Knight (An Impossible Novel) (20 page)

“Your lease period ended,” she explained.  “All of your things are at home.”

Home. 
My parents’ house.  I longed to return there, to bustle around the kitchen and laugh at my dad’s terrible puns while my mom and I whipped up a culinary masterpiece.

“I’d like to go home,” I said quietly.

She hugged me tightly.  “We’ll go tomorrow,” she promised.  “Tonight, I’m staying here with you.”

I held her close, more grateful for her presence than I could ever recall.  “I love you, Mom.”

“Oh, my sweet baby.  I love you too.”

I was careful to face my mother while I got changed so she couldn’t see my scarred back.

I wasn’t sure how much the FBI had told my family, but I sincerely hoped they didn’t have more than the barest inkling of what had actually happened to me.  Not only did I never want them to know how I had been degraded, but I was afraid for them to learn that I had been abducted from a BDSM club.  My conservative family would never understand why I had been there, and I didn’t want any bitter disapproval to mar our reunion.

Terrible dreams tormented me through the night, but Mom held me as I cried after each one.  Although the warmth of her familiar embrace was incredibly soothing, I found the coolness of the tourmaline pendant around my throat to be even more comforting.

I was still clutching the necklace tightly when I awoke the next morning.  When I realized what I was doing, I had to force myself to pry my fingers loose from where they were twined around the silver chain.  Briefly, I considered ripping it from my neck and flinging it away from me.  The memories it elicited were painfully bittersweet, and the fact that I was still holding it to find succor from my fear was upsetting in and of itself.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it; the very idea of not having it encircling my throat made me feel naked and vulnerable.

Put it away.  Deal with it later.

I would process my disturbing reluctance to rid myself of the pendant after I had made it through the debriefing I faced that morning.

Going about a morning routine in the house I had once shared with Tucker was eerily familiar.  Typically, one of the light bulbs over the bathroom sink was out.  I wondered how long Tucker had been shaving under the dim lighting without bothering to fix it.  The hot water handle in the shower squeaked exactly as I remembered, but the cleanliness of the tub left something to be desired.  Tucker was a great guy, but he always had needed a mother more than he needed a wife.

I frowned at the scent of his shampoo.  It certainly wasn’t Old Spice.  Sighing, I lathered it into my hair.  I would buy my own toiletries at the first opportunity.  I was done smelling like a man.

The thought made me suddenly anxious as Tucker’s Arctic Ice shampoo washed away any lingering notes of amber and whiskey.  I barely took the time to rinse the soap from my hair before darting back to the bedroom, where I frantically gathered up the dress I had been wearing the day before.  I buried my face in it, inhaling deeply.  Miraculously, it still smelled like him.

Safe.

“What are you doing, honey?  You can’t wear that dress two days in a row.”

I jolted at the sound of my mother’s voice, dropping the dress as though it had bitten me.  A heartbeat later, I released my hold on my pendant as well.

When I craned my head back to look at my mom, I found her staring at me wide-eyed, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as though she was fighting the urge to be sick.

Too late, I realized that I hadn’t taken time to do more than wrap a towel around myself before moving from the bathroom to the bedroom.  The scars on my upper back and lower down on my thighs were visible.  My stomach sank.  I hadn’t wanted her to see this.  I quickly turned so the marks were hidden from her, but the damage was done.

“Mom…”  I said weakly, a hint of pleading laced into her name.  Her expression of abject horror at the sight of my damaged body was eliciting a similar feeling from deep within me. 

Master hadn’t flinched at the sight of my scars.  His assurances that I was still beautiful had all but erased the distress I had associated with them.  Now, each one seemed to burn into me, the scars leaving an imprint that was more than just skin-deep.

Recognizing my mounting distress, Mom took a deep, shuddering breath.  She swallowed hard.  Once.  Twice.  Her hand lowered slowly, but it trembled at her side.

“Let’s find something else for you to wear, honey.”  She made a brave effort to sound casual, but it was ruined by the way her voice shook.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.  It wasn’t like Mom to avoid a difficult discussion; usually she badgered me until I cracked and told her what was bothering me.  Then she would impart what she considered to be sage advice and the situation would be dealt with.  She meant well, but her advice wasn’t usually suited to me at all.  She had a very clear – very conservative – view of how the world should work, and I had stopped trying to contradict her years ago.  Besides, talking to her about my problems was soothing in and of itself.  I didn’t begrudge her her maternal right to dole out advice.

But this…
  This was nothing so insignificant as dealing with an annoying co-worker or a domestic spat.  The magnitude of what I had suffered could never be fully expressed through words, and I had the feeling voicing it aloud would be destructive rather than healing.  I wasn’t ready to deal with that right now.  Possibly not ever.  And I certainly wasn’t going to let Mom deal with it.  What advice could she possibly give that would erase the marks on my skin, on my soul?

She seemed to realize the same thing, and her cheeks colored with shame as she tore her eyes away from me.

I found an old dress in the closet.  I had left it behind because it was too small for me at the time I moved out, but now it hung loosely on my too-thin frame.  Thankfully, the wrap-around design allowed me to cinch it tightly enough that the effect wasn’t too noticeable.  As I studied myself in the full-length mirror, I took in anew the shocking changes my period of enslavement had wrought on my body.  I touched the dark lines that encircled my wrists, and I resolved to dig my bangle bracelets out of storage as soon as possible.  I was also going to trim the ragged ends of my hair and go to a tanning bed.  Usually, I would have disapproved of the cancer box, but I was desperate to return some of the usual color to my pale skin.

My eyes fell on the gem that flashed at my throat.  The deep green was perfectly complemented by my purple dress.

Beautiful.

Then I noticed an unfamiliar, purplish mark on my neck.  Confused, I examined the half-moon shape more closely.  I quickly averted my gaze with a small gasp.

Master’s mark.  My heart twisted painfully.

Jerkily, I drew my hair over my shoulder, effectively hiding the bruise.  But even though it was no longer visible, I felt it like a brand on my skin.  And I didn’t entirely hate the idea of being branded by him.

I shuddered.

No.  I would deal with it later.  In fact, if I just put off dealing with it for long enough, the mark would fade, and it wouldn’t trouble me anymore.

When I emerged from the room, a delicious scent drew me towards the dining room table.  Well, I thought of it as the “dining room”.  In reality, it was the same space as the “living room,” but the furniture was arranged in a pattern that made each area distinctive.

My parents were already seated around the table, and Tucker was shifting food from a to-go box onto a plate.  His smile was tentative, almost sheepish.

“I went out to Southport Grocery and got you the sweet and savory French toast.”

My heart swelled with affection.  He must have gotten up very early to get from
Pilsen to downtown and back by this hour.  “Thank you.”

I resisted the urge to inhale the ham-and-
swiss-covered French toast, instead savoring every unbelievably delicious bite.  I was only just finishing up when a knock on the door made me jump.  Reflexively, I shrank back into my chair.  Master usually answered the door, keeping his body firmly between me and whoever waited outside.

I shook my head to clear away the memory.  I had thought that Master had made me strong, but in many ways he had kept my weakness firmly ingrained.

Tucker had already crossed to open the door by the time I got to my feet.  A CPD officer greeted him, then informed us it was time for me to see Agent Byrd for my official debriefing.

I found myself regretting my delicious breakfast as my stomach churned at the prospect.

Chapter 17

Agent Katherine Byrd was younger than I expected, maybe a year or two younger than me.  Although after studying my reflection that morning, I felt like I looked
far older than my twenty-eight years.  I certainly appeared to have aged more than a year in the time I had spent imprisoned by that Bastard.

Instinctively, I shied away from the thought of him.  I wouldn’t have the luxury of doing so for much longer.  In a few minutes, Agent Byrd was going to force me to think of him, to recount what he had done to me.

Tucker had offered to sit with me during the debriefing, and a part of me had been sorely tempted to accept.  Although our romantic relationship had ended a long time ago, our friendship never had.  The warm grip of his hand around mine would have been comforting.  But the idea of him knowing what I had been through was abhorrent.  I had always been the assertive one in our relationship, the strong one.  Having him see my vulnerability, to know just how low I had sunk, would be unbearable.  I had to protect him from that.

So I found myself alone with the pretty, copper-haired woman in the small, warmly-lit office.  Her bright green eyes were kind, her soft features open and sensitive.  But the strong set of her shoulders as she sat with perfect posture on the chair across from me gave off an air of confidence.  I tried to straighten my own back in response, to harness the confidence that I used to possess.  My efforts were a pale mimicry of her bearing.

“I’m Agent Byrd,” she needlessly introduced herself, “but you can call me Kate.”

Unable to return her soft smile, I just nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’m going to have to ask you some difficult questions, Lydia,” she told me gently.  “If you need a break, you can tell me.  I know this will be hard, but we want to find the man who abducted you.  We have to make sure he can never do that to anyone ever again.”

Her last statement made me go cold.  Since I had been freed, the thought of that Bastard taking another woman had never crossed my mind.  I had been so absorbed in my own determination to forget him that I hadn’t allowed myself to contemplate what he might be doing now.

“Oh, god,” I breathed shakily.  “I hadn’t even thought…”  I swallowed.  “He said there had been others before me.  He said that they…  That they didn’t last long.”  Mustering my courage, I met Agent Byrd – Kate – squarely in the eye.  “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.  I can’t let him…  What do you need to know?”

Kate regarded me with a new respect before beginning her questioning.

“You were officially reported as missing on June 10, 2012, but your husband said he hadn’t heard from you in two days before that.  It seems your friend Rebecca Thomas was the last person to see you.  She said you had lunch together on the ninth.  Your mother became concerned when she couldn’t get through to you on your cell phone on the tenth.  Your parents and your husband filed an official report that day.”  She paused, allowing me to absorb the information.  “Can you tell me where and when you were abducted?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.  I hadn’t realized how little the FBI knew.  It occurred to me that I had hardly uttered two sentences to Master and Clayton regarding the circumstances of my imprisonment before they had relented with their questioning.  After that, Master hadn’t actively pressed me for more information, and neither had he allowed anyone else to do so.  He had kept me isolated, slowly working bits of information from me.  I realized now that he had been trying to protect me from the trauma of facing what had happened to me.  But in doing so, he had kept the FBI’s hands tied when it came to tracking down that Bastard.

I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or resentful.

“I was at Dusk on the night of the ninth,” I began, struggling to keep my voice even.  Kate’s brows drew together in confusion.  She didn’t recognize the name of the club.  Of course she didn’t.  “It’s a BDSM club,” I explained reluctantly.

“Oh.”  Her face was carefully blank.

“I had been going there every weekend for almost two months.  My family and friends didn’t know.  They…  They wouldn’t have approved.”  My cheeks heated, but I pressed on.  “Tucker and I had been officially separated for four months when I first started going,” I explained, almost defensively.  “But things had been over between us for a long time before that.  I wanted a divorce, but he wouldn’t agree.  I couldn’t afford to fight him on it.”

“So he was angry about you moving out on your own?”  Kate asked, suspicion regarding Tucker’s character stirring in her eyes.

“No,” I said quickly.  “The separation was amicable.  We got along just fine.  But Tucker doesn’t believe in divorce.  And neither do either of our families.  He thought we should stick together because it was the right thing to do.”

Kate nodded, her suspicious expression clearing.  I was relieved.  The last thing I wanted was for Tucker to suffer over my abduction any more than he already had.

“So you were at Dusk on the night of the ninth,” Kate prompted.  “What happened that night?”

“I…”  My mouth instantly went dry as
his
face materialized in my mind, studying me with lustful interest from across the bar area.  “I noticed him in the club at the beginning of the night.  He gave me the creeps, but I didn’t think much of it.  There’s always a creepy guy or two on the scene.  Usually, they leave after getting the cold shoulder from people in the community, or someone sets them straight.  I figured he would get filtered out soon, so I ignored him.  I went to… play with my friend Mark.”  I stumbled over the word.

“So you had sex?”

“No!”  I said quickly.  “It wasn’t like that.  I didn’t have sex with anyone in the community.  I’ve never slept with anyone but Tucker.”

No one else except Master.

I went cold.

No one else except Master and that Bastard.

No.  I didn’t
sleep with
that Bastard; he
raped
me.

I had willingly, eagerly, given myself to Master.  And that had been so much more than just sex.

I shook off the thought, returning my focus to the night I had been taken.  The amount of effort it took for me to tear my mind away from the memory of Master’s beautifully fierce expression as he claimed me was almost painful.  Especially because I was having to replace the image of him with the leering face of that Bastard.

“Anyway, that Bastard told me later that he had watched me with Mark.”

Kate’s brows rose at the moniker that Master had given me for the man who had tortured me, but she didn’t have to ask me who I was talking about.

“And what was it, exactly, that he saw you doing?”

My cheeks burned, and I pursed my lips.

“I need to know, Lydia.  And I won’t judge you for anything you say.”

I was hesitant to believe her, but her emerald eyes seemed sincere.

“Mark and I…  We went to the dungeon together.  He tied me down and hit me with a crop.”  I said the words in a rush, unable to suppress a cringe as I did so.  I had never spoken to anyone outside the community about my proclivities.  Well, I had hinted at them to Tucker, but I had quickly decided to keep them secret from him after his uneasy reaction.

But, true to her word, Kate’s expression wasn’t judgmental in the least.  “Why was it important to him – to that Bastard – that he watched?”

The sound of the derisive name on her lips bolstered my courage.  And I needed every shred of courage to make my next admission.

“He said…  He told me that was why he chose me.  The other women he had taken before me, they…  They died.  He thought I would survive longer because I liked pain.”  My voice got quieter, shakier, as I forced out the words.

The permanent pink flush that colored Kate’s alabaster cheeks paled a shade.  She cleared her throat delicately.  “What happened after you played with Mark?”

The ease with which she absorbed “played” into her pertinent vocabulary bolstered me once again, reassuring me that she truly didn’t judge me for my unconventional sexual tastes.

“I decided to go home early.  My work week hadn’t been great, and I was pretty worn out.”

My job as a receptionist at Real Listings, a small local real estate firm, had been thankless.  Most of the women I worked with were catty, and my boss had been a chauvinistic ass.  But it had paid the bills, and I couldn’t afford to quit and devote myself to art if I was going to afford the rent on my studio apartment.

I hadn’t thought about my job until that moment.  My complaints about the trials of working there now seemed laughably trivial.

I turned my attention back to what was important.

“Usually, I would have asked Mark to walk me out to my car.  But he was talking to a sub – a submissive – who he had been interested in for a while. 
Romantically interested.  I didn’t want to interrupt, so I slipped out on my own.  I had almost gotten to my car when…”

When my life ended.

“When that Bastard took me.  I didn’t see him coming.  He grabbed me from behind and injected me with some drug.  When I woke up, I…  I was in the dungeon where he kept me.”

“The dungeon?”
  Kate asked, her voice slightly fainter than it had been before.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.  As coldly and clinically as I could, I described my prison.  Any detail might help the FBI figure out its location.  Determinedly, I divulged every aspect of the room that I could recall.

“Good,” Kate said when I had finished.  “That’s good, Lydia.  We’ll see what we can turn up with that information.”  I glanced up at her to find that all of the color had drained from her cheeks.  “Tell me about the heroin.  We have the sketch you helped us create.  We’ll circulate it through the proper channels.  If we can connect him to a dealer in the area, we might be able to get a lead on him.”

I nodded, clinging to the possibility that any of my information might save another woman from suffering at his hands.  “I’m not sure how long I was there when he first gave it to me. 
Maybe a few weeks.  I gathered that he hadn’t tried giving any of the women before me heroin.  He…  He was frustrated with me.  He planned to get me addicted so that I would do…
things
for him more willingly.”

My gut twisted.  It hadn’t been the drug that had broken me, but it had certainly kept me compliant after I had broken.  No.  Not just compliant. 
Eager.  Desperate.

Kate gently placed a comforting hand on my knee, calling me back to the present.  “That’s good,” she told me encouragingly.  “That gives us a timeline to work with.”  Her eyes appraised me carefully before continuing her line of questioning.  “Agent Vaughn told me you mentioned another man. 
‘The Mentor’?  What can you tell me about him?”

The crack of the whip.
  Blood.  Agony.

“Please make it stop, Master.”

Broken.

“If that Bastard had an accomplice, we need to track him down as well,” Kate told me carefully.

“That Bastard.”  Not “Master”.  He’s not my Master.  He never truly was.

I gritted my teeth, pulling myself away from the visceral memories, struggling to study them from a distance.

“The Bastard deferred to him.  He seemed almost scared of him.  The Mentor said something about having taught him to channel his urges.  He said he would kill the Bastard if the cops linked his victims to him and came after him.  The Bastard asked the Mentor for help so that he wouldn’t have to risk drawing attention to himself by taking another woman.”

I stopped talking.  Nausea had rolled over me, and my head started spinning.  The front of my skull pounded like a jackhammer was drilling away at it from the inside.

“What did the Mentor help him with?”

I dropped my head into my hands, clutching at my skull in an effort to hold it together, to keep it from shattering.

“Breaking me,” I said on a whimper.

The couch dipped slightly beside me, and Kate placed a tentative arm around my shoulder.  The simple act of human kindness wrenched a sob from my chest, and I leaned into her slightly, welcoming the comfort.  Her hand brushed up and down my back reassuringly as she let me cry.

I was trembling when the flow of my tears finally abated.  Shyly, I glanced up at Kate.  Her complexion was still wan, but her expression was nothing but compassionate.  She wasn’t judging me, and she wasn’t pitying me.

“Thank you,” I said shakily.

She gave me a weak smile.  “No problem.  It’s the least I can do.  The information you just gave me might be what we need to catch the Bastard.  He won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

I nodded, but I didn’t share her confidence.  In truth, I had very little valuable information to offer.  I didn’t know the Bastard’s name, I didn’t know where he had held me prisoner, and I didn’t even know what the Mentor looked like.  Still, I had given Kate everything I knew.  I could only hope that it would be enough.

“I’ve referred you to a psychologist,” Kate informed me.  “Dr. Stanger will help you work through what happened.  You’ll be able to rebuild your life, Lydia.”

Again, I wasn’t nearly as confident as she sounded.  I would never be the same woman I had been before I was taken.  And I wasn’t at all sure if I was capable of finding the strength within me to rebuild.  My life had been shattered, and even the tiny shards of it seemed to weigh a ton.  I wasn’t strong enough to wrestle them back together.  Not on my own.