The last blow was the tattoo on the inside of her hip. A small thing. From what she could tell it was a ‘W’ with a crown atop it, underlined with a slash. Dark ink embedded in her skin, still tender to the touch, and she knew he had done it while she had been in the drawer. The time he had drugged her, given her the IV fluids.
What else had he done while she was unconscious?
Roaming her body with her fingers, she had explored every inch. Wound them under the collar, plucking at the small padlock that never budged. She was not as sore between her thighs, and the whip marks simply felt like bruises, although they hurt more than the ones on her wrists and ankles. There was nothing else that was new, no other tattoos, just a body that didn’t feel like hers.
A body she wasn’t sure she wanted to hold onto anymore.
The other one had claimed she had choices. At the time those choices had felt numerous, so many little battles of wills — some won, some lost — but now there was only one left. It was the only thing that mattered anymore.
He wanted her mind like he had taken her body.
But she would die before she gave it to him.
15
At least two days had passed in silence.
Every time he came to the room to leave a tray, or pick up another, she simply watched him. He would look at her too, that same analytical stare from the first night, except there were no strange smiles now.
No words. No demands. No threats.
Nothing except a quick exchange of gazes… which was fine with her. She didn’t want to talk to the monster.
Beth felt stronger, her head clearer. Finally hydrated, and nourished, and well slept. It seemed that all she did was sleep, but she needed it. The unconsciousness in the drawer, and all the other times, had never felt like sleep — there had been no dreams — but now she was dreaming.
Scattered, whirlwind dreams of familiar voices. Flashes of friendly faces, her family. In one she was simply driving and listening to music, on one of the coastal highways with the sun glinting off the ocean.
It had been simple and peaceful. No nightmares.
But it wasn’t like her mind needed to create nightmares when she always awoke in hell, always awoke locked in the same room, in the same house, with the same man — and she knew this strange peace wouldn’t last.
He was waiting for something.
The camera angle switched again, showing the flare of her blonde hair against the pillow, the shape of her body under the blankets. Tapping a few keys on the keyboard, he made the angle switch again, zooming in on her face.
Asleep.
His phone buzzed again, and he felt his shoulders tighten. It was another email. He knew it without checking. The customers were complaining, a few of them had offered to assist him with her, which had almost resulted in a hasty reply, but he had halted himself.
Patience was key, especially with the customers, but the general summary of their feedback was nothing but dissatisfaction.
Not only was she irritating him, now she was damaging their brand. So much money, and time, and energy building his reputation among these wealthy men across the globe. Getting them to trust him, to trust his security measures and his discretion.
She was ruining everything.
Anthony cracked his neck again, leaning closer to the screen where her face was formed in tiny pixels. The girl always kept the bathroom light on, and it meant she was still in color, albeit somewhat washed out — but he could see her face was fuller, that color had returned to her cheeks. She was more stable.
Stable enough to survive what he had planned.
Drumming his fingers on his desk, he felt another vibration from his phone and he swept it off the desk with a quick jerk of his arm. It clattered to the floor, lighting up, and he gradually became aware of the increased pace of his breaths.
Anger, stress — if he were capable of feeling those things, he was feeling them now. None of it processed right in his head, but he knew the signs. Had observed them in Marcus for decades, and extraordinary circumstances had summoned similar things in him before.
This girl was an extraordinary circumstance.
One that he was about to rectify permanently.
And then everything would return to normal, the process would work again, customer expectations would be met, and the cold calm of his brain would be restored.