Evanesce (The Darkness #2) (19 page)

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Brooke was trapped
in her chambers with Milo’s body for longer than she would have liked. Refusing to wash his blood off her, she sat basking in it, in the fact that she had put an end to such a cold, sadistic monster. No woman would ever suffer at his hands again. She was to thank for that.

Lying in bed, she didn’t move when the door opened. Or when Greta let out a scream of horror. She continued to lay still, pretending to be dead. She felt hands touch her face, her neck; feeling for a pulse. There was more screaming and voices and then strong arms lifted her from the bed. She had a vague awareness of being carried out of the room, but couldn’t bring herself to lift her head or to even care. She was broken, her life stolen and shattered. There was nothing left now but a husk of the person she used to be. She closed her eyes and let the darkness claim her.

The light spilled over Brooke’s face, awakening her from her slumber. Blinking, she sat up, taking in her surroundings. She knew right away that she wasn’t in her bed in her chambers. Raising her head, she looked around, trying to make sense of where she was. A door squeaked and she looked over as Marcus exited what was likely an ensuite bathroom.

Heading her way, he sat on the bed slowly, his eyes running over her face.

“Hi, beautiful girl. How are you feeling?” He reached a hand out and stroked her hair, his face concerned.

“I—I’m fine. I think. What happened? Where am I?” she asked, disoriented. Were they outside the house? Had he finally seen reason and decided to let her go? Her heart fluttered at the thought.

“I brought you to my room. You had quite a trauma,” he explained, cupping her cheek. “I was too worried to leave you alone. Milo—well you obviously know that Milo will never be a problem for you again. As your employer, I apologize. He was unstable and I should have taken sterner actions against him after the first time he hurt you.” Marcus looked remorseful as he studied his hands in his lap.

Brooke’s memory came rushing back and she remembered Milo breaking into her room, trying to force himself on her again.

“I killed him,” she whispered, appalled. Marcus sighed, frustrated with the situation. He did not like it when his employees stepped out of line and Milo had broken every rule that he’d ever set. He should have been the one to end him; not the innocent Brooke.

“Yes, that’s correct. But know this, Brooke. His life was forfeit the minute he disobeyed my rules. I would have given him a much worse exit from this world,” he told her, his voice cold.

A part of Brooke was disappointed, as she believed Milo deserved a hell of a lot worse than the ending that he got. Sitting up, she studied Marcus’s face. It’d been months since she’d last seen him, his absence during her pregnancy instilled fear in her as she wondered what despicable deeds he had been up to. He still looked the same, handsome—a true devil in disguise. It was no doubt how he lured women into his lair.

“Marcus,” she whispered his name. “Please. Please, let me and the baby go. I just want to give him or her a chance. A-a-a life,” she stuttered, her hands resting on her swollen belly.

Marcus sighed and stood up from the bed, pacing. “Brooke. I’m afraid that isn’t an option. We have an agreement, and you are very close to holding up your end of the bargain. Letting you go would serve as no benefit to me.” His answer was final, absolute.

“Agreement?” Brooke swung her legs off the bed and moved to stand face-to-face with him. “We do not have an agreement! You kidnapped me, r-r-raped me, set that monster loose on me and you think that I
agreed
to all of that?” Tears of frustration appeared at the corners of her eyes, spilling over to track down her cheeks. “You think bringing me in here, out of the horror of what I did; you think that makes you some kind of hero? You are not some knight in fucking shining armor! You. You are the villain,” Brooke shouted at him, furious that he would think she was compliant in all that had happened to her, all that happened in the house from Hell.

Marcus barely batted an eye at her tirade. Taking her hand, he pulled her along behind him, heading for the door.

“That’s enough. You will go and have a rest before you get yourself too worked up.” Opening the door, the nodded to the guard stationed outside his room and he stepped forward, grasping Brooke by the upper arm.

Brooke’s temper was in full swing as she dug in her heels on the carpet. “No. No! I am not going to be sent off to bed like a child because you didn’t like hearing the truth,” she yelled. Trying to pry the man’s fingers off her arm, she yelled again at Marcus’s retreating back. “Marcus! Marcus, don’t do this, please. Let me go home, you can just let me go home!”

Marcus paused and turned back to look at her. His cold mask was back in place and there was no emotion behind his eyes. “Goodbye, Brooke.” The door shut with a click, the sound resonating through her as it sealed her fate.

T
he pain started
in the pitch blackness of night. Rolling into her side, Brooke let out a low keening moan as the excruciating spasms ripped through her body.

Changing positions did nothing to subdue the agonizing torture. Sitting up, she watched as ripples rolled across her swollen stomach. Bewildered, she stared in shock. “My baby,” she whispered as the realization that she was in labor set in.

The small spark of joy she felt dissipated as the door to her prison was thrust open. Greta hustled in carrying an arm load of towels.

“No, please. Just get out. I’m fine,” she protested. If she was in here, it meant they knew.
He
knew that the time had come.

“Hush now, Miss. I’m here to help,” Greta gently pushed her until her back was propped against the pillows, her legs slightly spread.

“Ahhh,” Brooke let out a suppressed scream as another contraction rocked her small body. Wetness pooled between her legs as her back arched off the bed. The contractions were coming closer together now, the pressure building. Sweat beaded her brow as she glared at the woman.

“I. Don’t. Want. Your. Help.” she snapped through gritted teeth. Greta shushed her and put a hand on her belly as she examined her.

“It won’t be long, Miss.”

Brooke barely heard her as an undeniable urge to push overtook her. Forgetting her vow to herself to keep quiet, she let out a blood-curdling scream as she beared down.

Dazed, her breath coming in pants; Brooke’s head fell back on the pillow.

“One more push, Miss. You’re almost there,” Greta’s soothing voice was too much for her. After months of confinement, of the cruel torture—kindness was nothing a distant memory. Tears dripped from her eyes as she gave the final push to bring her child into the world, the tiny cries filling the air.

A few beats passed, and she struggled to sit up. Greta was wrapping a small white blanket around her baby. A soul-consuming, overwhelming sense of love washed over her. She stretched out her arms, begging.

“Please…”

The woman hesitated, uncertainty playing across her face as she considered her request. She took an unsteady step towards her, jumping when the door crashed open again.

A man filled the doorway, his presence filling the room with a sinister ambiance. “Greta. Leave.” His cold tone left no room for argument.

With a regretful look in Brooke’s direction, she whispered, “It’s a girl, miss.” Scurrying past the man’s scowl, she obeyed.

Brooke watched in horror as the woman left with her daughter.

“Nooooo! My baby! Please. Pl-ease, come back!” her screams grew hysterical as she fought against the pain, rolling to her side and off the bed; landing on the floor with a thud. Crawling along the floor, she was only able to move a few feet before the pain became unbearable. Digging her fingernails into the carpet, she tried to pull herself along—desperate to reach her child.

“Please! My baby! Bring back my baby!” she cried, her hand outstretched towards the door, reaching.

“Enough.” The man crossed to her and restrained her easily lifted her back onto the bed. There was no remorse, no compassion in his eyes. She was nothing but a slave to him, her child to be used as a transaction. Her attempts to fight had failed and now he’d taken her everything. He stolen a piece of her.

A needle slid into her neck and her vision began to swim.

“Please. My baby, I’ll do anything you want…please,” her words slurred as she begged.

The man chuckled at her plight. “Oh I know you’ll do anything, Brooke. I’m counting on it, love. But as for your baby, forget her now—she belongs to me. You need to focus on regaining your strength.”

With those words he patted her head and turned to leave.

Stopping at the door, he looked back. “See you in a few weeks, love. I’m looking forward to conceiving your next child. I’d like a boy this time, wouldn’t that be nice?”

Brooke’s eyes fluttered closed, her worst nightmare had come true.

*     *     *

In the weeks
that passed after giving birth to her child and having her ripped from her arms in seconds, Brooke sank into a deep depression. All will to fight, to survive, to hope for freedom had left her; she was a shell of the woman she used to be. Grief was a suffocating blanket that had fell over her. Wrapping its arms around her and pulling her deep into the darkness, it was relentless in its persistence to swallow her whole.

Marcus never came back to her room after her delivery. Greta visited often, trying to engage her or coax her out of the room with promises of longer walks outside. Nothing could reach her, she was lost beyond the wall of her own despair as she longed to hold her child in her arms.

Greta arrived carrying a tray full of food for her breakfast. She had been allowed to deliver Brooke’s meals again after the delivery. Setting it on the table, she approached the bed where Brooke was lying, staring blankly at the ceiling. Seeing her in such a condition broke Greta’s heart. The hardest thing she’d ever done was take Brooke’s beautiful baby from her that night, it was a cruel turn of events that was slowly eating her alive.

“Miss? I’ve brought you something to eat and I thought that we could get you cleaned up,” she greeted Brooke. Reaching out a hand to touch her greasy hair, her heart twisted at the state she was in. She had been trying to get her into the shower for days, but Brooke was completely unresponsive. It was as though she had retreated into her own mind.

Not ready to give up, she tried a different tactic. “Brooke,” she said her name instead of
Miss.
“You must listen to me. We need to keep you looking fresh and tidy or he will not let you keep this room any longer. He will know, he sees everything,” she warned. Brooke’s eyes flickered, the first sign of life she’d shown in days.

Hopeful, Greta slipped her hands under Brooke’s back and sat her up. “It’s not wise for us to keep poking the bear, you see. He is known to have a nasty streak,” Greta carried on, intent on engaging Brooke in conversation. Brooke’s eyes moved, met hers for a brief second before flicking away. Greta helped her stand up and walked her towards the bathroom, doing a happy dance in her mind at her success.