Stay (13 page)

"I'm sorry, Addie.” She blinked away tears. "I'm so, so sorry."
 

My head moved up and down. I tried to look at Phoebe and let her know it was going to be all right. But I couldn’t. The edges of the hollow pit inside of me were frozen, so cold it hurt. I didn’t want to feel anything. Not the searing pain from my delicate flesh being ripped off, not the terror that grasped me. And I didn’t want to think about what my life had become. I brought my knees to my chest and fell onto my side.
 

Phoebe gingerly put her hand on my shoulder. Sobbing, I reached up and took her hand. She gently ran her hand over my hair.
 

"It be okay someday. Not now, not soon, but someday. We leave. Both of us. We have to," she promised, her voice low so only I could hear. "Somehow, we find way."

I sniffled and nodded, swallowing a sob. I took a ragged breath and wiped my nose with my hand. The skin under my eyes hurt from crying so hard. I sat up.
 

“We will.”
 

The basement door floor open so suddenly, I jumped. Two sets of feet clomped down the stairs. Remembering that Jackson said he would be back with food, the sight of Zane and Nate took me by surprise.
 

Lily and Rochelle quickly stood from the table, looking shocked to see Nate. Lily's eyes latched onto him, following him across the basement. Rochelle ran a hand over her hair and smoothed out her skirt. She pushed her shoulders back and lifted her head, smiling at him.

"Adeline, Adeline, Adeline," Nate said, exhaling heavily and shaking his head. "What are we to do with you?" He gave me a warm smile as he continued over. I tried to read him: his posture was relaxed and his face soft. To anyone else, Nate would appear calm. But I knew better. He wouldn't come down for nothing. He made a tiny nodding motion to Zane, who stepped next to the cot. He reached down and grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet.

"Stop!" Phoebe yelled.
 

Still disoriented, I didn’t pull against Zane’s grip. He was right in front of me, his eyes sparkling as he yanked me off the cot with ease. My feet refused to work right, and I stumbled. Zane stuck his arms under mine and dragged me over to Nate. Lily whimpered and moved behind Rochelle. Zane turned me around so my back was to his front. He hooked his arms through my elbows and held me tightly against him.

Nate rubbed his temples, sighing dramatically. “I have a reputation to uphold. I
always
have the best girls.” His eyes narrowed. “You're making me look bad, and I don't like to look bad.” He smiled again, and something sadistic flashed across his face. He frowned, giving me a look of disappointment. He pushed his hand into a pocket of his designer pants and pulled out a shiny metal lighter and a lone cigarette. The house never smelled like smoke. I was sure Nate either wasn't a smoker or didn't smoke indoors.
 

He lit the cigarette, took a long drag, then, without warning, pressed the butt into the skin inside my arm, right above my elbow. I cried out in pain, arching my back and trying to break free from Zane's hold. Nate moved his hand back, but my skin still burned. He put the cigarette to his lips once more before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it.
 

He wiped his hands on pristinely pressed herringbone cotton pants and slapped me across the face. I whimpered and closed my eyes, fighting back tears. He put his face just inches from mine.
 

"Do
not
make me look bad," he said through clenched teeth. He exhaled, straightened up, and moved away. "Pink looks pretty on you.” He eyed Rochelle, his demeanor calm again.
 

Her hands flew to her top, smoothing it against her flat stomach. "Thanks," she cooed. Her gaze moved from Nate to Zane, waiting for him to compliment her as well.
 

Zane tightened his arms and gave me a hard shake before letting me go. I tumbled forward, catching myself at the last minute. Nate turned and walked up the stairs with Zane at his heels.

The tears I had been holding back spilled and ran down my cheeks. I pressed my hand over the burn and flinched. My heart was beating so fast, my entire body shook. My eyes darted to my arm, and I carefully moved my hand. My stomach twisted at the sight of my charred skin.

 
In a daze, I moved back to my cot and sank down. I heard the shower turn on, and a moment later, Phoebe laid a cold washcloth on top of the burn. It was as if my body was suddenly on autopilot; I stuck my feet under the old quilt and rested my head on the flat, thin pillow. Holding the washcloth over the burn, I closed my eyes and tried to think about nothing.
 

Angry voices floated through the air ducts but were too muffled to make out what was being shouted. The yelling went on for a few minutes before something hit the floor with a heavy thud, making me jump.
 

My eyes flew open, and I thought I saw the guy from the apartment standing in the shadows. I pressed my eyelids shut again and swallowed my pounding heart. Prickly sweat broke out across my body. I couldn’t think about him, not now, not yet. Instead, I thought about my dogs. It was a simple thought, one my overloaded brain could handle. I replayed a single memory of playing ball with Scarlet a few days before I was taken over and over in my mind. The sun was dodging clouds. There was a slight breeze. Lynn lay behind me on the deck in her bikini, even though I was chilled in shorts and a sweatshirt. She was obsessed with the sun. Then we went inside, joining the rest of my family around the dining room table. We talked and laughed as we passed around platters of food.

The basement door creaked open. The vision of home disappeared when I opened my eyes. I knew it was Jackson by the hesitance in his footfalls. I pulled the blankets up close to my eyes, as if that would protect me. I peered out at him to see that he was carrying a tray of our dinner. A fresh cut bled through the front of his t-shirt and he had another black eye.

"Thanks," Phoebe told him and took the tray. She said something else, too quiet for me to hear that caused Jackson to give her a tiny smile and shake my head. She reached out, gently touching his chest. He looked down at the blood and frowned. I moved the blanket down. Was she concerned about him?
 

Jackson looked behind him as if he was nervous someone might be there, and returned his attention to Phoebe. She asked him something and I heard him respond by saying that he didn't know. He shuffled his feet, muttered goodbye, and went back up the stairs.
 

Phoebe brought me a peanut butter sandwich. I had no appetite, no desire to eat. She sat on the edge of the bed and broke off a tiny piece, holding it up to my mouth.

"Eat. You need strength.”

"I have none left," I confessed. And I didn’t. Not at that moment, not after what had happened.

"Addie, you need it to leave," she whispered.
 

And I knew she was right. I pushed myself up and took the torn off bit of sandwich and forced myself to eat it. My throat was so dry and the sticky peanut butter wasn't helping. I got out of bed, the burn throbbing as I moved, and went to the table to get a water bottle.
 

It still hurt to walk. The pain between my legs was a constant reminder. My spine tingled with repugnance. How many times would it happen again before we escaped?
 

I moved back to my cot and ate the rest of the bland dinner. I was exhausted. Physically, I had been through a lot. But my mind sought sleep for another reason; I wouldn't have to think or process. I could escape into a dream … or a nightmare.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HALLOWEEN USED TO be my favorite holiday. I loved wearing costumes, and I loved that it became socially acceptable to obsess over anything and everything paranormal. Most of all, I loved putting together a zombie-themed book giveaway on my blog. Gorging myself on bags of bite-sized chocolates was always a plus too. Seeing groups of kids in their costumes running through down town Des Moines on that All Hollow's Eve only made me sad.
 

I hadn't been so close to home since the Pride Parade. Seeing the familiar buildings sparked something inside of me, something that I had buried deep and was scared to bring to the surface. Zane slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a gaggle of school-age children who ran out into the street.

"Dumbass motherfuckers!" he yelled, rolling down the window. "You're lucky I didn't want to dent the hood!"

I sighed and caught a glimpse of myself in the window's reflection. I was dressed as a slutty witch, my costume complete with sparkly purple false eyelashes and claw-like fake nails. Zane revved the engine and flipped off a mom who yelled at him for being reckless around her children.

I didn’t even realize it was Halloween until Rochelle handed me the costume. I had been put to work almost every day since Zane forced me into that rundown apartment and handcuffed me to the bed. I lost count of the number of times I’d been raped. Each time was just as terrifying and demeaning as the first. And it happened day after day, night after night, in a horrific never ending cycle of abuse.

Since I attempted to escape more than once, Nate thought I was too much of a liability to allow outside the farmhouse. So everyday, I was dragged upstairs and forced into the guest room. Most of the time I was tied to the bed, not even allowed up to use the bathroom between clients. We were nothing but objects, living sex dolls. I wasn’t seen as human anymore, just an item to be bought and used.

Phoebe was sick. She hadn’t been feeling well for the last few days, not that Nate cared. He still made her work. She had woken up this morning
looking
sick, really sick. It made me nervous she had something worse than a flu bug. When Zane came downstairs to get her that evening, he recoiled at her appearance, saying she was too nasty to be seen in public.
 

He decided I was taking her place. I just sat there, staring at him while my mind whirled with the possibilities of escaping yet again. A small spark of hope warmed inside me. Maybe it would work this time…maybe. Then Zane picked up a stiletto and hit me hard in the leg with the heel, over and over until my thigh bled. I got up and got dressed after that.

And here we were, pulling into the back of some sort of industrial building with not a soul in sight. I was the entertainment of some sort of party. He cut the engine and got out. I wasn't supposed to get out of the car until he opened my door. I sat and waited, then followed him to a windowless, steel door.

He knocked three times and stood back. It took a full minute for the door to swing open. An overweight middle-aged man dressed as Mario scanned me up and down before he opened his wallet.

"This will get you three hours," Zane stated and recounted the money. "I don't care what you do to her in that time."

"Sweet!" Mario exclaimed. He eyed me again, though this time a puzzled look settled on his face. "Hey!" he said suddenly. "Y-you're that girl!" he stuttered. "That missing girl!" he took my arm and yanked me toward him. "Adeline," he spoke my name.

"Yes!" I said. "It's me!"

Zane grabbed my other arm and pulled. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Yeah she does," the guy argued. "Her face has been plastered all over the news." He pulled on me again, stretching my arm uncomfortably. He laughed. "You're fucked," he said to Zane. "You know what I'll get for turning her in? There's a reward for her return
and
a reward for turning in the guys who took her."

Zane's face tightened and his grip on me faltered.

"I'll tell you what," the guy dressed as Mario went on. "You pay me double the reward money, and I won't say a thing."
 

"Yeah," Zane said slowly. Panic flashed in his sky-blue eyes. He swallowed hard, and little beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. His hand fell from my arm and he purposely raked his fingernails against my skin. "About that…" he started and ran his hand through his hair. I almost didn't notice his other hand moving behind his back. I took a sharp breath and stepped closer to Mario.

Zane cast his eyes to the ground, looking defeated. Mario smiled and tightened his hold on my arm. Then Zane laughed, sending a jolt of fear and nausea through my entire body. I saw his muscles flex a millisecond before he whipped his arm around, shoving a gun in Mario's face.

"Get your motherfucking hands off the bitch," he said through clenched teeth.
 

Mario let me go and held his hands up. "Hey now. I-I don't need the money t-that bad," he stuttered, his eyes fixed on the end of the 1911 in Zane's hands.
 

Stuck in between a life-size, womanizing video game character and Zane, who was his own breed of evil, I just stood there, unmoving. Mario took a tentative step back. Zane lurched forward and grabbed the guy's blue overalls.

"Get in the car, Adeline," Zane ordered.

"I paid for that!" the guy blurted.
 

Zane jammed the gun into his chest. I scurried past him, my five-inch heels clacking along the pavement. I ran as fast as the ridiculous footwear allowed and skidded to a stop, my hands smacking into the hood of the Camaro. My heart was pounding, and I felt hot with fear despite the chilly fall night.
 

A gunshot rang behind me, echoing throughout the empty parking lot. My heart was like a jackhammer in my chest, beating so fast it was painful.
 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Did he really shoot him?
My eyes went wide with terror and I was too scared to turn around to see if Zane had killed someone in cold blood. My breath clouded the shiny metal hood.
 

"Get in the goddamn car!" Zane's voice came from behind me. Fear made me incapable of moving. Zane’s heavy footfalls reverberated off the brick building. “I said get in the motherfucking car!” he yelled. He was right behind me. His hand snapped around my neck, fingers digging into my skin. I cried out in pain and stumbled back. He thrust me forward toward the door. "What part of get in the car don't you understand?"