Authors: JC Coulton
~ A Romantic Suspense Thriller ~
Seize Me Romance Series
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SEIZED PART 5
First edition. June, 2015.
Copyright © 2015 JC Coulton.
Written by JC Coulton.
All rights reserved.
This series is dedicated to the men in blue, and to the one that got away...
~To stay alive she needs to learn to let go.~
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Seized Part 5
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What would you do to have a second chance with the one that got away?
Most of the time, I watch the sunlight. There’s a shadow that travels across the wall and retreats again. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, or how many times they’ve injected me. It could be hours or it could be days. I’m so lost right now.
My arms are still tied. I can’t see when the needle goes in, but it hurts. My joints ache from being in this position for so long. I’ve never been so sore. My head is pounding. I’m thirsty and my throat is raw from screaming. I’ve given that up now. No one can hear me anyway. This place just echoes.
Neon’s guys come in and take me to use the toilet sometimes. It’s humiliating. They watch me, I’m not allowed to close the bathroom door and I can’t even clean myself up thoroughly. After that trip, that’s when they inject me again. They do it while I’m bent over the sink with a cracked mirror. It’s covered in grime. All I can see is my distorted outline. I’m disappearing a little more each day.
I can’t be certain. I think it must be heroine they’re giving me. I’ve never injected illicit drugs before, so it’s not as if I would know anyway. All I know is it makes me fall asleep and feel empty. I think this is what they did to April too.
Back when they first brought me here, I would struggle and scream until my throat was hoarse. Then I cried like a baby until my eyes were swollen shut. Now, I just feel scared. Every time the door opens, there’s more pain. Another needle or just taunting. Then they sit in the corner talking as if I’m not even here. They’re trying to hurt me, and break me down mentally and emotionally. I can tell. The two of them look at each other and laugh when I cry. Each time they come in here I break a little more.
My captors continue to wear masks, but even if they didn’t disguise themselves, I wouldn’t recognize them. All I can see is the scars on the rough one’s neck. All I feel is the steel of his grip when he holds my wrists together.
The drugs make things blurry in my mind. They make me react slowly. When I tried to fan a spider on the wall so it would go away, my hand kept missing. I wonder if the spider was real. Today it felt strange when the drugs went in. Not the needle—no, that stings me so badly. It was the numbness. It makes all these ideas in my head feel less important and harder to remember.
There seems to be a plan in place for me. I just don’t know what it is. It’s as if they’re waiting for something to happen. But I’m just waiting, trying to be prepared to defend myself if they put for their hands on me. Fear of attack is with me all the time. My dreams, when I remember them, are a mixture of reliving the attack from when I was a teen, and replaying April’s abduction. Then I come to consciousness again, and find this hell is still my reality.
At least they haven’t raped me. Neon’s threats must have been nothing more than that. She was trying to scare me with her attack dogs is all; I try and hold on to this thought whenever the fear comes up. It’s intense. Seeing the lust in their eyes and clocking my body’s reaction to it. I tense up and flinch every time they come near me.
One time I wake up and realize my hands have been restrained again. They’re no longer behind my back. One is shackled to the steel bar of the collapsed bedpost, and the other is blessedly free. I open and close my fist; it feels so good to move it and to see my hand again. The relief is so immense, I start to cry. Soon I’m sobbing, and grief overcomes me. Grief and fear are my only companions on the dirty mattress.
I remember my arm, and look at it for the first time. The damage the injections have done is disgusting. There are tiny pin-prick sores. This makes me cry harder. I never thought I’d be looking at this. My skinny little arm has holes in it.
Seeing this is what stirs me out of the fog. Right now I’ve got a choice, I need to stop being a victim and do something. I reach up, touch my face with my free hand and pinch my cheek like my grandmother would do when she was alive. The pain wakes me up a little further. I shake my head and my free arm; it’s time to assess the situation. My clothes stink, but they’re remarkably intact considering where I am.
I have no shoes on. I’m not cold so the radiators must be firing. The room is about ten by ten feet and there’s another bed next to mine. It also holds a single stained mattress, ominous in its vacancy. I can tell there’s been someone on there recently and there’s likely to be another occupant on the way. How many girls have been through this room? How many sets of eyes have watched that shadow cross the wall?
I decide Neon must be running some sort of informal detention facility. These feel like holding cells before she puts us to work the streets, or ships us off somewhere else. I feel like an animal under the control of experienced zookeepers. Her boys have clearly done this before. The way they tie me is practiced. They’re rough, but they don’t touch my face. The verbal taunts are designed for maximum corrosion of self-esteem. The phrasing they use makes me feel sick and ashamed.
I’m going to have to hustle my own way out of here. These guys are pros. I flick my eyes around the room. Apart from the empty bed, there’s nothing in sight. There are no sheets on the bed. The place is decrepit. The bed frame is broken; sinking me to the floor on the shoddy mattress. On a whim, I reach underneath it, feeling my way through the material.
My fingers close around the twisted metal of an abandoned hairpin. Rough edged and cold, it brings a rush of hope to my chest. It’s old, obviously abandoned by a prior prisoner. I don’t dwell on that. Instead, I begin to twist and separate the prongs.
I’ve seen people do this in movies a million times, and I silently send a prayer up for some kinds of competency, or luck, or both. I bend and shape the prongs of the hairpin, and slide them in to the lock on my handcuffed arm. I feel some hope as I jiggle at the catch. It fails over and over again, but as no one comes, I can keep trying.
Then I feel it catch. Except at the worst moment possible, I lose my grip and drop the hairpin. I could scream, but instead I just take a breath and try again. The lock finally clicks and disengages. It feels like magic, filling me with a sense of victory. I want to let out a yell of success but I’m too scared I’ll be caught. I quietly slide off the cuff and rub at my wrist. I’m free! The next step is getting out of here.
I try to stand up and immediately crash back into the mattress in sickening dizziness. There’s a crunch as my knee takes the brunt of my weight. This bed is old and threadbare with springs pressing through the fabric. I should take it more slowly. As I start exploring the small space, the grim reality of this situation comes over me. There was no point to any of that struggle with the handcuff. This room is sealed tight. No hidden trap doors, no loose windows and no more of a chance getting out than I had when I was handcuffed to the bed.
Now what? I check again making sure I haven’t missed anything in the initial frenzy. I haven’t. Instead, I end up sitting on the floor by the bed looking up at the tiny window trying desperately to squash the fear down.
There’s nothing to do but be rational. At least I know I can get out. Even if I can’t actually escape. I don’t want them to know I’ve freed myself from the bedframe, so I pretend I’m still bound. I reattach the cuff to my arm and my arm to the collapsed frame of the bed. It may be old but this thing is cast iron. As far as my captors are concerned there’s still no way I’m going anywhere unless I take it with me.
I look at the bed. The thought of getting back on that mattress is sickening. Still, I have a hairpin, and if they try to lock the handcuff, I can free myself again. I hide the hairpin under my mattress in the meantime.
The walls are quiet around me. I can’t hear a thing as the sun creeps across the wall again. My thoughts immediately turn to Blake. I just don’t understand that man. I don’t know if he was telling the truth, or if he meant what he said. All I know is I’d give anything to see his face right now.
I hoped he would save me by now. I need him to turn up, rescue me, and take me home. If I could see him again, maybe the truth about Neon would come out. Whatever they’ve got happening between them, it has to be business. My heart keeps telling me he’s not a cheater.
Admitting this to myself is a relief. If I take a purposeful break from the mistrust and suspicion, I can connect with my real feelings, with the love and desire I have for this man. If he could just hold me right now everything would be better.
I imagine nestling into his arms. The way his neck smells, the way his skin feels against mine. What I wouldn’t give to have this red-blooded man next to me. The last time we were together he was warm and hard, his bristly beard nuzzling into my neck, his arms snaking around behind me. I have a flash of a memory—his mouth closing on my shoulder blade.
The fantasy sends shivers through my body. Thoughts of him drown out the grim reality. I take refuge in them, touching myself gently though my clothes as I imagine him undressing me slowly. He would do that thing where he rips at my clothes, pulling me into him, making me know I’m his. I would just melt, letting him undress me piece by piece. I love being laid out before him naked. The look of raw appreciation on his face is such a turn-on, seeing his desire makes me want him even more.
I would let him take the lead, offering myself up to him and surrendering to his gentle strokes. Just the thought of his fingers on my thighs sends shivers through me. I get greedy with him, pulling him into me, begging to be taken care of. Mewling gently as his fingers begin to plunge inside me, teasing me into readiness before he removes his clothes.
Even in fantasy, seeing his desire and imagining him lining up that the thick girth of his cock at my opening makes me nearly orgasm on the spot. I allow myself to surrender fully to the reality inside my head as I picture him above me. Bearing down, ready to take me.
I can’t keep quiet, but my moans spur him on and the first thrust of his hardness feels so good it nearly tears me apart.
Blake I moan, harder, please.
His soft lips seal over my nipples one at a time while his hard member continues to penetrate me and I draw closer and closer to peaking.
I wrap my legs around him, encouraging him, pulling him in deeper, reveling in the delicious friction as he slams into my G-spot, making me clench and shudder around him as I’m ejected from this place into a stratosphere of endless pleasure, throbbing, moaning and thrashing my head as he joins me, emptying himself inside of me.