Vengeful Soul by Emma Creed
My breath lodges in my throat as I strain against the arch of his hand. And he uses his grip to drag me up onto my feet, kicking the stool out of his way and pulling me tight against his solid body. I gasp in fear when I feel his hard cock pressing against my ass. The hand he has over my mouth is so large it blocks both my airways at once. Filling my nostrils with the scent of cigarettes and gasoline.
“Scream and I’ll hurt you,” his low gravelly voice speaks harshly inside my ear. “Try to run and I’ll catch you, then hurt you.” He spins me around to face him, releasing my mouth so I’m able to snatch some air into my lungs. We’re so close, I use the opportunity to study his face properly.
Hard as stone eyes the color of melted chocolate stare back at me. His nose is bent ever so slightly out of shape, and he has a slit running through his eyebrow that looks a lot like a scar. But he has the perfect length of stubble on his jaw, and the way his teeth are biting into his thick bottom lip makes him look a rugged kind of handsome.
“Piss me off, and I. Will. Hurt. You.” His eyes narrow, daring me to ignore his warning.
“I’m scared,” the words tumble from my lips so softly that I only just manage to hear them myself. And I pray that by some miracle he missed them. I never intended to say that out loud.
My lips tremble and my skin tingles when his hand slides higher up my throat, crushing around my jaw and drawing me even closer to him. So close that I feel those damp lips touch against my earlobe.
“You should be.” The deep vibration of his voice as it touches my skin sends shivers right through me, and when he pulls away, releasing his hold on me, my fingers naturally go to where he’s touched me.
“You’re coming with me. No questions. No fuss. You got that?” His commanding growl sends heat through my body and his eyes scan over me, for a brief second it seems there’s a flaw in his plan.
But he proves my theory wrong when he pulls rope from his hoodie pocket. I bolt for the door but don’t make it far before he drags me back, tossing me front first onto my mattress and snatching up my wrists. I struggle against him as he sits his heavy body on top of mine and binds my hands together behind my back.
The knots are so tight I already feel my pulse throbbing against them, and his hand pushes up my spine to grab my hair in his fist so he can force my head up from the mattress.
“You're gonna have to start listening to my instructions or you're gonna get yourself hurt.” His mouth engulfs my ear, his harsh whisper consuming every nerve I possess. And the deep inhale he makes as his nose trails over my temple causes a helpless moan to escape my throat. I remain still as he wraps more rope around my ankles, then flips me over so I’m facing him.
I look up, staring into his eyes and trying to find a shred of empathy in them. But all I see is malice.
He crouches, his bulky shoulder pressing into my stomach as he hauls me up off the bed.
I remember his warning, and hold in my screams, while I internally protest against the urge to fight him. Something in the tone of his warning and the way he looks at me has me convinced he isn’t bluffing. I doubt this man would think twice about hurting me.
So against all my better judgment, I remain silent… and I let him take me.
I bounce on his shoulder with every step he takes down the stairs. His arms crushing so tightly around the back of my thighs that I worry he’ll snap my bones. He moves as if I’m weightless, striding out of the back door and into the dusk evening air before pausing at the gate. I’m swung sideways as he checks that the coast is clear.
Now is the time to make myself noticed. My chances of getting help are greater out here in the open.
“Don’t think about it, princess.” His strong arm crushes me tighter. “One fuckin’ sound from you and I’ll cut the tongue right out your pretty little mouth.”
Turns out this guy's a mind reader as well as a predator, and I must be helpless prey because what I choose to take from his threat, is the fact he thinks my mouth is pretty.
I’m not the smallest bit surprised when he carries me toward the old truck I’d spotted earlier, and I stay silent as he drops me into the passenger's footwell and slams the door on me. While he’s out of sight, I use the opportunity to try and get free of the ropes. But I’m tied up too tight, and the friction of the rope burns my skin.
The speed and accuracy he tied me up with has me certain the man's done this before.
My body freezes still when he climbs into the driver’s seat, and I look up at him helplessly from the tiny space I’m crammed into. He scowls back at me, a low growl coming from his throat before he shakes his head disapprovingly and starts the engine.
I stay quiet, hating that from down here I can’t see where we’re going, and mad at myself for being so shocked and scared that I allowed him to take me so willingly. I really am pathetic.
My back aches from being bent so awkwardly and my limbs are heavy from being tied. Not to mention the fact that sitting on the floor ensures I feel every bump of the journey.
My captor remains silent too, his eyes focused on the road ahead, only occasionally flicking down to look at me. He wears no expression, shows no empathy, but what should I expect from a guy who just kidnapped me from my home, on the same day that I buried my parents?
Shock has caused me to handle this situation in a way that doesn’t match my nature. This cowering wreck, tied up in the footwell of some clapped-out truck, isn’t me. I’m not weak.
And I remind myself of that as I subtly try again to loosen the ropes that are tied tight around my wrists, while hiding the pain from my face as best I can.
Maybe acting weak and helpless will work to my advantage, he might drop his guard if he underestimates me. And that will give me the element of surprise.
“You won’t get out of those,” the smug asshole tells me, keeping his eyes on the road.
“How can you be so sure?” I find my voice. To hell with the plan, I’m not giving this jerk the satisfaction of fear for a second longer.
“’Cause I tied ‘em.” His cock-sure response infuriates me.
“You’re very self-assured,” I tell him, remaining calm. I hate to admit it but he’s right, I’m not getting free from the efficiency of these knots. When he turns his head to look at me, I notice the tiniest hint of a smile. It’s getting dark but I can see that it’s cocky as hell, and I pinch my own skin as punishment for being attracted to it
The rest of our journey is silent, and I don’t know if it’s dread or relief I feel when the truck finally pulls to a stop. Whatever it is, at least it’s replaced my motion sickness.
He gets out of the truck, then walks around and swings open my door, reaching inside and dragging me out. I’m helpless with my hands and ankles tied, and there’s nothing I can do as he lifts me onto his shoulder again and starts to move.
I look at my new surroundings, trying to figure where we might be. I hear crickets instead of traffic, and there’s no sign of any street lights, just pitch black for what looks like miles. I stare down at the overgrown grass that his large boots trudge through. And when he finally comes to a stop, my legs wobble when he places me down. Sharp wood splinters my bare feet, and when my head stops spinning from being upside down, I realize I’m standing on a porch. The house appears to be derelict, dark and morbid, and it dawns on me that this could be the last place I ever see.
With his fingers gripping at the rope that’s binding my wrists, he uses his other hand to shake the handle of the front door.
“Fuck’s sake,” he curses, kicking it with his boot before he reaches his arm up and feels his hand along the ledge above the door. When he pulls it back down again, he’s holding the key that fits inside the lock and allows us entry.
“Home sweet home, darlin’,” he sniggers, dipping his knees and hauling me back over his shoulder.
Inside is cold, dark, and smells musty. He marches through the black space, and I feel my ass meet a cold hard surface when he places me down.
“Stay there,” he tells me, his body pulling away from me and leaving me in empty darkness.
My body shivers under the thin fabric I’m wearing, goosebumps pop under my skin as I anxiously await his next move. I can’t even judge what direction he'll be coming at me from.
I jump nervously when the room fills with light, and I realize that I’m sitting in a kitchen. The cold surface beneath me being a table in the center of it.
It’s not a very big space and needs some serious attention, it’s grubby and most of the cupboard doors are hanging from their hinges. I watch cautiously as the stranger who kidnapped me moves from the light switch by the door to the sink. He turns on the faucet and after a few sputtering sounds from the pipework, water eventually comes through.
“It’ll do.” He looks around and shrugs as if he’s actually impressed with this hovel, while I sit awkwardly with my legs hanging off the edge of the table, my arms aching behind my back.
“What are we doing here?” I ask him, trying not to sound as scared as I’m feeling. But he ignores me, busying himself by rooting through the cupboards and drawers. It’s when he reaches up to check inside the wall units that I notice the gun he’s got tucked in the back of his jeans, and I feel my heart beat a little faster.
“Why have you brought me here?” I rephrase my question. I remember watching a documentary with Dad once about kidnap victims. A survivor had said the best thing to do in a hostage situation is to try and build a relationship with your captor. Apparently, it helps them develop empathy.
Though, with this guy, I doubt I stand a chance of that.
Right now, I’m more concerned about the fact that he’s made no attempt to hide his face from me. Surely that isn’t a good sign.
“Please, just tell me why I’m here.” I sound scared, and as he starts making his way toward me, I make a mental note to get a handle of my emotions when talking to him. But fear stops me from thinking when his hand snatches at my cheeks, painfully squishing them between his thumb and tense fingers.
“Do I need to fuckin’ gag you too?” he threatens, and I close my eyes to avoid looking into his, shaking my head against his hold until he finally releases me.
Our attention is pulled in the same direction when we hear a rustling come from outside and when I turn my focus back on to him, his index finger presses over his lips, warning me to stay silent.
Slowly, he reaches behind his back, pulls out his gun, and creeps toward the back door. When there’s enough space between us, I finally suck in a breath, quickly flicking my eyes around the room and looking for something I can use to untie myself. We’re in a kitchen, surely there are knives in one of those drawers.
I manage to slide myself off the table, landing on my feet and making tiny shuffles toward the drawers that are all the way over the other side of the room.
“Come on.” This time when I hear his voice, his tone sounds different, almost welcoming. When he reappears and catches me in the middle of the floor, he gives me a harsh once over with that dark glare. He doesn’t say anything about the fact I’m up and on my feet, just keeps his disapproving eyes on me as he reaches past me to open one of the cupboards and pull out a porcelain bowl.
He fills it with water, then with another cold stare in my direction, he places it on the floor beside the open back door.
“Come on,” he taps the side of his leg, and crouches to the ground, totally distracting me from the escape I’m trying to plot. He reaches out his hand cautiously and after a little more coaxing, a wet snout appears from behind the door and touches his fingertips.
“That’s it, come on,” his voice remains deep and gravelly, even through a whisper, as a furry head timidly pokes its head around the door, and edges closer to the bowl of water.
It’s a dog, one that’s fairly large in frame, his fur is scraggy and unkept, and I can see from how he tapers in at the waist that he hasn’t had a decent meal in a long time.
“Good boy.” My kidnapper ruffles his hand through the mutt’s fur when he dips his head and starts lapping from the bowl. And satisfied that the dog’s drinking, he stands back up and makes his way toward me.
“Going somewhere?” he asks, tipping his head to one side and licking that bottom lip again. Why am I wondering what it tastes like? Of all the fucked up things to think about right now. Why is that important?
“I need the bathroom,” I lie.
His eyes gesture to the opposite side of the room where the door is and I make a cute, awkward laugh which I hope will make him less angry at me. It seems to work on everyone else.
His face remains stern, not giving me any form of reaction, and I’m surprised when he drops down to his knees in front of me. Those dark eyes looking up and warning me not to do anything stupid as he loosens the knots around my ankles.
With the loose rope gathered in his fist, he stands up, takes me by the elbow, and roughly spins me around. His hips push hard into mine as he forces me toward the door to the hall.
“Then we better find you the little girls’ room,” he speaks harshly against my cheek, as he drives me forward.
“Stay,” he calls a command back to the dog, and when I look over my shoulder, I see the matted furry creature sitting on his bottom obediently.
“Does everyone always do as you say?” I ask as he forces me to walk on.
“If they got any sense.” He kicks open a door to his left, and drags me back.
“You're gonna have to untie my hands,” I tell him, and he ignores me, pulling on the light cord and assessing the room. It’s minimal, just a toilet, a basin, and a bathtub that needs a damn good scrub. There’s also a tiny window above it, which I notice him size me up against.
“You take a piss, and then you come back out. Door stays open.” He points to the door as he lays down his terms and when I nod in agreement, he finally unties my hands. I flex and rotate my wrists, enjoying the feeling of freedom, when I notice the angry red marks on my skin where I struggled against the ropes in the truck.
He shifts back out into the hall, and I wait until he turns his back on me before I push my shorts down to my ankles, and hoover over the toilet seat. I don’t know whose ass was on it before mine.
“Hurry up,” he barks impatiently. The pressure of him standing so close makes it real difficult, especially since I don’t really need to go. Thankfully, I manage to force something out, I can’t be sure when the next time I’ll be granted a bathroom trip will be.
I pull the flush and wash my hands while scanning the room for anything useful, like a razor or something. But the place is empty, there’s not even a toothbrush in here.
“All done,” I say as I open the door, trying my best to sound friendly, and he wastes no more time, quickly grabbing my arm and pulling me back to the kitchen where the dog is still waiting.
“Sit,” he nods his head toward one of the kitchen chairs. Talking to me, not the dog this time. I do as he asks despite his tone, looking at him hatefully as I lower myself onto the hardwood seat.
“I’ll be back,” he says, taking the ropes and wrapping them tight around my chest, so tight that I worry I won’t be able to breathe when he’s finished. My arms are crushed against my sides, unmovable due to his expert tying skills.
He shuffles in front of me and uses the other ropes to tie my ankles to the chair legs.
“You’re just gonna leave me here alone?” I question him, feeling myself start to panic.
“He’ll be here.” I follow his eyes over to the dog.
He can’t be serious.
“But what if you don’t come back? Nobody knows where I am.” My palms are sweating and I feel a lump forming in my throat. Shit… I think I’m gonna cry.
“I’ll come back,” he assures me, standing in front of me so his body towers over mine.
“If you leave me, I’ll scream,” I threaten. “I’ll scream so loud that I’ll wake the fucking dead.”
“Holla as loud as you like, princess, ain't no one gonna hear ya all the way out here.” He shrugs back at me, before turning and heading toward the door.
“Watch her,” he instructs the dog before closing the door behind him.
I wait until I hear the truck pull away before I get to work. Making tiny shuffles of the chair to get closer to the drawers. It takes so much effort to make such little progress and my body is already exhausted, but this is my only hope of getting out of here.
The dog watches me curiously as I try my hardest to shunt further. And when I overdo a thrust, the chair topples onto its side, and I crash to the floor with a painful thump. Closing my eyes, I feel hope slip away from me. My body is too sore to fight, and when a warm wet tongue licks over my cheek, I finally admit defeat.