SEIZED Part 5: A Steamy New Adult Romantic Suspense Thriller (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (6 page)

Carrie

Reading Sarah’s diary was heartbreaking. I couldn’t hold back the tears. She went through so much. And she was so brave; and so smart, thinking to steal the notepad to keep a personal record of what happened here. I can’t imagine how horrendous it must have been seeing her friend murdered like that. Kicked to death by one of Neon’s thugs. What a brutal way to die. Those men are animals. It’s no wonder Sarah began to lose her grip on sanity. I think anyone would.

The descriptions of Neon’s guys are accurate enough—I can tell they are the same ones who are here inflicting their torture on me now. The one who killed Lucy sounds like the one with cuts on his face—he’s so angry and hateful all the time. That means Lucy’s death could be recent.

Reality hits me. What happened to Lucy could easily happen to me now. I need to stay calm at all times, and not get noticed. As long as I can be one of the girls to toe the line, and as long as I don’t stick out, I have a chance of catching them off-guard and getting away.

I feel honored Sarah left these precious items for someone like me. I have to find a way to share her story someday. For now, I need to keep these things safe. I promise myself never to fall asleep with the feather in my hand or let the guys see the loose floorboard. One tiny mistake could cost me her things; and my life.

Sarah and Lucy have become beacons of hope. I begin to believe I’ll have the strength and opportunity to save myself. I also can’t make their mistake—I can’t wait and hope for someone to rescue me. And I have to act fast, before the drugs take away any will I have to get away.

I don’t know if Blake or Jason saw me get taken the other night. There’s no way to know whether they’ll come for me or not. I refuse to be a helpless victim waiting to be rescued. That’s not me. It’s never been me, and I just won’t do it.

I’ll focus on looking after myself, like Sarah and every girl before her tried to do. If I don’t look after myself, no one else will. The thought leaves me lonely. I remember my dad was really big on self-sufficiency; maybe that was a blessing. He used to constantly say ‘we all die alone, Carrie’ in that tough as nails voice. I remember thinking it wasn’t true. Most of us die with nurses and doctors or family around us. For someone like Lucy, the end came while she was alone. Horribly alone. It also sounds like she was insane when it happened. I hope this means she didn’t feel anything. The idea that one of Neon’s men could do that to her makes me even more scared about being here.

I’m an idealist at heart. I want to believe people are good to each other, and they can fall in love, or act from love. Regardless of this existence—which provides evidence to the contrary—I stay firm, stubbornly holding on to the idea of people’s innate goodness. I can’t let go of the idea that one day, a man is going to come along and treat me like a princess either. I’ve discovered this about myself. I may be scared and I may not trust men, but I want a happy ending. I want someone to put down everything they’re doing and save me. I just don’t truly expect it will happen.

I hear the noise of the outside door opening. I hide the notebook and arrange myself back in the usual position on the mattress. I can hear them talking. They must each give the drugs to different groups of girls because they’re talking about us like we’re pieces of rump steak.

“How’s that red head? She ripe yet?” One of them asks.

“She’s still struggling. She’s got some fight in her, that one.”  I creep over to the edge of the mattress. I’m only an inch closer to the wall but I can hear them quite well, now that I’m actually trying. They must be in the hallway outside my door. It’s unusual to hear voices like this. Normally they are extremely careful to say nothing to each other and only the most degrading insults to me.

“What about Blondie and that duchess with the dark hair?”

“Yeah. They’re ready. Both of them can work by tomorrow night. Neon already told us to get on it. More fresh meat on the block will keep her happy.”

“Make sure you’ve got big doses for blondie and the duchess then.”

“I’ll have to go pick some up. Rex is coming soon with a supply.”

I don’t hear the rest of the conversation but I can hear the sounds of someone walking back down the hall. I scramble back on to the center of the mattress. I don’t know who Blondie is, but I do know who the duchess is. Me!

It started the last time I asked the scarred guy to close the door when I was peeing. He and the other guy laughed at me and called me the duchess. It pissed me off, that wanting a little privacy suggested I was high and mighty. At least I heard them call me the duchess. Now I know to be prepared.

Tonight will be the first night I’m put to work. There are still hours to go before nightfall. I have some time. I knew the timing would come eventually. I didn’t imagine it would happen so quickly, but then again, who would be in a rush to start whoring? The next few hours are going to be torture. I instinctively glance up at the tiny window again. Nothing has changed. There’s no way I’m getting out of here.

I wrap my arms around myself as I stretch out on the bed. I wonder what exactly is going to happen. Little details crowd my mind. I wonder what they’ll give me to wear, and whether they’ll make me put on the wrong color makeup. I wonder if I’ll have to kiss the johns, and if I can have condoms. Of course after that logical questioning, the emotion comes.

Before I know it and without much warning, fear, anxiety and revulsion hit me like a punch to the gut. I have no idea what I’m going to do or say to get out of this. A deep part of me is facing an unavoidable possibility—the powerless sense I may not be able to get away.

I may be incapacitated; my plan to tell the clients I’m undercover police might not work. I’m going to have to stand on the street. The drugs may stop me from being able to think clearly on what to do when I’m out there. The realizations pour in one after the other. I start to shake, and my gut churns so violently I hold my stomach as if I could calm it down from the outside.

I squat on the mattress. I’m on my knees praying for some divine intervention that stops them from selling my body tonight. I sink my face onto the dirty mattress and cry. There are no other sounds in the building. I cry like I haven’t cried before. I cry like a child, and it soothes me somehow.

After a while, calm comes over me. I don’t know if it’s the expulsion of so much emotion. All I know is I feel better. The situation is exactly the same, but I feel a determination so fierce it leaves me breathless. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. What I do know is I’m not the first person to face this. I won’t be alone.

I don’t know how long I have until they come for me. I shift April’s mattress again and wrench the board up, putting the notebook back after reading it. Now that I read Sarah’s journal, I can prepare for what’s ahead.

Before I return it to its small hiding place, the book falls open in the back. I see some writing on the last page. It’s a list. Sarah has made a list of everything she knows about this place. It’s evidence. It contains tips and tricks for anyone who’s trapped in here. I greedily read every word. Unfortunately, I know most of what she’s written down already—details on when the guys come and go with the shots, the way they enter the room together, who’s more violent, and the things they said to her.

She has also written about the weaknesses she noticed about them. She talks about the mattresses and the way they could be stacked to force an escape through the window. She makes a point of noting it would only work with the smaller girls, which I know I am not.

Sarah writes that other weak spots include the bathroom, the corridor and the spot where they load girls in and out of the van before and after a shift. I swear to myself I’ll watch out for these things and start jotting down my own observations.

I write in the space below where Sarah started. I note that they only take me to the bathroom for shots after they put me in handcuffs, and they don’t let me pee unless I’m already stoned. I also write that they haven’t double-checked or noticed that my handcuffs are unlocked. They also have never looked under my mattress—not even once. I think they figure there’s nothing we can use as a weapon, or we’re too drugged up to do anything major, so they don’t bother.

I note that they leave me alone most of the time; that the best plan of action is not to resist when they administer the shots; that they only take one girl to the bathroom at a time, and one of them is supposed to keep watch, but sometimes they leave us to do other things. I also write about what the thugs look like. I am used to giving approximate descriptions because of my work at the news station. I think I do a pretty good job.

I want to pay it forward too; just like Sarah. If I don’t make it out of here alive, the next girl should have it easier. If she finds the notebook, she should know as much as possible about what’s going to happen. I finally slide the notebook back into the hole. Before I replace the floorboard I pick up the feather. It’s so soft against my wrist; I can see why Lucy loved it so much. I pick up the diamond stud after that, and think about Sarah’s father. Whatever happens tonight, at least there’s something written down. One day, that man is going to get justice for his little girl.

Blake

The apartment walls feel hollow around me. I’m on the couch with a full cup of coffee in front of me, and the folder Ryan gave me. The more I read, the more I realize that combined with what I already knew, this evidence is irrefutable. Everything in here tells me Neon took April.

It turns out Neon is based in more than one location. There have there been similar cases where she’s been interviewed as a possible suspect. More than one missing girl has turned up, and they were found working in her turf. Strangely, no cases could be made that point directly at her. The girls never talk. She has her thugs run things for her wherever possible. It seems she has an endless supply of these men at her disposal.

I can only imagine the sick little power games she’s running with those dudes. They’ll all be in love with her in some way. I’m sure most of them will feel like they owe her something. They’re probably all hardened criminals willing to do her bidding.

Looking at the photos of the victims—missing women who were found—makes me wince. This woman has caused so much pain and suffering. I can’t believe I was in love with her. She’s had me wrapped around her little finger for years.

I need to toughen up. The idea that this girl I once knew is capable of this stuff makes me question everything I know about myself. I start to wonder what happened to my ability to judge people. I thought I was perceptive, but if this has been going on this long, the truth is, I’ve had my head in the sand.

I can’t help thinking about the young women she once was. When I first met her, she was Erica, and she still had the innocence of a college girl. Or maybe that was an act. She’d fallen into a bad situation, but was determined to pull herself together. I believed her too. She was so smart and witty. Such a quick thinker—Erica could hold a conversation on anything.

I think the partying might have ruined her. I feel some guilt over that because I participated in it. We went out all the time. We never took things too seriously. And I didn’t stop her when she started taking drugs. I was drinking way too much to care. I knew but I didn’t say anything. I was young and dumb and drunk. I didn’t want to be the boring one putting the handbrake on, so I let it slide.

Before long she was partying harder than I was. Erica was meeting people, staying away for days, getting into trouble, and lying to me about it after. That’s when I started to think about leaving her. When I finally got sober, I took the extra step and let go of her. I thought it was for good, but the woman knows how to embed her claws into her exes.

I remember thinking of her when I was a rookie. I had no idea she was in so deep. I knew she was working the streets again. A couple of years later, I heard she had changed her name to Neon. There was some talk around the station of her becoming a manager for other girls. No one actually thought a woman could cut it or compete with the men in the pimp scene.

Who knew she was running multiple operations in other states. Not me; I never thought she was capable of it. But the reports suggest she’s been doing this to women for years. I needed to let go of my old opinions and look at the facts a long time ago. This woman is a criminal. She’s caused irreparable pain to people, separated families, and she has no right profiting from doing it.

I should have known back when she got me in trouble with the brass back then. Jacob had me in her office, asking what an NYPD officer is doing publicly dating call girls. It was bad for the politician, me and bad for the department. Jacob had given me a chance then. This time, I blew it—with Jacob, and with Carrie.

Carrie knew from the start that I had been burned by the media. I’m willing to bet she did her research too. I’m certain she saw coverage of the scandal about Neon and me. She never confronted me about it, but I’m sure she wondered what had happened. Jesus, that alone would have been suspicious enough, and then I’m sure Cooper filled in the blanks about my relationship with Neon. The whole time I was thinking I couldn’t trust her, she was probably thinking the same about me. God, this is such a mess.

If only I could just hold her right now, and tell her everything will be okay. I would give anything to know she was safe right now. I sit back on the couch and drop the folder back to the table. My thoughts shift to Carrie’s hair, and her neck, and the way she smells. I’m intoxicated just from the thought. It’s crazy what she does to me; she takes over my senses and my mind.

No woman has meant so much to me or affected me the way she does. I remember standing behind her one time in the mirror. She was trying to cut the label off the back of one my shirts because it was itching her neck. I had given it to her to wear around the hotel. She looked gorgeous in it. The white fabric made her skin seem luminescent. And as I looked her in the mirror, she caught my gaze and bit her lip. I know it’s cliché but anything she does with her mouth, whether it’s biting her lips, smiling or whistling to a song looks sexy. It makes me instantly hard, and as I stood behind her then, I knew I had to have her.

There’s one thing I know will send shivers across Carrie’s skin. One thing more than anything else I know she loves. So I started gently tickling her collarbones and stroking the back of her neck. She immediately melted back into me. The mirror showed me the look on her face and I felt my hardness spring up even further, nudging her in the back. I wanted to make her orgasm so I dropped to my knees in front and lifted the shirt. Her hands were in my hair, laughing and pushing me away but when I parted her legs and slid down her cotton underwear, her breathing changed from squeals of mirth to gasps of excitement.

I buried my face in the sweetness of her folds, slowly darting my tongue between the lips of her pussy as she relaxed her thighs and let me inside. In a flash my desire for her peaked. I wanted all of her then, so I lifted her in my arms to the bed, placed her down gently and removed my shirt from her long, lean body. She was so beautiful. I looked into her eyes for a long moment before continuing to devote my tongue and hands to her pleasure.

I could feel when she was ready, her slick folds begging me to slide myself inside. But I resisted, delaying gratification, as I knew it would take her so much higher.

I took my spot next to her and pulled her close to me, nibbling on her shoulder and tugging gently at her nipples. I lost my own clothes then, and my cock was like hot stone, pressing into her buttocks. I nudged her thighs open and slid it across the wet folds of her soft, beautiful pussy. She groaned as my head nudged her clit. I started a gentle rhythm, stroking her with my cock, palming her nipples and blowing on the back of her neck.

She was breathing hard by then, panting with desire for me but still saying nothing, waiting for me to take the lead. It was so hot. I wanted her right then, and I was about to turn her to face me when she twisted her body in my arms. Our faces were so close, and she touched my cheek. Something was happening between us. I don’t know what, but it was like nothing I’d experienced. I wanted this woman close to me.

She sensed my intensified need. Her mouth met mine in a slow passionate kiss. Her tongue gently entered my mouth, tasting me as our lips stayed locked. I pulled her closer. I wanted to possess her, but I maintained control, kissing her like no man had kissed her before, showing her with every breath that she was mine and that she mattered.

Her hands moved in to rest on my chest, and she pushed me back against the bed. This was new. She didn’t usually take control, but she straddled me, sheer power searing from her eyes. Those luscious breasts hung above me like fruit. I couldn’t resist reaching up to cup them, reveling in her reaction to my hands. She threw back her head, exposing that long beautiful neck, and I wanted to thrust inside of her right away. I continued to wait, letting her grind me slowly, building her own pleasure on my hardness before penetration.

She gave me a naughty look before she leaned in and began planting kisses on my chest. They were feather light, and my body reacted instantly, a deep low moan escaping from my lips. Before I knew what was happening, she worked her way down my body, never breaking eye contact once.

I couldn’t look away. I wanted this to be about her, but she seemed to have other ideas. I was helpless under her caress, so I surrendered and watched with anticipation, as she got closer to my raging hard-on. Her mouth was warm and wet, her lips supple as she grasped me in one hand and slowly licked the tip of my cock. I groaned her name and begged…and she seemed thrilled at my pleasure.

She used one hand to tug gently on the base of my erection while that beautiful mouth began to swallow my head and shaft. The cavern of her mouth was heavenly velvet and exquisitely hot. It was almost too much to bear. I let her suck me close to the edge before I forced myself to stop.

“I need you to come for me, babe,” I whispered to her. She looked up, nodding, seeing the urgency and sliding her beautiful wet pussy right up and over my hardness. The moment when I plunged deep inside of her seemed to last forever. We held on to each other, and she gyrated on top of me, pressing my hardness against her G-spot to bring on her pleasure.

It happened quickly, and when she started to shake with her orgasm, I came like a rocket. We were both in ecstasy, grinding and leaning into each other as stars burst behind my eyelids and propelled me to another world.

I sit up with a start. I dozed off for a second and bam, there is she is in my head. She’s like a drug. Addictive as hell. Carrie. Fuck! I’ve ruined everything. From the very start of this mess when we were in high school, to the decision I made to hide my history with Neon when I met Carrie again. If only I’d had the foresight to realize she was going to find out what happened anyway. She’s a reporter for heaven’s sake. I underestimated her, and I made mistakes.

Right now I’m looking at conclusive proof that my ex-girlfriend may have kidnapped the woman I love. On top of this, I have the FBI gunning for me because they think I’m responsible. It couldn’t be worse if I tried. I only hope my foolish actions are not going to cost Carrie her life.