Tara
Waiting is all I could do. And listening. I strain so hard to hear snippets of their conversation, trying to work out what the hell is going on. But it’s been so long.
So long since he left me here, cold, naked, and ashamed.
Every time I hear an engine, or a loud bang, I jerk in fear. Wondering when he will return and how bad it will be when he finally does. But, lying here, it feels like time has stopped. Like the wait of what’s to come is more excruciatingly painful than the punishment. I fidget and squirm at the building need to pee, wondering whether there’s a way I can get someone’s attention.
“Hey,” I yell as loudly as I can manage, pulling and rasping the binds around my hands, hoping to be heard. “HEY!” I yell even louder and then freeze, scared to move the second I can hear footsteps.
“What?” Ozzie asks with a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I, uh, I really need to pee.”
“Oh.” He pauses, his eyes shifting uncomfortably.
“You need to hurry,” I prompt him, shifting as the sensation becomes painful. “Not sure I can hold on much longer.”
“Fuck,” he grumbles stepping closer and his eyes scraping over my semi-naked body. I see the muscles in his neck twitch as he stares for a second or two too long at my breasts all on show. Leaning over me, he starts to loosen the rope. “Don’t try anything fucking stupid,” he says in a raised voice.
“I won’t,” I assure him, pulling my arm free from the binds. My muscles ache and feel so tight that I shake my arms, trying to bring them back to life. Grimacing, I groan as I try to relieve the numb sensation.
“This way,” he says. Grabbing my arm roughly he drags me toward the door in the corner of the empty space. Throwing the door open, he pushes me inside. I stumble forward but steady myself by resting my hand against the cold, metallic wall. I turn, placing my hand on the door, attempting to close it.
“I don’t think so,” he remarks with a stomach-curling smirk. “Door stays open.” I let out a long exhale, but realize I don’t have a choice. I take small steps, backing up toward the toilet before slowly sliding down against the seat. Using my hands, I try to cover myself, but his direct, probing eyes watch my every movement and feel like they’re burning a hole in my skin.
I pee for what feels like the longest time before grabbing toilet paper and wiping discreetly. I stand grabbing the material of my top, trying to cover my exposed breasts.
“No need to be shy, darlin’,” he remarks slimily. Glaring at him, I hit the flush and step toward the closet-sized sink, washing my hands. The water against my tingling hands is a welcome feeling. “Hurry up,” he snaps, checking behind him to make sure no one is coming. It’s in that single moment that I realize he’s doubting whether he’s done the right thing. He grips the top of my arm, digging his harsh nails into my skin, almost painfully. I allow him to take me back over to the bed and reapply the binds around my wrists.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice shaky.
His mouth tightens and he stares down at me but doesn’t reply. Once the ropes are back in place, he turns, walking away and out of the room. I allow my head to fall to the side, burying my face into the soft skin on my upper arm. My chin trembles as I try to fight back the urge to cry. I won’t allow myself to show how I’m feeling on the inside. Staying strong is all I have left. It’s the small amount of control I have over this whole goddamn situation.
I lie there, unable to move and waiting for something to happen. Drifting in and out of sleep, my stomach tightens and contracts as it growls loudly, protesting at the lack of food. I need food. And maybe playing the baby card will help persuade him to feed me.
The sound of the metal stairs vibrating and creaking as someone approaches puts me on high alert. Lifting my head, I look and wait for someone to appear. A shudder wracks through me as Jeffries appears at the top, his hard eyes glaring at me.
“Tara,” he addresses me, wearing a grin that causes my empty stomach to roll. Making his way over to me, his boots thud against the floor, the sound echoing through the industrial building. Stopping beside the bed, he drops down heavily. Instantly, I move away, trying to put some space between me and this asshole. I can’t help but notice small blood stains and bruises on his face.
Lifting his hand, I turn my head away, clasping my eyes shut. His rough hand grazes over my chest, coming to a stop at my waist. I grimace at the feel of his fingers digging into me. “You really despise me, don’t you?” He asks the question like it’s a fact he’s proud of.
Slowly opening my eyes, I turn to face him. “This isn’t some sort of game, you know! This is my life. Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I can. But I realized something today, Tara. You can’t be manipulated. No matter what the consequences, you don’t allow yourself to give in.”
“Why should I?” I spit back. “What? You want me to roll over and play dead?”
Ignoring me he leans over, continuing. “Hurting you was never part of the deal I made with Carter. Yes, I wanted you for myself, but I’ve accepted that won’t ever happen.” Removing his painful grip, he starts to roll up the sleeve on his checked shirt. “I’m going to enjoy hurting you, Tara. Even if it was never part of the plan.”
Clenching my clammy hands, I can’t help but whimper as the fear takes hold. As my body starts to shake, I open my mouth to say something, anything that will give me some idea of what the hell is going on.
“You’re a beautiful girl, Tara. I see why my son is so fascinated by you. But do you think he’ll want you if I disfigure you?”
Dropping his leg to the floor, he stands, towering over me.
I fidget, unsure what he’s going to do. I want to scream but all that I can force out is a meek “No” as he pulls out his knife.
“No?” he asks with a tilt of his head. “You know he won’t want a disfigured Tara?” He tilts his head and the tone of his voice lets me know he’s taunting me.
“Fuck you,” I yell at him, my head jerking forward as I force out the words. If this asshole is going to hurt me, I will fight, even if it’s only verbally.
“Not something you should say to the man holding the knife in his hand, is it now?” He spins the knife in his hand, the look of pleasure spans across his face. Leaning over me once more, he grabs hold of my face with his free hand, squeezing my cheeks together as he bends closer, our foreheads touching. I can’t help but squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to move my head enough to break the hold. But I can’t. “I’m going to make this hurt. I’m going to make you scream. And the sounds of your screams will give me unimaginable pleasure. And in the end, you’ll be begging me to fuck you instead of torture you. But don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll still fuck your ugly ass, even when you’re disfigured.”
I widen my eyes, mumbling against the hold he has on my mouth.
“You know, I was thinking how I would hurt you and exactly what I would do. Then, just like that it clicked.” Releasing the hold he has on my face he stands upright, lifting the hand that holds the knife in the air. Plunging it down, I cry out as the sharp blade sinks deep into my fleshy thigh, only stopping when it hits the bone. I throw myself forward, crying out.
“Revenge,” he says, drawing out the word. “Thought I’d give you a little taste of what you did to me.” Keeping a firm grip on the handle, he twists it and the pain is unimaginable.
With a laugh, he slowly pulls the knife from my leg, darting out his tongue and licking the blood covering the blade. “Tastes so good,” he says with a lift of his brow. The bastard stares at me with a smile on his face and zero signs of regret. He’s getting a sick kick out of hurting me, that much I can see.
My whole body trembles and my lip quivers. I can’t feel or think of anything other than the pain. Jeffries leans over me again, the overwhelming smell of cigars hits my senses, causing me to fight back a gag. Grabbing the end of my hair roughly, he forces my head to the side, facing away from him. Slicing his knife against my hair, he cuts at it, my head moving as he forces my thick brown hair against the sharp blade. Dangling the hair in front of my eyes, I cry at the cruelty of what he’s trying to do to me. He wants to make me ugly. Disfigure me until no man would ever want to lay eyes on me.
“Oh, poor Tara,” he taunts, throwing the hair to the floor. His hand heavy on my chin, forcing me to look at him. His hand shakes as he holds the blade of the knife close to my face.
“Maybe I should start with your pretty little face. Shame, I enjoy and appreciate your beauty.” He shakes his head, tapping the tip of his blade against his lips as he contemplates his next move.
My racing heart and anxiety causes me to blurt out to him, pleading for my life. “Please don’t do this.”
Shaking his head, he stands stoic, eyes glaring at me. “You had your chance to be mine. And you fought me, Tara. This is your choice, not mine.” Lifting my chin with his hand he narrows his eyes on my throat. “Maybe I should start here. But keep still, princess, wouldn’t want to slice an artery.” Coming closer with the knife, he presses the blade against the sensitive skin on my neck. I still, making my whole body rigid, scared to make a wrong move. Clenching my eyes shut, I suck in a breath as the pain becomes all I can feel again. He slices the knife calmly, over and over, cutting lightly into my skin. Counting along with every slice he makes into my skin, I cry silent tears.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-three.
Please stop, I say over and over in my mind.
The pain on the right side, now appears on the left. Again and again the knife scratches over my neck. I can feel the warmth of my blood trickling from the cuts.
“Stop. Please stop,” I grate out, trying to speak without moving. I’m not sure how much more I can take. I feel my head starting to feel woozy, my mind giving into the pain and torture of him slicing at me. The more he cuts, the more painful it becomes. Without saying a word, he lifts the knife from my neck, straightens back and releases his hold on my chin.
Tugging on the binds around my wrists, I’m desperate to wrap my fingers around my neck, stemming the flow of blood. I feel it streaming down my neck and onto my chest.
“It’s no use,” he taunts with a glint of excitement in his eyes.
“My neck… the blood,” I choke out. My body thrashes as the fear of bleeding out on this bed is all too much.
He laughs, a menacing laugh, his chest rumbling as he watches me freaking out. “The more you thrash, the faster the blood will pump. You want to live, you need to keep calm and stay still.”
Tears stream from my eyes and roll down my face. He laughs loudly and the sound feels like someone scraping their nails across a chalkboard. It causes me to wince, and above all else, I know I hate the sound of his laugh. It isn’t happy or carefree. It’s evil and more twisted than any noise I’ve ever heard before. Shivering, I gulp down the lump that has formed in my throat.
“Are you… are you really just going to leave me here?” I blurt out. He stands at the side of his bed, cleaning the knife with a bandana he just pulled from his pocket. “Oh God, I’m going to die here aren’t I?” I say, but my voice is barely a whisper. Before I can even think of my next move, my head is knocked sideways and the pain makes me cry out. My nose stings and my face feels like it’s swelling, thumping from the contact. I turn, looking up at him, stunned and unsure what just happened. As soon as I see Jeffries shaking out his hand I know he just hit me.
The motherfucker just punched me in the face.
“You gotta shut the fuck up, Tara. Your pathetic whiny voice is really starting to piss me off.”
My left eye starts to swell and my vision blurs. But there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s staring at me, as if admiring his handiwork.
“Enough for today,” he says. Pushing the knife back in the holster he turns his back to me, walking out of the space and down the stairs like he hasn’t a care in the world.
But for now, I have to hold on.
Because I refuse to die here.
I have too much to live for.