Collateral Damage (3 page)

His legs encased my sides. "You believe what you're saying—that's something I suppose. You'll do. Stay with me, and I'll keep you whole."

Whole?
I couldn't even begin to guess what he meant by that. I couldn't say for sure I was whole now. Not anymore. I shook so hard my teeth chattered like loose things rattling around inside my skull.

"Shh." He petted my hair—to soothe me I guess, but the
kind
gesture only made things worse.

For some reason, I felt like he didn't see me as a person. As an equal. Maybe my mind was just desperate to make sense of it all, but part of me was convinced that, to him, I was an animal. Perhaps one with value, but not much. Not yet. But a step up from a “thing,” which was how the other men saw me.

There was no way I could misinterpret what they wanted. But with Vince, I felt like I'd spoken a language he hadn't expected me to understand. I didn't know what to make of it.

All I knew was the others stayed away while he held me. So I let him.

For a little while.

Chapter Three

The comfort, the smooth ride, made me nervous. I'd stopped fighting. And so had the boy—but why?

"I want to see him."

Vince patted my head. "You will see him. Soon."

Sit. Good dog.
The guy was pissing me off. I wrenched away from him, still tangled in the blanket, and rolled to my side. "I will see him.
Now."

One of the men snorted.

I couldn't say what came over me, but the atmosphere inside the van didn't instill a need for caution. All the knives were put away. The men had relaxed. It took an effort to be afraid.

Until Vince's eyes narrowed.

He reached down, fisted his hand in the blanket, and jerked me up to my knees.

His face right in mine, he snapped, "Behave."

I held my breath and waited, sure he'd slap me. Punch me.
Something
. For some sick reason, I craved the violence. The boy deserved more than my one, fumbled attempt. Maybe I could help him by staying alive. But I couldn't help him by doing nothing.

The blanket held my arms at my sides and my legs together. So I cracked my forehead into Vince's nose.

He grunted. Then dropped me. Watched me worm free of the blanket as he touched the blood that trickled from his nostril to his upper lip. He licked his fingers clean.

I lunged. An arm slammed like a steel bar across my bare belly. A forearm across my throat cut off my screams.

Vince hissed in my ear. "You have my attention."

Despite my kicking and thrashing, he effortlessly picked me up and dumped me on his lap. The bend in his elbow fit over my windpipe, squeezing enough for a promise. His strength could—
would—
crush it if I gave him a reason. I couldn't waste another breath on another scream. My head was already spinning.

He stroked my back lightly. "You creatures can't think straight when you're aroused. This should help."

A solid
crack!
My butt cheek split open. Fire followed, like the open flesh had been ignited. My spine arched, and I let out a breathless grunt. I tried to kick.

Vince locked a leg over both of mine and held me in place.
Crack!

"Ah!" I tensed up, panting as though I’d just finished a circuit workout at the gym. "Please stop!"

"Not yet." Vince murmured. "Relax or this will hurt."

Another, louder
crack!
The other cheek. Only his hand hitting me, but it felt like I'd been skinned. A pause. The pain pulsed, spread, and I could feel the blood, moist between my thighs. I imagined a puddle of it, on the floor, pooling around boots and my bare feet.

Gently, so fucking gently I hated him for it, Vince ran his hand down my spine and over my ass. His touch proved my flesh was whole. His fingers slipped between my folds. The moisture wasn't blood.

"Come for me." He slicked his wet fingers over my clit, along one side, then the other, lightly as though not to irritate the delicate, abused bits. The arm around my throat loosened. "Come. Then we'll talk."

He believed it. The asshole believed I needed to come so bad I wasn't thinking straight. And part of me believed him. His conviction almost did me in. His manipulations warmed me, tempted me to give in and take what little pleasure I could get.

But my cunt had never done my thinking for me. I bit my tongue and let my body go slack. I wouldn't . . . .

Pleasure sputtered deep within, straggling to take hold. My hips jerked, not away from him, but up against his hand. Then my mother's voice killed every errant urge.
Slut!
I was about as hot as a dead fish.

"Stubborn." Vince moved his hand and stood me on my feet. His grip tightened on my arms when I tried to wiggle away. "Be still. I won't have the boy see you like this.

We're here."

The blanket was slung around my shoulders like a cape. He let me cover myself and then led me across the van with a hand under my elbow. The one-eyed man opened the doors for us.

Moonlight painted a silver path across white gravel to a modern-looking house.

Big windows, cubic structure. Paint scented the damp air, mingling artificial and natural newness. Scenic perfection, with a clear, starlit sky. Rain clouds rolled in the distance, over a horizon of trees.

Wrong. All so wrong. My nightmare should have an ugly background.

"Come on, Miss Reed." The little boy came to my side and held out his hand.

"Darryl said I could show you your room if I was good."

Well, that explains why the van stopped swerving.
"So, I guess you were good?"

"Very. I stopped kicking his chair and ate all my supper." His sweet, little face was so easy to read. His eyes said "I'm sorry," and his hesitant smile told me he hoped this would made everything better. "So you wanna see?"

I took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "I'd like that . . . ."

"Alrik." He grinned. All forgiven. All forgotten. "They let me paint the walls.

Yellow. They said it's your favorite color."

A thick accent I hadn't noticed earlier gave me pause. The others—even Vince—

sounded American. Alrik pronounced each word carefully, as though English wasn't his first language.

Vince's fingers dug into my arm.

The slight bite of pain surprised me. I started and looked over at him. He hadn't hurt me before, but his dark eyes held the threat. I swallowed and inched closer to the boy, careful to keep my fingers relaxed on his.

"I can't wait to see it!" My cheerfulness sounded real. Over the years, I'd trained myself to use that tone with the children no matter what was going on in my life. I could be firm when I needed to, but most of the time I was the happy Miss Reed. Like a cartoon character, or a puppet. And the person I was around the children didn't go much deeper. Not to say I was shallow, or empty. More like a beach where they could run and play, wade in a little, but no further.

"Let's go." Vince slid his hand from my elbow to the small of my back. Pressed lightly to get me walking.

Strange man. I followed the boy, my entire focus on Vince's hand. Guiding me, firm, yet not like he thought I'd run. I hadn't given him any reason to think I would, had I? My thwarted attempt to commit suicide didn't count. And neither did attacking the scrawny guy, because I hadn't gotten anywhere. Actually, I hadn't done much to prove myself a flight risk. Did Vince realize it was because I wouldn't leave the boy?

Probably.

So, why the sudden tension?

Didn't matter. I decided to ignore him and pay attention to my surroundings.

The furniture made the place look like a model home. All silver and gray, white walls, clean lines. Sterile, with a superficial, lavender aroma lingering over the sharp undercurrent of disinfectant.

A short hall. Alrik brought me to the only door, and then turned to Vince.

Vince pulled a tiny, black mp3 player out of his pocket. Only once Alrik had the earbuds in his ears did Vince wave him on.

The second the door opened, I knew the reason for the earbuds.

Screams flooded the stairwell, horrible, soul-shattering screams, the kind I'd heard only in slasher flicks. I stumbled back and Vince caught me.

Alrik dashed down the steps and out of sight.

"Stop him!" I lost all reason, trying to move forward while clinging to Vince's collar. "He—"

Vince pried my fingers from his shirt and propelled me to the steps as he spoke.

"Can't hear a thing. Those earbuds are specially designed to block all sound."

"But he'll see." I didn't resist. I continued down the steps. If Alrik had to see, so did I.

"All the doors are closed. He'll see nothing."

See nothing. Hear nothing. Vince made sure of that. I got the impression that protecting the boy from whatever was going on down there was important to him.

Alrik was important to him.

Which gave me my first clue as to why I was here.

For Alrik
.

We reached the bottom of the stairs. Alrik had run far ahead, down a hall much longer than the length of the house. A hall so long it seemed like he was running on a moving floor, past endless rows of doors.

When he reached the end, he skidded to a stop, glanced back, then giggled, and disappeared. He hadn't opened a door. He seemed to have walked straight through a wall.

"Damn it." Vince stepped around me, bolted down the hall, and then disappeared as well. I figured it out. There was another hall at the end. The place was an underground fortress. And down that hall was something Vince didn't want Alrik to see.

A shift in the air warned me of a presence behind me. I glanced up and stiffened as Darryl pressed against me. "They're going to be awhile." He tugged at the blanket, laughing when I clung to it. "Joel told me Vince got you wet. How 'bout I check."

"No." I slapped at his hand and turned to run. The blanket snagged and tripped me up. I sprawled on the floor. Crawled. Sobbed. "Vince!"

I didn't even think before calling for him. Desperation took over, and I accepted that, in here, no one else would help me. Vince might. If only for Alrik.

Darryl was already in place, forcing my arms behind my back so only my face, shoulders, and knees held me up. He pushed my legs apart and mounted me. Vince might have gotten me wet, but I wasn't anymore. Not that Darryl cared. When he couldn't get in, he bent down and licked me. I felt his tongue delving, heard him slurping and grunting as he got his tongue as deep as possible. As he lapped and spit and drove his tongue into my cleft again and again.

His boots scuffed on the floor as he repositioned himself.

And then there were boots in front of me.

"Darryl. She is not yours. Take one of the others."

Not Vince's voice. Not Vince. I gaped up at the new man's extended hand as Darryl released me. His bright, blue eyes looked kind, but I wasn't assuming anything. I trusted guys who pretended to be nice a lot less than I trusted overt jerks. And here that seemed like a really good idea.

"Come, my dear." He helped me up, and then bent to pick up the blanket and hand it to me. "Vince will not be pleased if you expose yourself to the little one."

Concealed by the blanket, my limbs shaky, useless things, I let the man propel me to a door halfway up the hall. I took him in as he opened the door. His long, curly, black hair was combed back into a tight ponytail at his nape. His gray suit looked pricey and smelled like starch. For some strange reason, I got the impression he wasn't comfortable in it. He tugged at the sleeves of the silver shirt like they were too short, even though they seemed custom fit.

His hand went to his throat, and he fingered his silver cravat as he stepped aside.

"Pick something nice to wear—whatever you like. Then we'll go to your room and have a chat."

After I entered the room, the door shut behind me. The background noise of sobs and screams cut off. All my strength evaporated, and I found myself sitting on the carpeted floor, just staring up at the racks of clothes lining the walls. Like most women, I had a healthy appreciation for nice clothes, but the familiar feeling of wanting to wear something that covered me from head to toe, something that made me look sexless and unappealing, overruled any temptation to even look at the pretty things. I forced myself to stand and went straight for the drawers at the end of the room. I chose the plainest cotton under-things from the top drawer, a baggy sweatshirt from the second, and a pair of loose jeans from the fifth.

Socks and sneakers. The sweatshirt's hood over my head. Sleeves over my hands, covering them. Much better.

When the door opened, I faced the black-haired man, feeling like a real person again. Not just an available body. A thinking being who could reason her way out of this situation.

The silence of the hall unsettled me. I almost convinced myself the sounds before had been some kind of horror track, played for my benefit. That would be better. Let them play head games with me. The alternative was too fucking scary to contemplate.

The man smiled and held the door open for me. "You look . . . comfortable."

"I am." I noticed his eyes on my covered hands and pushed my sleeves up.

"Thank you."

"That's it?" He cocked his head as I joined him in the hall. "No questions? No demands that I release you?"

"Would you?"

"No."

"Then what's the point? I'm sure you'll tell me what you want from me when you're ready." I made my arms hang limp at my sides, resisting the urge to cross them over my chest. The way the man watched me, paying careful attention to my body language, told me he was trying to read me. I wouldn't make it easier for him. "My room?"

His lips twitched. He seemed . . .
amused.
"Yes. Please follow me."

The room he brought me to was simple, yet clean and bright. Cement walls painted bright yellow, with matching cushions on the queen-sized bed adding a bit of color to the thick, white cover and cast iron bed frame. Everything else in the room was white. The tiled floors, the small, solid metal bistro table and chairs, the door at the other end of the room. Pleasant accommodations at least.