Twist Me (24 page)

She looks at me, her eyes dark in her pale face. “He will,” she answers softly. “He’ll come for us. I just don’t know if it will matter to us by then.”

* * *

The next couple of hours drag by. The men largely ignore us, though I’ve seen a couple of them looking at my bare legs when their leader wasn’t paying attention. Thankfully, the hospital gown is generally shapeless and made of thick material—about the least sexy outfit I can imagine. The thought of one—or several—of them touching me makes my skin crawl.

They also don’t give us anything to eat or drink. That’s not a good sign; it means they don’t care if we live or die. My thirst is getting so bad that all I can think about is water, and there is an empty, gnawing feeling in my stomach. The worst thing of all, however, is the cold fear that comes at me in waves and the dark images that flicker through my mind like a bad horror movie.

I try to talk to Beth to keep myself from freaking out, but after our initial conversation, she’s become quiet and withdrawn, responding in monosyllables at best. It’s like mentally, she’s not even there. I envy her. I’d like to be able to escape like that, but I can’t. For my mind to let go, I need Julian and his particular brand of erotic torture.

When I’m just about ready to scream from frustration, two more men enter the warehouse. To my surprise, one of them looks like a businessman; his pinstriped suit is sharp and tailored, and a stylish Strotter bag hangs messenger-style across his body. He’s also relatively young, probably only in his thirties, and appears to be in good shape. Smoothly shaven, with olive complexion and glossy dark hair, he could’ve been on the cover of GQ—if it weren’t for the fact that he’s most likely a terrorist.

He exchanges a few words with the men on the other side of the warehouse, then heads toward Beth and me. As he approaches us, I notice the cold gleam in his eyes and the way his nostrils flare slightly. There’s something vaguely reptilian in his unblinking stare, and I suppress a shudder when he stops a couple of feet away and studies me, his head cocked to the side.

I stare back at him, my heart pounding heavily in my chest. Objectively, he could be considered handsome, but I don’t feel even the slightest tug of attraction. The only thing I feel is fear. It’s actually a relief; some part of me has always wondered if I’m simply wired wrong—if I’m destined to desire the men who scare me. Now I see that it’s a Julian-specific phenomenon for me. I’m frightened and repulsed by the criminal standing in front of me now—a perfectly normal reaction that I embrace.

“How long have you known Esguerra?” the man asks, addressing me. He has a British accent, mixed with a hint of something foreign and exotic. At the sound of his voice, Beth looks up, startled, and I see that she’s back with us for the moment.

I hesitate for a second before answering. “About fifteen months,” I finally say. I don’t see the harm in revealing that much.

He lifts his eyebrows. “And he kept you hidden this whole time? Impressive . . .”

I suppress the sudden urge to snicker. Julian quite literally kept me hidden on his island, so this guy is more right than he realizes. My lips twitch involuntarily, and I see a flicker of surprise cross the man’s face.

“Well, you’re a brave little whore, aren’t you?” he says slowly, watching me with his dark gaze. “Or do you think this is all a joke?”

I don’t say anything in response. What can I say?
No, I don’t think it’s a joke.
I know you’re going to torture me and probably kill me to get back at Julian.
Somehow that just doesn’t have the right ring to it.

His eyes narrow, and I realize I somehow managed to make him angry. He looks like a cobra about to strike. My heartbeat spikes, and I tense, bracing myself for a blow, but he simply reaches for his Strotter bag and opens it to reveal his iPad. Glancing down, he quickly types some email, then looks up at me. “Let’s see if Esguerra thinks it’s a joke,” he says quietly, closing the bag. “For your sake, girl, I hope that’s not the case.”

Then he turns and walks away, heading back to where the other men are gathered.

* * *

Despite my terror and discomfort, I somehow manage to fall asleep in the chair. My body is still recovering from the operation, and I’m both physically and emotionally exhausted from the events of the past day.

I wake up to the sound of voices. The guy in the suit and the short one I had pegged as the leader are standing in front of me, setting up what looks like a large camera on a tall tripod.

I swallow, staring at them. My mouth feels as dry as the Sahara desert, and despite all the time that’s passed, I don’t have the least urge to pee. I’m guessing that means I’m badly dehydrated.

Seeing that I’m awake, the Suit—I decide to call him that in my mind—gives me a thin-lipped smile. “It’s showtime. Let’s see just how much Esguerra wants his little whore back.”

Nausea roils my empty stomach, and I turn my head to look at Beth. She’s staring straight ahead, her face white and her gaze vacant. I don’t know if she slept at all, but she seems even more out of it than before.

They point the camera toward us, checking the angle a couple of times, and then the Suit comes over to stand next to me. As soon as the camera light goes on, he puts his hand on my head, roughly stroking my tangled hair. “You know what I want, Esguerra,” he says evenly, looking at the camera. “You have until midnight tomorrow to get it to me. Do that, and your slut will remain unharmed. I’ll even give her back to you. If not, well . . . you’ll get her back anyway.” He pauses, smiling cruelly. “Little by little.”

I stare at the camera, bile rising in my throat. I haven’t been harmed—yet—but I can sense the violence in these men. It’s the same darkness that stains Julian’s soul. Men like these are different. They don’t abide by the social contract. They don’t play by the same rules as everyone else.

The Suit’s hand leaves my hair, and he takes a step toward Beth. “You may be doubting me, Esguerra,” he says, still speaking to the camera. “You may be thinking that I lack resolve. Well, let me do a little demonstration of what will happen to your pretty whore if I don’t get what I want. We’ll start with the redhead and move on to that one—” he nods toward me, “—tomorrow after midnight.”

“No!” I scream, realizing what he means to do. “Don’t touch her!” I struggle to get free, but the ropes are holding me too tightly. There is nothing I can do but watch helplessly as he wraps his hand around Beth’s throat and begins to squeeze. “Don’t you fucking touch her! Julian will kill you for this! He’ll fucking murder you—”

Ignoring my screams, the Suit barks out an order in Arabic, and a man steps forward, cutting Beth’s ropes with a sharp knife. I catch a glimpse of her terrified eyes, and then they throw her on the ground, face down. The Suit presses his knee against her back and yanks on her hair, forcing her head to arch back. I can see her legs drumming uselessly against the ground, and my screams grow louder as the Suit takes out a short, thin knife and begins cutting Beth’s cheek.

She yells, struggling, and I can see blood spraying everywhere as he slices open her face, leaving behind a deep bloody gash. I gag, my stomach heaving, but he’s far from done. Beth’s other cheek is next, and then he presses the knife into her upper arm, cutting off a strip of flesh. Her agonized screams echo throughout the warehouse, joined by my own hysterical cries. I feel her pain as though it’s my own, and I can’t bear it. “Leave her alone!” I shriek. “You fucking bastard! Leave her alone!”

He doesn’t, of course. He continues cutting her, his dark eyes shining with excitement. He’s enjoying this, I realize with sick horror; he’s not doing it just for the camera. Beth’s struggles grow weaker, her cries turning into sobbing moans. There is blood everywhere; Beth is practically drowning in it. I don’t know how she’s able to remain conscious through this. Black spots swim in front of my vision, and I feel like the walls are closing in on me, my ribcage squeezing my lungs and preventing me from drawing in air.

Suddenly, Beth’s body jerks, and she lets out a strange gurgle before falling silent. All I can hear now is the sound of my own harsh, sobbing breaths. Beth is lying there unmoving, a pool of blood spreading out from her neck area. The Suit gets up, wiping the knife on his pants, and faces the camera. “That was an expedited show for you, Esguerra,” he says, smiling widely. “I didn’t want to drag it out too much, since I know you’ll need the time to get me what I asked for. Of course, if I don’t receive it, the next show will be much, much longer.” Taking a step toward me, he runs one bloody finger down my cheek. “Your little whore is so pretty, I might even let my men play with her before I start . . .”

This time I can’t control myself. Hot vomit rushes into my throat, and I barely manage to turn my head to the side before the contents of my stomach empty out onto the floor in a series of violent heaves.

Chapter 23

After the camera is turned off, they leave me alone again. Beth’s body is dragged away, and the floor is carelessly mopped, leaving behind several reddish-brown streaks. I stare at them, my thoughts slow and sluggish, as if I’m in a stupor. I’m no longer shaking, though an occasional shudder still wracks my body. My stitches ache dully, and I wonder if I tore any of them during my struggles earlier. I don’t see any blood seeping through my hospital gown, so maybe I didn’t.

A little while later, they bring me some water. I greedily gulp down the whole cup, causing some of the men to laugh and say something in Arabic while rubbing their crotches suggestively. I almost think they are hoping that Julian doesn’t come through, so they get to ‘play’ with me before the Suit goes to work.

For now, though, they mercifully leave me alone. I am even allowed outside for a minute to use the restroom, and the same guy as before—the impassive one—guards me while I go into the bushes. I think he’s now my official bathroom companion, and I mentally start calling him Toilet Guy.

I name some of the others, too. The one with the black beard down to the middle of his chest—I call him Blackbeard. The one with the receding hairline is Baldie. The short guy who led the raid on the clinic—he’s Garlic Breath.

I do this to distract myself from thoughts of Beth. I can’t allow myself to think about her yet—not if I want to remain sane. If I get out of this alive, then I will mourn the woman who had become my friend. If I survive, then I will allow myself to cry and grieve, to rage at the senseless violence of her death. But right now, I can only exist from moment to moment, focusing on the most inconsequential, ridiculous things to keep myself from being crushed under the weight of brutal reality.

Time ticks by slowly. As darkness descends, I stare at the floor, the walls, the ceiling. I think I even nod off a couple of times, although I jerk awake at the least hint of any sound, my heart racing. They still haven’t fed me, and the hunger pangs in my stomach are a gnawing ache. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m just grateful to still be alive—a state of affairs I know will not continue for long, unless Julian comes through with the weapon.

Closing my eyes, I try to pretend that I’m home on the island, reading a book on the beach. I try to imagine that at any moment, I can go back to the house and find Beth there, prepping dinner for us. I try to convince myself that Julian is simply away on one of his business trips and I will see him again soon. I picture his smile, the way his dark hair curls around his face, framing the hard masculine perfection of his features, and I ache for him, for the warmth and safety of his strong embrace, even as my mind gradually drifts toward an uneasy sleep.

* * *

A large hand clamps tightly over my mouth, jerking me awake. My eyes fly open, adrenaline surging through my veins. Terrified, I begin to struggle . . . and then I hear a familiar voice whispering in my ear, “Shh, Nora. It’s me. I need you to be quiet now, okay?”

I nod slightly, my body shaking with relief, and the hand leaves my mouth. Turning my head, I stare at Julian in disbelief.

Crouching beside me, he’s dressed all in black. A bulletproof vest is covering his chest and shoulders, and his face is painted with black diagonal stripes. There is a machine gun hanging across his shoulder, and an entire array of weapons is clipped to his belt. He looks like a deadly stranger. Only his eyes are familiar, startlingly bright in his paint-darkened face.

For a second, I’m convinced that I’m dreaming. He can’t be standing here, in this warehouse in the middle of nowhere, talking to me. Not when his enemies are less than thirty yards away. My heart racing, I cast a quick, frantic glance around the warehouse.

The men in the other corner appear to be asleep, stretched out on blankets on the floor. I count eight of them—which means that several of them are probably outside, guarding the building. I don’t see the Suit anywhere; he must also be outside.

Turning my attention back to Julian, I see him cutting through the ropes at my ankles with a wicked-looking knife. “How did you get in here?” I whisper, staring at him in dazed wonder.

He pauses for a second, looking up at me. “Be quiet,” he says, his words almost inaudible. “I need to get you out before they wake up.”

I nod, falling silent as he resumes cutting my ropes. Despite our perilous situation, I am almost dizzy with joy. Julian is here, with me. He came for me. The surge of love and gratitude is so strong, I can barely contain it. I want to jump up and hug him, but I remain still as he finishes his task, getting rid of the remaining ropes.