thighs confirmed my fears: he’d taken the most sacred thing a woman owned, something that should be cherished and only given in love.
Bile reached my mouth, and I didn’t even attempt to hold it back; I leaned forward and threw up. The heaving sent shooting pain through my stomach and chest, causing those retched black spots to dance in my vision once more. When my body finally regained control of itself, I stood tall, trying not to breathe too deeply for the cutting pain around my ribs. Holding my arm to keep my right shoulder as motionless as possible, I took a few hesitant steps around the bed. My foot kicked something that rolled over the hardwood floors, and I winced at the loud sound that echoed through my silent apartment. I glanced down and noticed my wooden baseball bat, the weapon I kept under my bed and within reach every night. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I stooped to pick it up, then froze when a vague vision filled my mind.
Pain, so violent and raw, tried to invade the area between my thighs, and I struggled to move away from the intrusion.
“Keep still!” Ben shouted as he rolled off me. The excruciating pain dimmed slowly as his body pulled away from mine. The anger in Ben’s manic gaze was terrifying as he stood beside the bed, my baseball bat in his hands. Without any hesitation, he drew the bat back and swung, connecting with the side of my thigh which burned with pain. I screamed and tried to roll away, but the restraints around my wrists prevented me from putting space between us. All the rage bled from Ben’s face as he stood over the bed and his contemplative gaze wandered over my body before settling on my face, where he continued to watch me intently. The slight lift in one corner of his mouth told me he liked the fear he saw. His mood swung like a pendulum, chaotic anger one moment, calm curiosity the next. He was naked and completely unabashed as he stood there, absent-mindedly scratching his chest, the baseball bat held limply in his hand. His manhood hung heavy between his legs, but as his vile gaze roamed over my body, it slowly hardened. “Give me a minute, baby, and I’ll be ready to go again.”
I forced my legs together in an effort to hide my modesty, and Ben laughed before pulling the bat back and smacking it hard against my ribs. All the air left my lungs on an audible whoosh, and I grunted in pain.
“No point in getting shy now, Lily. We’re beyond that,” he chuckled, sitting down beside me. His lecherous hands reached for my breasts, and he squeezed with an unforgiving grip.
“Please, Ben, no more,” I begged in a raspy voice.
He raised one perfectly arched brow. “No more? Have I not been clear with you, Lily? You don’t get a say in this. You will be available to me when I need you. You, my dear sister, will be my own personal fuck toy.” Ben stood and glanced down at his rigid cock. “See what just thinking about that does to me?”
The bat slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor, and I listened to it roll, one, two, three, four times, before stilling somewhere under the bed. Four was a nice even number, a strong number which represented so much: the four seasons, the four phases of the moon, the four elements. Four was perfect.
“You make me so fucking hard,” Ben growled as he rolled a condom over his length. “I can’t wait to feel you without a barrier,” he remarked as he climbed onto my body once more, tearing my thoughts away from the beautiful number four as he slammed back into me, wrenching another raspy scream from my abused throat.
Breathing so fast I thought I might faint, tears fell as I wrapped my fingers around the handle of the baseball bat and threw it, hard. It hit the mirror sitting on top of my vanity which smashed into a thousand pieces. Seven years of bad luck, I contemplated. Seven, another awful odd number; I hated the number seven almost as much as I hated three.
Why the hell did I do that, bad luck aside? If Ben was still in my apartment, he would have definitely heard that. Frozen in place, I waited, my ears reaching past the beat of my heart for any noise in the apartment. The silence was terrifying. Where was he?
With a shaking hand, I reached for my robe, which hung from the doorknob, and carefully pulled it over my naked, abused body. Barefooted, I shuffled forward, pausing at the doorway of my bedroom. Part of me expected Ben to jump out from the shadows; however, the logical portion of my brain knew that if he hadn't charged in at the sound of the mirror shattering, he obviously wasn’t here. Would he come back, though? He said he was taking me home, that he was keeping me. Where did he go?