Kissing the Canvas (Fighting For Love Book 3) (6 page)

ADRIANA

She must be asleep. This must be a dream. It’s not possible for Grayson to be here. She peers through the darkness, making out his unmistakable shape coming towards her. She reaches out to him and her wrists aren’t bound anymore, she can move freely. She scrambles to her feet, rushing towards him, and he catches her in his arms.

“Grayson.” She barely manages to get his name out before his mouth is on hers, claiming her, possessing her. She melts into him, feeling the strength of his body against hers, letting his warmth seep into her and chase the cold of the damp, dark basement away.

She pushes herself up against him, pressing her chest against his, feeling her nipples grow hard and sensitive. He runs his fingers along her cheeks, tracing a line down towards her mouth, touching her in a way that only he knows how.

“Adrie…I love you, Adrie.” He feathers kisses over her mouth, and she feels her knees go weak at the contact. He lets his hands drift down over her body, towards the heat that is blooming between her thighs.

“I need you, Grayson.” She breathes the words out, letting herself go as he touches her. For a few delicious seconds, nothing exists outside of them. They are the center of everything and nothing else matters. “How did you find me?”

Grayson looks at her in the way that makes her heart beat out of her chest. His eyes are tender and soft, and she feels like she could fall into them. “I’ll always find you, Adrie. Always. We’re supposed to be together; we’re soulmates.”

She bites her bottom lip, tears springing into her eyes at his words. She’s about to respond when a blinding light turns on overhead. She blinks against it, seeing spots, as her eyes slowly acclimate to the light. That’s when she looks around and finds that she’s alone.

There’s no Grayson. He hasn’t come to save her. He hasn’t found her. It had been a dream. She feels the tears spill out over her eyes. It is one thing for Morrison to torture her and punish her, but it is another for her own mind and body to betray her. Having Grayson in front of her and then losing him again—when she needs him most—is almost worse than missing him.

The unmistakable sound of the door being unlocked breaks through her depressing thoughts, and she gets to her feet as best she can with her wrists still tied together. She expects Morrison to come bursting through the door, with some new story about Grayson that he wants to tell her to make her question everything she thinks she knows about him.

However, it’s not Morrison that makes his way down the stairs. It’s his goon; the man that he’d called Mr. Elliott. She remains rigid, wondering what he has in store for her now. The way he looks at her, like she’s a piece of meat, makes her uncomfortable and without the calming influence of Morrison, she doesn’t know what he might do.

He grunts at her, nodding towards the table where Morrison had been seated during their little
tête
-
à-tête
. That’s when she sees that he’s carrying a tray of something that smells like food. Her stomach grumbles, chasing away any thought she might have had of refusing the food. She has no idea how much time has passed; but, if her hunger and thirst are anything to go by, it’s been at least twenty-four hours.

He puts the tray down and steps away, watching her the entire time. Adriana moves forward, her legs carrying her despite her brain telling them that she doesn’t want to get any closer to this man than she has to. However, her basic instincts have taken over. She needs to keep her strength up, and right now, she feels like a stiff wind might blow her over.

She grabs the glass of water, drinking it down in a few greedy gulps. The plain bread sitting on the plate looks like the best thing she’s ever eaten, and she rips off a piece, stuffing it into her mouth as if she hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“Thank you.” She nods towards the big man, who is still watching her like a hawk.
Perhaps he’s just following orders
, she thinks.
This is the first act of kindness that I’ve been shown since I was brought to this place, and it’s come from
him. Perhaps he can help me.

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” She looks up at him, gauging his reaction to her; so far there is none. “If you let me out of here, I won’t say anything to the cops about you.” She studies his face for a flicker of recognition, for a sign that he’s actually hearing her, but there’s nothing. “You don’t even have to let me go; you can just get a message to Grayson and tell him where I am.” He remains still, looking at her with that unfazed expression of his. “You don’t have to do this.”

Mr. Elliott doesn’t respond; it doesn’t even look as if he’s blinking. Talking to him is like talking to a brick wall, except a brick wall seems more dynamic.

“You could let me go. You don’t have to do what Morrison tells you. You can think for yourself.” She tries not to sound so desperate, trying to moderate her tone so it sounds encouraging. It’s the same voice that she uses when she talks to kids who are scared before their operations.

As the silence stretches out between them, she feels her frustration building. “Answer me.” He just stares at her. “Say something!”

Eventually, he smiles at her, but there’s no warmth in it. It’s the kind of smile that a predator might give to its prey when he knows that there’s no way of escape. “No.” In that one word, he crashes any hopes that she had of him helping her.

“Why? Because you’re Morrison’s little pet? Because you’re not smart enough to think for yourself?” She spits the words out at him, knowing that getting him angry probably isn’t the smartest plan she could come up with, but she’s reacting purely on emotions, to hell with everything else. If she can catch him off-guard, that will be her best shot of getting out of this place. She catches a flicker of rage pass across his face and notes that her arrow has hit its mark.

“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re taking orders from someone who thinks of you like a little dog that will follow him around wherever he goes?” Adriana shuffles her way around the table so that she’s nearer the steps, but also nearer Mr. Elliott. She’s only going to get one shot at this, and she has to make it good.

“Is that all men like you are good for? Tearing down real men like Grayson? You’re pathetic!” She braces herself as she sees that her words have struck a chord within him. He starts advancing towards her, menacingly, and Adriana gets ready for the swift kick to the kneecap that she needs to inflict before barreling into him, knocking him off-balance, and running up the stairs. She can see exactly what she needs to do. However, it doesn’t mean that she’s prepared for the power of the man who is coming towards her.

She kicks her leg out, making contact with his shin but just missing his kneecap. He acts as if he hasn’t even noticed, reaching out to grab hold of her bound hands and yanking her around. She cries out as he pulls on her sprained wrist until he’s maneuvered her into the position where he wants her. He has her trapped between his body and the table, her back to him.

Adriana tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s too strong. Plus, he’s holding her too tight. Every time she moves, he sends a shock of pain through her injured hand. “
Hijo de puta
. You son of a bitch!” she screams. Then, she rails at him, kicking backwards, and making contact with his legs. She feels a moment of satisfaction, as she hears him grunt in pain as she hits target. However, it’s short-lived.

No matter what she does, he refuses to let her go. If anything, he’s enjoying the fact that she’s trying to writhe and wriggle out of his reach. He pushes his hips towards her, and she feels the hardness of his erection against her ass. He pulls back her hair, as his other hand holds her tight around her middle, moving upwards to fondle her breasts.

She feels sick in the pit of her stomach as she realizes what is happening and what this man is going to do to her. “Get off of me!” She uses all of her strength to try to shake him off of her, but she isn’t any match for him—he’s three times her weight and doesn’t have his hands tied.

He forces her head down so that she’s leaning over the table, as if she’s inviting him to take her there. She feels tears of rage, frustration, and dread gather behind her eyes, as he reaches round towards the fastening of her shorts, pulling the buttons open impatiently. “Stop. Don’t do this!” Her voice is shaky, and the bastard has the gall to laugh, as if her pleading with him makes it even more exciting for him.

She hears him grunt like an animal behind her as he fiddles with his own zipper, and she tries to wish her mind somewhere else, somewhere other than here. She doesn’t want to feel anything; she wishes her whole body would just go numb. However, she hasn’t given up yet. She has one more push left in her and now is the time to use it.

She allows her legs to buckle underneath her, catching him off-guard so she tumbles to the floor, throwing herself backwards onto him at the same time. Her body is jarred with the force of the impact of landing on top of him, and she finds herself perfectly placed to elbow him hard in the groin. He squeals like a girl as she connects with his erection, and she figures she has a few seconds before he recovers. She scrambles to her feet, but she’s underestimated how far away she is from the stairs and how stiff her muscles are from lying on the cold basement floor. Just as she reaches the first step, she’s pulled back from behind and slammed into the wall like a rag doll.

“You little bitch.” Mr. Elliott’s face is a mask of rage and pain, and she smiles to herself at the thought that no matter what happens, she’ll always know that she made him squeal like a pig. The slap that comes out of nowhere serves to wipe the smile off of her face, knocking the breath out of her.

He punches her in the stomach, a gut shot that makes her feel like she can’t breathe and like she’s lost all control over her legs. Her knees buckle, and she stumbles, feeling like she understands for the first time the phrase ‘seeing stars.’ But he’s not done with her yet. He pulls her up by her arms, slamming her back against the wall again and lifting his hand for what looks like a slap that will send her head spinning.

“Enough!” Morrison’s voice echoes out in the basement, and Adriana leans back against the wall, more grateful than she thought she would ever be towards the short man.

Mr. Elliott seems conflicted, looking between her and Morrison as if he can’t decide whether to beat her silly like he clearly wants to or to obey Morrison, as he presumably always has. Adriana steels herself for whatever comes next, still taking gulps of air to recover from the gut shot he’d so expertly executed just a few moments ago.

“Enough! We need to keep her at least in relatively good condition.” Morrison chuckles lightly. “Grayson’s going to see her at the fight, so she needs to look like the same person he remembers, not a mess of bruises and swelling.”

Mr. Elliott slowly lowers his fist and steps away from her, but his eyes remain trained on her, filled with overwhelming hatred. Adriana is grateful for the wall behind her. Without it, she doesn’t think that she’d be able to remain standing. The last thing she wants is to fall to her knees in front of these men; they don’t deserve to feel any more power over her than they already do.

“Good. Now, let’s go. You’ve had enough fun, and we have work to do.” Morrison nods in approval as his goon obeys his orders, leaving Adriana alone and heading up the stairs. Morrison is about to follow the big man back through the door when Adriana’s voice stops him.

“Please. Don’t do this.” Her voice quivers and cracks, and she hates herself a little for pleading with him, but she’s out of options and ways to escape.

“Oh, my dear. Don’t sound so plaintive. As I told you, it’s nothing against you. It’s just business.” He shrugs as if to say that should explain it all.

“How long have I been here for? At least tell me what day it is.” She can’t believe that she’s begging for something as simple as a day of the week. It just showed how much Morrison had taken away from her and how little she had left.

“It’s Tuesday, my dear. Only another day until the state championship. Only another day until you can see Grayson again and your life can go back to normal.” Morrison smiles at her before he heads back towards the door.

“Back to normal? You’re never going to let me go back to normal.” The laughter dies on her lips, as she gets to grips with her what she’s finally coming to understand. Morrison watches her like an anthropologist studying human behavior. “Are you going to kill me?” She asks the question although her father had once told her not to ask a question if she didn’t want to know the answer.