Inevitable Detour (27 page)

I have three options: scream, use the flashlight as a weapon, or run.

I do all three, in that order.

Unfortunately for me, my scream dies in my throat, the flashlight falls short of the man I’ve flung it at, and, when I try to run back up the stairs, I am violently grabbed.

Violently grabbed and pulled to the one person I have no doubt is here to hurt me—Eric.

I
struggle. I try to scream. I scratch and bite. But nothing I do makes a bit of difference.

Eric holds me in place, hand over my mouth.

I am so screwed. But I decide I’m not going down without more fighting. Farren would expect nothing less from me. Same with Haven. Most importantly, I will never again be a helpless victim like I was freshman year at that Halloween party.

So I fight.

I bite Eric’s hand, hard, and he jerks it away from my mouth. “Little bitch,” he barks.

While he’s distracted, I wiggle and twist around, my pinned-up hair tumbling to my shoulders. Seconds later I am facing Eric. With everything I’ve got, I wind my arm back and punch him in the face.

Bad idea
. Eric hits me back, three times and three times as hard. My only saving grace is that they are open-hand hits. Punches would have knocked me out. He obviously wants me conscious for whatever he has planned.

With my head ringing, and still seeing stars, I start to crumple to the cement floor. But Eric is having none of that. He yanks me back up and hisses in my ear, “I should have gotten rid of you back in Pennsylvania.”

My head lolls to the side, and I can feel there’s a nasty lump forming on my throbbing cheek. Still, I gather the strength to whisper, “Let me go, you sick fuck.”

My back is pressed to Eric’s chest. He snickers and trails his free hand down to my breasts. Through my tee and bra, he pinches one of my nipples. I wince but try to remain stoic. When he continues to squeeze and twist, however, I can’t hold back. It hurts like hell, and I cry out.

He lets go, laughing. My nipple is left sore and burning. Eric says in my ear, “I’ll let you go, little Essa Brant. But before this day is over just know I plan to break you.”

A tear runs down my cheek. I don’t want to show any weakness to this cruel man—that’s what he wants—but I can’t stop myself. “Please,” I cry. “I don’t have anything you want.”

“On the contrary, you have everything I
need
. You’re the perfect bait.”

Bait for what? Or rather, who? Is he here to recapture Haven? Does he know Rick is with her? Or—and I suspect this is the accurate presumption—is Eric planning on using me to hurt Farren? If so, he must know Farren is after him. Sneaky fucker, he’s doubled back. That’s why Farren is returning. Eric is the reason Rick gave me and Haven guns. Farren and Rick are onto Eric. But, still, he has somehow eluded them and arrived earlier than they anticipated.

Eric drags me to the center of the basement. Some light streams in from a single high-set window that is at ground level outside. Looking around, I see there’s not much in the basement, some wooden folding chairs stacked against a cement-block wall, a washer and dryer in a corner nook, and a water heater. Oh, and the fuse box Eric obviously tampered with to lure me down here.

“Don’t move,” Eric says.

He leaves me alone for three seconds, just long enough to grab one of the folding chairs. Not long enough for me to run.

He pushes me down on the chair and binds me with rope he has tucked under the stairs. He gags me with a piece of cloth he finds on the floor. He takes a small roll of duct tape from his pants pocket. With his teeth, he rips off a long strip and presses it to my lips.

“There,” he says, patting my sore cheek. “I think we’ve heard enough out of you for one day.”

My breaths come faster and faster. I can barely breathe. The heat, the fear, it’s all consuming. Sweat beads on my forehead, but Eric, no surprise, ignores my distress. He’s too preoccupied with pacing the cement floor, waiting. Haven and Rick are still out in the back. I hear the discharge of the guns in the distance as the shooting lesson continues.

Eric hears the noise, too. “Haven learning to shoot,” he scoffs. “That’s some funny shit.”

Okay, he knows Haven is here. I’m sure he’s aware, as well, that Rick is out there with her. I mentally kick myself again for leaving my gun up on the kitchen table. I should have never set it down, not even for a minute. Now look where I am. No weapons are visible on Eric—he has on dark pants and a thin gray pullover—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a gun hidden somewhere on his tall body.

Eric suddenly stops pacing. He grabs up another wooden folding chair, opens it, and places it in front of me. He sits down, scoots closer, and stares at me. “You don’t even know what kind of mess you’re caught up in, do you?”

I can’t answer besides a single shake of my head, so he continues. “Do you even know who Farren Shaw is? Do you know why his sister was taken?”

I shake my head again. Even if my mouth wasn’t taped, I wouldn’t tell him what I know—that Dawson thought Farren was releasing girls so they could work for him. I wouldn’t tell him about the whole phony “rogue” story. Maybe he knows, though, and that’s what he thinks he’s going to enlighten me with.

But Eric makes me think differently when he says, “Do you know who Quinton Barnes really is?”

I know he’s a successful businessman who hired Farren to avenge his daughter’s death
, I think as I stare Eric down.

“You have no idea,” he snarls. Leaning back, he places his ankle up on his knee and smirks. “Don’t worry. I didn’t know either. That is, I didn’t know until recently. Farren is one smart motherfucker. I’ll give him that. He played our organization from the beginning, even duped that sick scumbag Dawson.” He snickers and adds, “Rogue, my ass. It was a good story, though, a clever diversion from the truth.”

Truth? What is he talking about? Eric clearly knows Dawson. And he’s fully aware that the Farren-gone-rogue story is bogus. He has to be onto Barnes, since he mentioned his name. But something in his too-smug expression tells me there’s far more to this complicated mess than a wealthy man seeking justice for his daughter.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, maybe I could think more clearly. But as it is, I have no more theories. I am officially lost.

Suddenly, I hear voices ring out from upstairs. Rick and Haven are returning from shooting. Damn, they have no idea Eric is in the house. And I have no way to warm them.

Eric hears the activity above us, his head jerking upward.

With her voice muffled through the closed door at the top of the stairs, my captor and I listen as Haven says to Rick, “Wonder where Essa wandered off to? You don’t think Farren returned while we were out back, do you?”

“No,” Rick replies, “he’s not due back for another hour or two.”

An evil grin spreads across Eric’s face. I have to warn Haven and Rick. But when I try to yell, all that comes out of my covered mouth is a low whimper. Even though there is no way I could have been heard, Eric grabs me by the neck and squeezes so hard that he ends up pulling me partway out of the chair, despite being roped down like an animal.

“Stay the fuck quiet,” he warns. His steely eyes bore into my own tear-filled ones. I nod rapidly, and he lets go. If I wasn’t tied, I’d be doubling over from the pain. But as it is, only a muffled choking noise escapes me as I try to catch my breath through my nose.

Haven speaks again, and I hear Rick saying something about how hot it is in the house. It’s cooler in the basement, but I’m still roasting. I can only imagine what it feels like upstairs.

Suddenly, someone starts to turn the doorknob on the basement door. Eric lifts his pant leg and pulls a pistol from a holster on his ankle.

I knew he was armed.

He makes a shushing noise to me, even though I can’t talk.
Asshole
. I am bound and helpless. And that fact is never more apparent than when events begin to occur. Events I find I have no control over.

I whimper and struggle, but there’s nothing I can do when Eric races up the basement steps. There is no warning I can shout out when the door swings open. I catch a glimpse of Rick in silhouette, before Eric slams his pistol into Rick’s temple. Haven screams as Rick tumbles down the basement steps.

Rick’s body settles at the base of the stairs, unmoving. Haven is still screaming, and Eric warns her to “shut the fuck up.”

He starts to drag Haven down the stairs as she tries to get herself under control. When she has to step over Rick to move forward, she begs, “Let me make sure he’s okay. Please, Eric, just let me check on him.”

Eric has her in his grasp. “No,” is his one-word response. Thankfully, I can see Rick’s chest is rising and falling. He’s alive, at least.

When Haven catches sight of me tied up in the center of the basement, she gasps, “Oh, no, Essa.” She turns to Eric and says, “Just let her go, please. Take me. Leave her alone.”

“Haven,” he chides. “Always trying to be the hero, just like your brother.”

“Eric,” Haven pleads, “please just untie her.”

He laughs. “Oh, I will”—Eric’s cold blue eyes slide to me—“when I’m ready to fuck her.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and pray he’s not serious.

Haven starts to squirm in Eric’s grasp. “Shut up,” she yells. “You’re disgusting. Get the hell off of me.” She struggles valiantly, but Eric grabs her cheek where there’s still a remnant of a bruise—surely one from him—and squeezes hard.

That stops her. She cries out and goes slack. With Haven subdued, Eric swings around the chair he was sitting in. He shoves Haven down on it and ties her up next to me. Her teary eyes meet mine as he tightens her ropes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

I give her a look that I hope conveys that this is absolutely not her fault.

Thankfully, despite his disgusting threat, Eric makes no move to sexually assault me. He leaves Haven alone, too. He doesn’t even bother to tape her mouth shut. My duct tape, however, remains in place.

Eric waits for Farren. His chips are in place; he has me and Haven. And now he’s biding his time, waiting to strike.

I watch as he methodically drags Rick’s limp body from the base of the stairs to the laundry nook. Rick is still unconscious. Eric ties him to a pipe, peers down at him. After studying his handiwork of knots, he returns to where Haven and I are bound to the chairs.

He takes his gun out again, makes sure it’s loaded, and then says in a tone that chills me to the bone, “Now, we wait for Farren.”

A
n hour later, someone arrives at the house. But it’s not Farren who starts down the basement steps. When I take in the tall man with the dark hair, a man who slightly resembles Farren, I gasp.

“Vincent?” I mumble through my duct-taped mouth.

Haven’s left hand, though tied, is close enough to my tied-up right hand that she’s able to stretch her fingers out and reach me. It’s a move meant to comfort us both, but when I feel her trembling, my own fear ratchets up a few notches. Vincent may not have assaulted her, but he never attempted to free her either. Nor did he stop the things Eric—and the others—did to her. Plus, I can’t forget that Vincent had no qualms about drugging me the night he and Eric abducted Haven.

My body shakes as I wonder what could have brought him here.

Haven, who’s clearly the stronger of the two of us, squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay, Essa,” she mutters quietly.

There’s no need for such a low voice, though. Eric is busy greeting his friend and cohort. “Man, where have you been?” he says to Vincent, his tone betraying his agitation. “I asked Dawson if I could get you in on this”—he motions to us with a sick grin—“but he said you’d gone off the grid.”

“Yeah,” Vincent replies coolly, glancing nonchalantly at Haven and me, “a family matter arose. But everything is good now.”

Eric raises a blond eyebrow. “You sure?”

Vincent laughs and claps Eric on the back, the move both placating and somewhat condescending.
Interesting
. Here I’ve been, thinking all along that Eric is the man in charge. But it appears Vincent may outrank him in some way.

What way, though…?