Epilogue (15 page)

Height: 6’2’’ Weight: 195? Desc: Pitch black hair that’s a little too long (surprising because of his job and his obvious anal retentiveness). It curls a little around his ears and the nape of his neck. His eyes are dark and expressive due to his dark brows. Clean shaven (very meticulously groomed aside from the hair). His lips (mmmmm). His mouth is warm and he tastes like coffee and mints. Bit of an angry shit when you kiss him unexpectedly (ha!).

Rage hit me fast and hard. Why had she kissed him? What had she really been up to when Reed had come to “check on her”?

I had to stop reading and take a few deep breaths. Livvie wouldn’t betray me. Would she? She obviously hadn’t turned me in. I forced myself to keep reading.

Livvie went on to describe Reed as good looking and sharp witted. I’m fucking good looking and sharp witted! I bet Reed only speaks one language. I’m sharp witted in five!

I moved on to my file. Surely, it had to read better than the one she had on Reed. I recalled Livvie telling me in Mexico that she hoped to write a book one day. She’d also told me the first rule of writing was to write what you know. The thought filled me with foreboding.

The document was longer than the previous two—about three pages. She’d managed a great deal of detail. The description calmed me somewhat. Livvie was very flattering, except I felt she had transformed me from a person into a character, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about being picked apart.

Height: 6’4’’ Weight: 210? Desc: blond hair, Caribbean blue eyes. A full mouth made for kissing. He has a canine tooth that is a bit sharp and slightly out of line with all of this other perfect teeth (the first time I saw him smile). Muscular, but lean
—
not bulky or overly muscled. His skin is tan from the sun, not a machine. He has almost invisible blond hair everywhere (kissing his back, they stood on end
—
super soft).

Mannerisms: Caleb always seems to think something is funny or amusing (that ridiculous smirk). His eyes can be beautiful or fucking terrifying (peaceful waters v. dark murky water). His mouth gets tense when he’s pissed and trying not to show it. He scowls a lot and sometimes he does it while he’s smiling, which usually means he’s about to do something especially cruel (that first whipping).

Livvie’s character profile went on and on about me. She wrote down pieces of things she remembered about me. She even went on to describe my dick, what I looked like when I came, and the way I laughed. Had Claudia read these notes? I knew she’d read at least part of Livvie’s story. What the fuck could she possibly have been thinking? I resented taking instant notice of how tight my lips were as I bit down on the tip of my tongue to help calm me down. I laughed bitterly.

I finally opened
Captive
.

Prologue:

This is not a romance. Romances are filled with valiant men and simpering damsels in distress. Romances have heroes worthy of the title. They slay dragons and climb towers to rescue beautiful princesses they immediately marry and impregnate. Romances end with a happily ever after. This is not a romance.

This is a love story. The characters are flawed to the point of being broken. The hero is beautiful, but ugly in ways that defy the ordinary imagination. The heroine isn’t trapped in a tower, but a dark and lonely room. There is no prince coming to save her. While love blooms and thrives, there is no happily ever after. Love does not always begin or end the way we wish it would.

A love story can happen to anyone. This one happened to me.

The words stirred something inside me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Livvie was writing a book about us. Our story was not romance. I was not worthy of being called a hero. I was beautiful on the outside and hideous on the inside. We… didn’t have a happily ever after.

I swallowed hard. I swallowed a few times.

I’d come too far to stop. I kept reading:

I’m hurrying down the sidewalk, trying to get away from the sinister man in the car behind me, when I look up and see him. Perhaps it’s his easy stride, or the way his gaze sweeps past me instead of over me, but for whatever reason, he seems safe. I throw my arms about his waist and whisper, “Just play along, okay?”

He does, and I’m surprised when his arms wrap around me. The moment of danger seems to pass very quickly, but for some reason I don’t want to let go. I feel safe in these arms, and I’ve never really felt safe before. And he smells good, he smells the way I imagine a man should smell
—
like crisp, clean soap, and warm skin, and a light sweat. I think I’m taking too long to let go, so I release him as though he’s burned me. Then I stare up and acknowledge the angel in front of me. My knees almost buckle.

He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. That includes puppies, babies, rainbows, sunsets, and sunrises. I can’t even call him a man—men don’t look this good. His skin is beautifully tanned, as if the sun itself took the time to kiss his skin to perfection. His muscled forearms are dusted with the same golden hair of his head. And his eyes mimic the blue-green of the Caribbean Sea I’ve only seen on movie posters.

He smiles, and I can’t help but smile, too. I’m a puppet. He pulls my strings. His smile reveals his beautiful white teeth, but also his sharp canine on the left side. His teeth aren’t perfect, and the small imperfection seems to make him more beautiful.

He’s saying something to me, something about another girl, but I refuse to listen.

It was the first time we’d met. She’d felt safe in my arms, never guessing, never knowing what I was about to do to her. Even knowing all the things that happened afterward, the fact we were having a relationship, I felt sick to my stomach over her words. Her choice of phrases made her youth obvious. She’d compared me to puppies, babies, and rainbows. So young and naïve—I’d ruined that.

Livvie’s first draft looked nothing like what you’ve read. She didn’t have my perspective. She didn’t have the knowledge of my thoughts or the things that were in play during those first encounters. The picture she painted was of a sad, lonely girl trapped in a room at the hands of a sadistic monster who cared nothing for her well-being. This was Livvie’s recollection of me.

I read about her kidnapping, living every moment of her fear with her and feeling rage when she talked about Jair slapping her unconscious. It was beyond surreal to read about Livvie’s first impressions of my cold and detached voice as she lay bound and blind in Felipe’s house. She’d thought I was going to rape and kill her. I suppose I knew those things then, but I didn’t care and that was the worst part. I remembered I hadn’t cared. That was the truth about the man I was.

I was a glutton for punishment and I kept reading. To my surprise, I found erotic undertones. While I remembered the moments vividly and with a certain sick fondness, reading them from her point of view was like a knife twisting in my gut. I wasn’t sure if the Livvie I had come to know was honestly the Livvie she had been. Perhaps I had simply altered her to suit me.

I wondered if Livvie had been someone else, a different girl as I had once suggested, if I would have gone through with it and sold her to Vladek. I wondered if Livvie had never gotten away from me, never suffered the encounter with the bikers, if I might have taken this beautiful woman and ruined her. In those moments, I would have done anything to unmake the words in front of me. I didn’t want them to exist. I didn’t want them to be true. With all that I was, I longed to go back to that first day I had met Livvie and make different choices. Yet there was the nagging voice in my head reminding me how far back I’d have to go to undo my mistakes. I would have to go back to the night Narweh beat me and give up my fight to live.

Where would Livvie be in her life if I had just died?

Where would all of the women I had made suffer be? I’d been too late to save Pia Kumar. I’d buried her masters alive next to her so that she might be able to hear their screams. 

I had to look away from the screen. I had to set the laptop down and walk onto the balcony for air. My chest felt heavy.

It was no wonder she couldn’t say she loved me. What right did I have to love?

I went inside and wrote her a note.

I read your book. I know you’ll be furious and you have a right. I realize you’ll want to scream at me and you have a right to that as well, but I have to be honest and tell you I’m not sure I can take it just yet. I’ll be at the hotel for a few days. I need to think.

Yours,

Caleb

p.s. I’m sorry for all of it.

I gathered up what meager belongings I had in Livvie’s apartment and locked the door behind me when I left. I was numb and unsure what to do next.

I could barely drive. My attention wasn’t focused on the road, but on Livvie. Why had she let me stay with her? After all the things I had put her through, I couldn’t imagine her reasons for inviting me back into her life. Perhaps it was only that she feared me. Perhaps she only wanted to keep me close and keep an eye on me. It was the smart thing to do. It’s what I would do.

I hated how weak my feelings for her had made me. I was not a sniveling child. I hated the way I felt empty when she wasn’t around. I loathed waiting in my hotel room for her to get out of school or off work. I thought of her as mine. She was mine, and yet I couldn’t touch her where it mattered. I couldn’t touch her heart and force her to give me the things I had stupidly come to need. For a moment… I hated her. I hated loving her.

I’d meant to return to my hotel, but my thoughts took me elsewhere. I’d seen the gym a few times and had even considered going inside, but I ultimately decided against it. I was a violent person. I didn’t think it was a good idea to be around violence. I had apparently changed my mind. My violence needed to be let out.

I parked the vehicle and went inside. I was immediately assaulted by the smell of male sweat. The room practically teemed with body odor. There was no air conditioning, or escalators, or walls lined with treadmills and circuit training machines. This was a real gym. This was a place where men went to commune with the beast that lives in all of us.

Adrenaline found me at last. My heart pounded with it, my fists clenched, my muscles yawned and flexed. I was practically lusting for a fight. I searched the room for someone who might be willing and able to take me on.

“Can I sign you up?” someone asked in Spanish. I turned and glared at the man behind me. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he carried himself with extreme confidence. He was perhaps a little younger than me too, and I thought that added to his demeanor. I took my measure slowly and decided the man was likely a martial artist of some kind—his legs looked capable of snapping bones.

“I’d like to fight,” I said as calmly as I was able. I must not have been very successful in portraying calm because he eyed me somewhat suspiciously.

“English? Okay. I speak little bit. You need…” He struggled for a word but ended up tugging on his clothes.

“I didn’t bring any,” I said. “I don’t need any. Just like this.” I swept my hand across my t-shirt and jeans. I didn’t bother explaining I could speak Spanish. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He smiled and shook his head.

“Fighter? What style?” He walked back toward the front door and into a room on the left. I assumed it was the office. I stepped inside, somewhat annoyed I couldn’t just jump into the action.

“I’m trained.” Rafiq had been a military officer and had given me quite the education. One of my favorite memories was the day I’d finally bested him in hand to hand. He’d taken a big risk teaching me all that he did. Without him I’d have been an illiterate, defenseless whore. It was ironic that the very skills he’d taught me had aided in his demise.

The man at the desk rolled his eyes and muttered about me in Spanish. He thought I was an idiot who’d come to get his ass kicked. He seemed amused by the idea. He grabbed some papers from a printer behind him and placed them in front of me.

“Please to write all your information and sign the bottom. Need identification and money for membership.”

I filled in the necessary information and took out all the cash in my wallet. It was enough to cover my membership for three months. The man at the desk seemed pleased with my payment and stood to shake my hand.

“Carlos.”

Seeing no reason to make a new enemy, I shook his hand and tried out my name.

“James.” I dropped my hand and looked toward the ring. “Can I fight now?”

Carlos shook his head, somewhat exasperated.

“Okay. You fight.” He walked beyond me and I followed him toward the ring. He called out to a nearby fighter. I listened while he informed the man of my intentions. The fighter sized me up and smirked before he informed Carlos he was willing to take me on. Neither of them seemed to think I had any talent.

I paid them little mind as I removed my socks, shoes, and shirt. I didn’t care how the fight was going to go. I only cared about hitting. I accepted the ill-fitting mouth guard handed to me and put it in my mouth. I also took heed and wore the required headgear.

Within minutes, I stood in the ring across from Fernando. I thought we were fairly matched. He was a touch shorter than me, but his muscles were bulkier and more defined. I knew his fighting style involved the use of his legs as he stretched them, bending his feet toward his ass.

I rolled my head and shoulders, shaking my arms out. I bounced on the balls of my feet, warming my muscles as much as I could in the short span of time I’d given myself to prepare. I held no illusions about not getting hit. In fact, I craved the blows that would soon land on me. I knew they would incense me. I knew they would trigger the rage I’d been keeping locked inside. I knew once the rage took over, all thoughts of Livvie would cease. I knew the pain inside would yield to the pain on the outside.