Taken (2 page)

You stand over me and stroke my hair back from my forehead. “Rest,” you say, and walk out of the room. I watch you leave hating myself for ever thinking your body was something I wanted.

Why did you take me? Is this human trafficking? Will you sell me as a prostitute, a sex slave? My chest aches, and my breath hitches and shakes. I have to keep it together and find a way out.

I run my eyes over the long, rectangular room. A nightstand sits beside the bed and the chair you sat in. At the end of the bed, a dresser is pushed against the wall. The couch and T.V. make up a sitting area on the opposite side of the room with a matching leather chair and a wood table between them. The ceiling is slanted.
 
I’m held captive in an attic bedroom.
 

You didn’t close the door. I’m not locked in. If I could get the ropes untied… Does anyone know I’m missing? My phone. Where’s my phone? They can track me that way. Did you take it?

My mom will have a break down when they tell her I’m missing. My dad died last year. Her reaction to losing me to a job offer in Florida a few months ago was bad enough to keep me from taking it and leaving Ohio.
 
She won’t make it through this.

Shannon’s my only hope, but she left before you bought me that drink, before you took me away. Did anyone see us together? Did anyone see us leave? If they flash my picture on T.V., would anyone know where to start looking?

Maybe that’s what you were watching for on T.V. Maybe you’re paranoid. “I hope they track you down and lock you in a cell for the rest of your miserable life!” I scream. You don’t answer.

I close my eyes and try to think. My only way out of here is you. I have to be calm and rational when you return. What do you want with me?
 

I have no answer. You didn’t touch me. I’m clothed. I’m not hurt. Why did you take me? I stare out the window, like it’s written somewhere in the bright blue sky.

There’s no clock. I don’t know how much time has passed before you return. You’re carrying a bowl of soup and a pack of crackers. “You need to eat,” you say. “Will you let me feed you?”

I don’t want food. I want to be untied. “I need to use the bathroom.”

You study my face, considering your options.
 

“You can’t come with me,” I say, praying you don’t.

“If I untie you, will you behave?” You narrow your eyes at me, threatening. “If you don’t, I’ll have to come in with you.”

You set the soup and crackers on the nightstand beside the bottle of water and sit in the chair. “Rachael, can I trust you?”
 

What makes you think you can trust me? Do you really think I won’t run? “Yes.”

You hesitate, dark eyes locked on mine. Am I giving anything away?
 

Slowly, you reach for the rope and untie my wrist closest to you, then reach across and untie the other. Before you can restrain me, I grab the steaming bowl of soup and throw it at you. It hits your chest, and I dart from the bed.
 

Your reflexes are fast, and mine are slow from being drugged. Your fingers wrap around my arm and yank me back against your wet chest. One strong arm wraps around my shoulders and holds me in place. “That was my fault,” you whisper in my ear through clenched teeth. “You’re not ready to be untied yet.”
 

You spin me to face you and grip my shoulders.
 
Your dark eyes bore into mine.
 
“Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Hate wells in my chest. I glare back at you then spit in your face. Your fingers squeeze. Your thumbs could crack my collarbone. You close your eyes and breathe out hard. “Get in the bed.” You shove me, and I fall back into it.
 

I grab the ropes before you have a chance, and we grapple with them. You press your forearm into my chest and pin me to the bed.
 
I bite your shoulder. The ropes slide through my fingers and burn like hot liquid as you pull them from me.

I’m tied again. We pant for breath, winded from our struggle.
 

You collapse back in your chair and shove your fingers through your wavy hair, exasperated. Did you think this would be easy? “Don’t look at me like that,” you say, and stand to strip off your shirt. Blisters are already puffing out on your smooth chest.
 
My teeth pierced your shoulder. I run my eyes down over your defined abs and turn away as heat pulses through me.
 

I can’t think about you like that. I won’t. You’re holding me prisoner in your house. What is wrong with me?

I let my eyes roam back to you. This might be my only way out. “Would you untie me to let me touch you?” I whisper.

You study me with a blank expression. “When you touch me, it’ll be because you want to, not because you want me to untie you.”

A growl, like an animal, rips up my throat. “I will
never
want to touch you.
Never!”

You ignore me and slip your jeans down over your hips. “I’m going to go wash the soup off. I’ll be back, and then we’ll try to feed you again.”

I watch your bare feet pad out of the bedroom, willing my eyes to stay away from any other parts of your body. Why do you care if I eat? You kidnapped me.

A shower turns on somewhere down the hall. I hear you step in and slide a curtain closed. Something thuds, like a plastic shampoo bottle set down on a ledge. It doesn’t take you long to come back with a towel wrapped around your waist, dark curls wet and glistening on your head.
 

You stand next to the bed, your low-slung towel level with my eyes, and open the drawer to your nightstand. After shuffling around inside, you take out a small white tube and rub some kind of ointment on your chest over the blisters.

“What do you want from me?” I ask. My voice is filled with defeat that’s slowly taking over my heart. “I’ll do whatever you want.” Tears trickle down my cheeks. “Just let me go home.”

You bend down and rub your thumbs across my cheeks collecting tears. “I told you, Rachael. You are home.” Your warm lips press against my forehead. “It’ll be good.”

“What do you mean?” I whisper, afraid to ask, because I already know the answer. My lips tug down at the corners and quiver. You’re never going to let me leave you.

You sit beside me and run your fingers down my cheek.
 
“You’ve always been the person holding everything together haven’t you?—for your mom when your dad was sick, after he died, for your brainless roommate.”

I can’t breathe. I can only stare at you. “How do you know about me?”

Your eyes trail over my face. “I know.” You stroke my hair and stare deep into my eyes. “You’re always the strong one, aren’t you? But who takes care of you, Rachael?”

“I take care of me.” I shift my head away from your fingers. “I don’t even know you. Were you stalking me?”

You grin, like I’m a little girl asking a silly question. “I offered you a job. You couldn’t take it. Your life wasn’t your own. Now it can be.”

Your voice. Your face. That’s it—I know you. “We video chatted. You’re…” I shake my head in disbelief. You can’t be the clean-shaven man in the business suit I spoke to.

“Merrick Rocha, CEO, Rocha Enterprises.” You smooth the crease between my eyebrows and laugh at my shock. “You made a lasting impression on me, Rachael, and I don’t like to be turned down. I needed to find out why you didn’t come work for me.”

How can a respected, beautiful man be entirely crazy? “So you
kidnapped
me?”

You flinch at my words. “I’m
detaining
you until you choose to be here.”

My mind races back through everything you’ve just told me. “But, how does that make my life my own?”

You frown and look away from me. “You want to be here. I know you do.” You leave the bed and cross the room to dress. I don’t watch. I stare out the window.

Mr. Rocha, real estate mogul and owner of Rocha Enterprises, kidnapped me. My mind tries to make sense of it, but it spins in endless circles. You want me to choose to be here with you. It defies logic.

I think back to my video interview with you. It was the third interview. The two prior had been with a human resources manager. You were impressed with me. I was attracted to you.

You said you didn’t even need to consult anyone else for an opinion and offered me the position of project manager right then. You offered to fly me to Florida on the next plane out. I told you I would need to discuss the offer with my family, and called you the next day to decline after my mom freaked at the thought of me leaving town.

It was my dream job overseeing the renovation of a historic hotel in Florida’s Everglades with a multi-million dollar budget at my disposal. After years of architecture and design classes, working as an intern for pennies, my day had arrived only to be shot down.

I snap my head to look at you. “We’re at Turtle Tear Hotel, aren’t we? In the Everglades.”

You pull a soft, white t-shirt down over your chest and smile. “I told you, you’re home.”
 
You step toward the door.

“Wait!” I call after you. You turn and face me. “Why like this?”
 
I tug at my ropes.

You shrug. “I didn’t know how else to do it.”
 
Your eyes are tormented.
 
“I’m not really a kidnapper, Rachael.”

“Then let me go.”

Your head drops. “You’ll try to leave.”

“I don’t understand. Why me?”

You don’t answer, just shake your head and leave the room.

Chapter Three

You untie my right hand to let me eat. I raise the sandwich to my mouth and take a bite. Peanut butter and grape jelly.

“I hope it’s okay,” you say. “I can make something else if it’s not.”

 
I’ve resolved to act like your best friend in the world until you let me loose, and I can get the hell out of here. “It’s actually one of my favorites from when I was a kid. I loved PB&J’s all warm and gushy from my lunchbox.”
 

“You want another?” You gesture toward the bag of bread, jar of peanut butter and squeeze bottle of jelly on the nightstand.
 

“Yes, please. I’m starving.”

You laugh and reach for the bread. “You should be.
 
You haven’t eaten in over two days.”

I gasp and choke. You pat my back and grab the bottle of water. I chug it and cough a few more times. “How long was I out?”

“Since Friday night. It’s Monday afternoon.”

I drop my sandwich and grip your arm. “You have to let me call my mom. She’ll be having a nervous breakdown by now.”

You take my hand and hold it between both of yours. “She’s fine. I’ve taken care of it.”