Rock Bottom (23 page)

Chapter Fifty

Damien withdrew and, without him to hold me up, I toppled sideways onto the sofa. The sedatives were as powerful as he claimed, pulling me under like a riptide.

They gave me dreams. Horrible, vivid nightmares that felt real and entirely disjointed at the same time. Faces plagued me. Voices echoed through my mind. The ghosts of my past came back to haunt me. The demons of my present came to torture me.

***

“Who are you, Star?” Damien stood over me—a hundred feet tall—his face morphed and twisted with malicious glee. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Not even my hands clasped tightly over my ears could protect me from his interrogation.

“Who are you, Star?”

“Rylie!” I screamed my declaration at the top of my lungs, as though that could make it truer. “I’m Rylie!”

Damien threw his head back as he laughed openly at my naivety. “No, you’re not. Rylie doesn’t exist anymore.”

“No. I’m Rylie.”

“Rylie died in Rafe’s filthy apartment.”

“No. No.” My head shook violently as frost coated my skin.

“You killed her and left her there.” Damien bent, seemingly coming to me from a great distance. “Who are you, Star?”

“No,” I whimpered, feeling the last of my strength drain from me.

“Who. Are. You?”

I couldn’t fight anymore. I couldn’t fight him. Couldn’t fight the truth. Couldn’t fight what I’d become.

“Yours.” The admission breezed from my lips on little more than a breath of air.

“That’s right, my shining Star.”

Long fingers encircled my wrists, drawing them together in front of me. Shackled in one unyielding grip, they were slammed against the wall above my head sending a flare of pain down my arms. I cried out, but the pathetic sound was inhaled by Damien’s hungry mouth.

The hard wall at my back grew softer, cushioned, and suddenly the entire world shifted. I was lying on my back, hands pinned to the mattress. Damien loomed over me.

His free hand roamed wantonly—teasing, caressing, groping—eliciting soft sounds he continued to devour. The friction created heat, which sank deeper, pooling, igniting. His mouth joined in the torture and my back arched.

No
. I couldn’t. I
wouldn’t
.

I fought it. With every gasp that escaped my tight lips, I fought to deny it. But Damien continued without mercy. Biology is biology, and in the end my own body betrayed me.

In the moment of my greatest weakness, I cried out Damien’s name. My surrender. He’d won. He’d always win.

When my splintered thoughts coalesced and my sight returned, I peered into the familiar face hovering above me. Long, dark hair hung disheveled across his flushed cheeks. His bared chest, slick with sweat, labored under erratic breaths. Raw hurt and disappointment flashed in his silver eyes like lightning.

“Elijah? No.” What had I done? “No, I didn’t . . . It wasn’t . . .”

“It’s
him
you want. It’s
him
you chose over me.” Defeat colored his voice. “We could have been good together, Ry. I loved you. But you chose him.”

“No. No, Elijah, I didn’t choose him. I love
you
. Elijah.” Black silk sheets entangled my wrists, snaked around my legs, restraining me. Escape was a mere flight of fancy as I struggled, watching him turn his back on me and walk away. “Please. Elijah!”

You chose him. You chose him. You chose . . .

“Me.” Damien’s wicked grin filled my vision. “You chose
me
, Star. And it is
me
that you shall have”.

Gone was the man. In his place a great winged beast. Gnashing teeth, claws like razors, scales that shone obsidian. He let out a deafening roar and with it a burst of flames. Heat and pain became my entire world. My complete existence. I knew nothing more. A pile of ash thrown into oblivion by a gust of wind.

***

I roused now and then with no concept of how much time passed. Hours? Days? Weeks? Usually it was to find Damien in my bed. It didn’t seem to matter to him whether or not I was conscious.

I woke on my stomach more than once, the pillow nearly cutting off my airway. When he was finished with me, he’d always bring me a glass of water. I could taste the bitterness of the sedative on my tongue, but what choice did I have? He would stand over me, watching until every last drop was gone. And then I would slip away again. Surrender once more to the monsters in my mind, rather than the one in my bed.

I didn’t know which was worse.

Chapter Fifty-one

The scent of maple filled the room, causing my stomach to roil. I blinked my eyes once, then twice, unaccustomed to the sharp light coming through the parted curtains.

“
Gaaah
.” Using my right arm, I levered myself over onto my back and groaned again. My entire body felt stiff and heavy. I ached everywhere and my head was fuzzy and stuffed with cotton balls.

What time is it? What
day
? How long will I be allowed to stay awake this time?
Damien was nowhere in sight, so I assumed that meant I had a least a little time to myself.

Yawning, I drew in a deep breath and the sweet scent nearly threw me over the edge. I had vague memories of eating scraps here and there—being forced to chew and swallow though my facial muscles barely worked and everything tasted like sawdust in my mouth—but my stomach felt hollow.

My head fell in the direction of the table and I spotted the bowl sitting there. Obviously left for me, I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I hoped it was a sign that my punishment was over. Walking was difficult. Hell, sitting was a trial. My head swam and my vision dimmed, but after a few moments everything came back into focus.

Slumping into the chair, I eyeballed the sticky, pasty mush in front of me. I wasn’t convinced I’d be able to keep it down, but I wasn’t about to give Damien another reason to take anything else away from me. If this whole experience had taught me anything, it was to be grateful for what I had. So I took a small bite of the sickly sweet oatmeal and swallowed hard, waiting for it to settle before going in for another.

Beside the bowl sat a folded newspaper.
Home Invasion Turned Deadly
was scrawled across the front page with a picture of a small white house cordoned off by police tape, but it wasn’t the headline I was meant to see. It was the date. July eighteenth. Eight days. That’s what Damien had taken from me.
Eight
.
Days
. My stomach turned over again and this time it had nothing to do with the food.

It was mid-July. I’d been away from home for almost eight months. It felt like an eternity, and yet so much had happened I couldn’t believe that less than a year ago I’d been an entirely different person.

Rylie Star, the girl with the plan.

So much for that. What was that saying? We plan, God laughs? Well, I doubted it was God, but someone was having a hell of a laugh at my expense. If things had gone according to plan, I would have been packing for college, registering for classes, receiving my roommate assignment . . .

Maybe Elijah would have come with me. Maybe we would have found a place to live together. Maybe we would have had our ‘happily ever after’. But things hadn’t gone according to plan. That wasn’t our story.
This
messed up tale was. No matter how far off course things had gotten, though, I was determined that we find the same ending. That’s what I was doing. Course-correcting. One degree at a time.

Scraping the bottom of the bowl, I was relieved not to feel any effects of sedatives. It seemed Damien had deemed to restore at least this one freedom to me. For now.

I stood under the dual showerheads, feeling the soreness ease from my muscles by increments and the lingering fog wash from my brain. A good tooth brushing and round of mouthwash wiped out the rest of my funk.

My fingers slipped through damp locks, tugging at my scalp in an old, familiar pattern until a single long braid hung over my shoulder. I kept the makeup light—a little mascara, some pale lip gloss. It made me look younger, fresher. When the final product met with my approval, I moved to the closet and scanned the contents. 

My wardrobe selection ran the gauntlet from barely more than lingerie to evening gowns. I chose something from the slinkier end of the spectrum. I had some favor to gain back, and I knew exactly how I was going to do it.

As luck would have it—or fate, perhaps, because I didn’t believe I had any luck left—Damien was working in his office when I emerged. The door stood open so I took that as a cautious invitation.

“Damien? Sir? May I come in?” I huddled in the doorway like a kicked puppy desperate for love and affection.

“Sir . . .” He spared me a glance from the papers he was overseeing and did a double take. “I think I like that.” Heat crept into his gaze. “You look lovely. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are.”

“Thank you.” The shyness that had me casting my eyes to the floor wasn’t feigned. I didn’t feel beautiful.

“You may enter.” He flipped the papers in his hands so that they were face down on the desk and leaned back in his leather chair.

“Thank you . . . sir.” The word tasted like bile in the back of my throat, but I knew each use gained me brownie points I was going to need later.

His eyes heated further and I knew I was right. “Come here. Let me have a look at you.”

There was nothing I could do to hide the flush creeping up my chest and throat, settling into a deep burn in my cheeks as I stood before him clad in nothing more than black lace. He didn’t seem to mind if the deep growl he made was any indication.

“And what do you have to say for yourself, my little Star?” His fingers drifted almost reverently over my bared midriff.

“I . . . I wanted to . . . to say . . .” Oh God, this single moment was going to take decades of therapy to erase, but I knew what I needed to do. Dropping to my knees, I clasped his hand in mine. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I’ll—”

“Yes.” He stood, knocking me flat on my ass on the floor in front of him. “You will.”

Chapter Fifty-two

A firm grip beneath my arms drew me to my feet and I stood before him, chest-to-chest, wild eyes boring into mine. I always thought the phrase ‘my heart skipped a beat’ sounded painful. I can say for a fact that it is.

“I’ve been waiting far too long for this.” With a single sweep of his arm, Damien knocked half the stuff on his desk across the floor and the next thing I knew I was thrown down, face-first, over it.

I’d known this was coming. Or at least I’d hoped. And if that wasn’t twisted on just about every level . . . But I was there. In his office. And Damien was thoroughly distracted.

As he . . . availed himself of my assets, I forced myself to shut him out. To shut out the vile filth I could feel growing beneath my skin at every point of contact between us. And I paid attention. I paid attention to the financial statement beneath my left ear. The supply inventory under his sweaty palm. The list of letters and numbers hanging precariously from the edge of the desk.

I was slammed against the surface hard enough to bruise my hips and my hand clenched, taking the document with it. All of those muscles my time in the shower had eased were sore again by the time Damien was finished with me. It took him some time and several rounds, but when he finally had me out of his system, he unceremoniously dumped me out of his office and shut the door in my face.

Didn’t matter, I had all I was going to get from there.

I waited until I heard Damien talking on the phone before retreating to my room. There was no lock on the inside of the door, but I fervently hoped the chair I’d propped beneath the knob would hold off any unwanted visitors. In the bathroom, I drew open the bottom drawer and dug beneath the piles of toiletries for the box of tampons stuffed in the back. Dumping the entire contents of the box onto the counter, I watched several roll onto the floor and into the sink before the
clunk
of the cell phone hit the cool marble. If there was one place in the world a man was unlikely to go . . .

Turning on the shower, I sat with my back against the door, feet shoved up against the tub. I wasn’t taking any chances. My fingers felt numb with adrenaline as they fumbled over the keyboard. I typed out the statement information I could remember—the bank name, partial account number, amounts—and the list of letters and numbers I held crumpled in my palm.

AC TX 1011

KR CT 1028

MH UT 1104

SM TN 1115

RL NC 1203

NT FL 1227

Then I hit send.             

Waiting for a response, I pried open the box flaps and shoved my hand all the way to the bottom. My fingertips brushed over the glossy paper wedged inside and shimmied it out.

“This is it. We did it.” I smoothed Elijah’s image on my thigh and traced the curve of his square jaw, imagining the feel of the coarse stubble. “I’m coming home.”

The tiled floor was growing damp and the mirror was beginning to fog by the time the phone lit with Tanner’s reply.

Good work. We’ll run the information and get back to you. Keep phone handy.

That was all.

What did I expect? That my job here was finished? That they’d come barreling through the door and rescue me? We didn’t even know if what I’d seen meant anything yet.

Frustrated with my own impatience, I tucked the phone, along with the photo and document, back in the box before repacking the rest of the contents and burying it deep in the bottom of the drawer again.

Now what was I supposed to do? Act normal?             

I sat on the couch, flipping through the pages of a book with no real interest in reading it, trying not to pull my hair out. Damien remained shut away in his office for most of the afternoon, but Rosita came and went, dusting and polishing surfaces before disappearing into the kitchen. I itched to rush into the bathroom and check the phone every five seconds to see if there was news, but I wasn’t that foolish.

I fidgeted throughout dinner, barely hearing two words of the story Damien was telling me. The food I hadn’t had much of an appetite for recently vanished from my plate and I waited anxiously for Damien to finish his meal. I had to constantly remind myself to smile and nod at the right times, to be polite, attentive, well-behaved. If I found myself unconscious for another eight days, I’d be going nowhere fast.

When the plates had been cleared and left in the sink for Rosita to deal with in the morning, Damien escorted me down the hall. “I apologize, but I have work to attend to. You should get some rest.”

Yeah, sure, rest
. After eight days of near constant unconsciousness, rest was just about the last thing on my mind as I listened to that lock click into place. Still, I shut off the light before barricading myself in the bathroom once more.

Fingers shaking with dread and anticipation, I dug out what I hoped would be my saving grace and found . . . nothing.

No calls. No texts. No updates.
Nothing
.

***

Disappointment weighed heavily for two straight days while I waited for any word from anyone. Whoever said ‘patience is a virtue’ had never found themselves in my particular situation. Each time Damien came to me I felt the darkness in my soul grow a little bit colder. Every time I looked at that blank screen, I felt a little bit more hope slip through my fingers.

I’d done all I could do. If this wasn’t what they needed . . . what else was there?

Finally, on the third day, I dumped the cell into my palm to find a tiny blinking blue light. I nearly fumbled it onto the floor as I flipped it open and scanned the message.

List of codes corresponds with missing women in six different states. Who, where, and when they went missing.  It’s the smoking gun we need to get a warrant, but the judge wants to see it for himself. You set the time and place for the meet.

Meet? What meet?
They actually wanted me to bring that paper to them? Were they out of their damn minds? In case they hadn’t noticed, I was sort of detained at the moment.

I can’t.

He must have had the phone in front of him, because this time his response was almost immediate.

You have to. It’s the only way we get a warrant. It’s the only way we get you out.