“I’ve always loved you, son. I’m sorry I could never let you know just how much,” he mutters, planting a kiss on the top of my head.
As he pulls away and our arms fall to our sides, something in my chest shifts and the pressure on my shoulders lifts. It’s strange to know how much the lack of a parent’s love can weigh on you. Our relationship is not magically fixed, but at least now I understand.
He pats my back, “Go update the guys. Let’s bring Emma home.”
EMMA
Lifeless. That’s how Sam’s eyes looked.
After some woman came in and cleaned up a catatonic Sam, I knew she didn’t want to speak. She doesn’t eat, talk, or move, and I don’t blame her.
I haven’t attempted to talk to her since my promise two days ago. I know it’s been at least two days because we’ve gotten six meals.
It’s been six meals since Samantha’s world was irrevocably changed. Six meals since I discovered whoever took us is merciless.
There’s a different level of ruthlessness someone has to have to not only rape someone but also make someone watch the gruesome violation and meticulous destruction of one’s core self.
I haven’t been able to close my eyes for more than fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes tops. Watching what happened to her keeps playing on a loop in my mind, refusing to give me a moment’s peace.
I peer down at the charcoal gray sweats. I’ve had them on for days, refusing to let anyone touch me for fear of what could happen if I allow myself to be vulnerable in any capacity. Especially not after what that disgusting man tried to do to me.
No, don’t go there.
I shake off my intrusive thoughts when I hear the door creak. Not wanting to be obvious that I’m watching, I lift my eyes, but not my head, at the sudden burst of light chasing away the dark of our prison.
It’s not time to eat, so whoever walks through that door isn’t here to feed us.
My body tenses, every nerve ending instantly turns on high alert, ready to spring into whatever limited action I can take.
Two large bodies appear, blocking the sliver of light to whatever lays outside the door.
It’s two men, not the same ones from days ago, both burly, their clothes looking like they’re fighting for their lives, stretched to the full ability of the fabric.
They both approach the table Sam is strapped to, unbuckling the straps at her feet and arms. The minute she’s free, Sam’s arms soar into the air, her nails raking down the face of the man closest to her hands.
“You sick twisted bastards,” she screams, clawing at the man’s neck before the other one moves to restrain her.
“For fuck’s sake, Murray, you can’t control one puny girl?” the other guy asks, squeezing Sam’s throat with the crook of his elbow, putting her into a chokehold, and yanking her hair back with the other.
Jumping from my seated position on the floor, I shout, “Leave her alone. Haven’t you assholes done enough?”
They don’t even acknowledge my existence. Instead, the other guy, not Murray, flexes his tricep and bicep muscles until Sam’s face falls forward from lack of oxygen.
Murray leans forward, scooping Sam’s prone form over his shoulders, and both men exit the room without a backward glance.
I don’t have enough time to wonder what will happen to her or what’s coming next as I hear the distinct sound of heels clicking against concrete.
“Hello, Emma,” a voice so familiar I think I’m hallucinating says, because there’s no way what I’m hearing can be true.
Closing my eyes, I try to bask in the last moment my life was normal. When my father wasn’t missing, and our family was whole, but most importantly, when my fucking mother was soothing my worries and not the one part of my entrapment.
My eyelids pop open-my pupils dilate at least five times their size.
Standing five feet into my cage stands Seline Bishop, my mother.
Her heart-shaped face glows with a vitality far from the emaciated strung-out junkie in the video weeks ago. Her once gaunt cheekbones, now full, have a rosy hue.
“Aren’t you going to greet me,
Daughter?” The venomous way she says daughter feels like a punch in the tit.
What the fuck?
I want to ask why she’s here or if this is some mistake, but I don’t want to waste a breath I might need at the end of my life on the likes of this mess in front of me.
My mother’s spirit left the day my dad went missing, and I tried to hold out for her return, but she’s dead inside.
“It would seem your time in isolation hasn’t done much for your manners. Your father is to blame for that,” she states, like the mention of him sours her taste buds.
I continue to bite my tongue, my silence my only weapon.
Not deterred by my insolence, she strolls deeper into the room. Her coral suit perfectly outlines her petite pear frame, which is lengthened by her sky-high stilettos. If I wasn’t so annoyed at the cunt who birthed me, I’d tell her she looks immaculate, but she can break a heel and twist her kneecap on the way down.
“The time has come for you to fulfill your birthright. I’ve sacrificed far too much for you to fuck this up for us.”
Us? Sighing, I roll my eyes at another group having some nefarious plan for my fucking life. At least the other group never chained me to a goddamn wall.
“Do you know how many generations have planned to get us to this very moment,” she babbles on.
Generations? My damn curiosity can’t take anymore.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice a little scratchy from lack of use.
“She speaks.” My mother turns, striding gracefully toward me and stopping so she’s still five feet away from any attempted stealth attack I might have been planning to utilize. “I was truly beginning to think we were going to need to increase our tactics,”
Increase our tactics?
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.