Breaking the Ice by Esme Taylor
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Hettie
I opened my eyes, surprised to find that it was much easier this time. Maybe it was all just a bad dream, I hoped. But as I looked around at my surroundings, I realized that not only had it not been a bad dream, it was my worst nightmare come true.
I glanced around at the room I was being held hostage in, straining to make out the details in the low light from the single, small window above my head. The low ceilings, concrete floors, and brick walls, combined with the cold, damp smell that hung in the air, were tell-tale signs that I was in some sort of cellar.
On the opposite side of the room was a set of worn wooden stairs that led up to who knows where. Along the wall where I sat was a single metal bed frame with a heavily stained mattress and an old blue blanket thrown over the end.
It wasn’t until I saw the bucket next to the bed, which I could only assume was meant to be used as a makeshift bathroom, that the enormity of the situation sank in.
Someone has brought me here with no intention of ever letting me out.
I knew that any hope I had of getting out of here alive rested solely in the hands of my Viking keeping his promise that he would always come for me when I needed him. And at that moment I’d never needed him more.
In the distance, I could just barely make out the familiar sound of a door opening. Could it be the Viking? Has he found me already? I wondered as I listened to the footsteps creep slowly down the stairs.
I wondered if I should just close my eyes and pretend to still be unconscious. Unfortunately, my curiosity got the best of me. I held my breath as a little more of my captor was revealed with each step he took.
The first things to come into view were my captor’s tan-colored slacks and dark belt. Next, his light blue shirt, near bursting from his gut that hung over the edge of his pants, with a large sweat patch under the armpit. As he took the next step his fat neck came into view, strangled by the shirt collar that was obviously too tight for him.
One more step.
And that’s when I saw his face, the man who had tormented me for weeks before breaking into my home and kidnapping me.
Roger?
Roger, the weird photographer from work.
“Hettie, you’re awake!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried I’d given you too much sedative. I would have hated for the fun to end before we’d even had a chance to get started,” he added, his tone mocking.
Bile rushed to my mouth and fear flooded my body.
“I’ve waited such a long time for you. I knew the night of the ball when you wanted me to take your photo that you would be mine.” The words flew out of his mouth with such force that little sprays of spit came with them, landing on his chin and his tightly stretched shirt.
“Photo? At the ball?” I asked in confusion, trying to get him to tell me more.
“The one I put in the paper,” he stated matter of fact. “I wanted the world to see you the way I see you. I wanted everyone to know you’re mine. I tried to tell you that night, but you fell and hurt yourself.”
His eyes darkened and his tone grew serious. “That’s when that fucking idiot turned up. But I knew it was just a matter of time until you came back to me. I forgive you for him. I know you were just playing with him until the time was right for us to be together.”
“What? You’re delusional, Roger. I don’t even know you. You’re just some creepy guy from work. I would never want you,” I bit out, my anger and frustration clear. “The only thing I want from you is for you to let me go. Let me go, Roger! You have no right to keep me here. People will be looking for me. You won’t get away with this!” I shouted just before his hand slapped me hard across my face, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.
“Hettie.” He spoke with a long, slow drawl.
Stepping closer, he bent down until his face was mere inches from mine and yanked on my ponytail until my head was forced painfully backward. “You’ve been through a lot, so I will let those comments pass. Perhaps you just need time to get to know me. Maybe then you’ll see what I see. We are meant to be, Hettie. You were made me for me and I will take what I’ve been waiting for. No one will keep me away from you now.”
He was so close that I could see the spit that had collected in the corners of his mouth, the greasy sheen of his skin and I could smell the pungent odor of stale coffee, sweat, and dampness. The combination of it all completely suffocated me.
The stress, drugs, and the force of his slap had all been too much and my body couldn’t take any more. Unable to choke down the nausea, I wretched all over my t-shirt, hands, and his shoes, thanks to the awkward position he’d had me sitting in.
Roger stroked his sweaty hand across the side of my face he’d just slapped and I felt like a dog being praised for doing a trick. “Aw, poor Hettie. I think the drugs I gave you have upset your tummy. Here, let’s you cleaned up. Afterward, we can get comfy and get to know one another properly. Don’t you want to get to know me more?” he asked, his eyes shifting toward the nearby bed.
I swear, my heart stopped beating when I realized where this night was going to end.
I had to swallow down another bout of nausea as I caught sight of the brown-handled knife he’d removed from his pocket. Horror filled me as I watched him flip it open, the light from the window above us glinting off the six-inch serrated blade. I took a deep breath as he knelt down and cut the ties from my ankles, pulling me into a standing position.
The room spun as the blood rushed to my legs, making me feel wobbly and unstable. I desperately wanted to run, and every fiber of my being was screaming for me to do just that. But I also knew I wouldn’t get that far in this state. Which left me with only one option. I needed to bide my time, distract him for as long as possible, and hope like hell that someone––Reid––found me before it was too late.
“Now, I’m going to free your hands princess. Don’t try anything stupid.” His tone was serious, and his words were heavy with a promise of harm. “I have a gun and I won’t hesitate to shoot you if it have to. He turned his back to me and showed me the black handle of the gun he had tucked into the back of his trousers.
“Trust me, I can still do what I want to do to you with a bullet hole in your leg. Understand?”
Terrified, I nodded.
He ran the knife through the plastic tie that was securing my wrists, snapping it open and letting it fall to the floor. “What do you say we get you out of these filthy clothes, beautiful,” he whispered, pulling the hem of my vomit-soaked t-shirt away from my body and pressing the knife to it, splitting the material all the up to the collar.
Peeling it off my shoulders, he used the only clean area he could find to wipe my chest and hands, completely ignoring his vomit-covered shoes, the sight of which nearly made me sick again. When he had finished cleaning me off, he balled up my top and threw it into the corner of the room where I had been sitting.
I held my breath and closed my eyes as Roger ran the knife’s tip down my chest, skimming its icy blade over my sweat-covered skin. He let out a groan as the knife continued its downward path, across the soft skin of my stomach.
Slightly pressing inward, he watched as the tip broke the surface of my skin, slicing into me. The tip disappeared beneath the surface, the cut widening as he added more pressure.
My eyes flew open as the blood began to run down my abdomen, soaking into the waistband of my jeans. I clenched my jaw in agony, trying my best not to react. Before long, the pain radiating through me had become too much and I cried out, pleading for it to end.
Roger smiled deviously as he pulled the knife from my abdomen, running his fingers through the blood that now covered my skin. I watched in disgust as he slipped his blood-covered fingers into his mouth, licking them clean with another audible groan of approval.
“You like that, Hettie? I knew you wanted me. I could feel it. I want to be inside you in every way. I want you to feel me and beg me for more. And now that I have you here, alone, we have all the time in the world for you to give me exactly what I want.” He leaned in and for a moment I feared he was going to kiss me.
To my relief, he turned my head to face the wall and licked the side of my face, from my chin up all the up to my eye, leaving a thick layer of spit in its wake. When he pulled away, I could see it written all over his face. Everything he wanted to do to me and how badly he wanted to hurt me was right there in black and white. It was obvious that I would have zero chance of getting out of here alive if I let him move me to that bed. So, I made a decision.
I have to fight.
As Roger took a step back, he opened a space between us big enough for me to put my plan into action.
Balling up my fist like Reid had showed me, I thought back to Billy’s lessons and how he’d taught me to throw my weight into my punch. Before he even knew what was happening, I used all the strength I could muster and punched Roger in the nose. I heard the tell-tale crunch as blood exploded from his nostrils. Appearing stunned, he staggered backward and dropped the knife.
“You bitch! I will fucking kill you!” he roared as he closed his eyes and used his hands to shield his nose from another punch.
Seeing my opportunity, I reached down and grabbed the knife, tucking the blood-covered blade back into the handle. I quickly slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans and ran for my life, searching for a way to escape. In the distance, I could see the staircase. Rushing toward it, I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the top.
Standing in what appeared to be an old, run-down barn, naked light bulbs hung from the ceiling, revealing what looked like a campsite. A sleeping bag, a small camping stove, an old radio, and a cooler, which I assumed was filled with beer, given the discarded beer cans, was set up in the corner. From the looks of it, Roger was prepared for a night under the stars, not a kidnapping.
Frantic, I searched the low-lit room for an exit. And that’s when I saw it. My way out.
I started to run, just as a hand grabbed me by my hair and pulled so hard that my eyes watered from the searing pain. Ripped backwards, my feet left the floor as I was thrown down the stairs. My body rolled down each step, crying out in pain, before coming to a crashing halt as my head bounced off the concrete floor.
The room spun as I hovered on the edge of consciousness, my vision going in and out. I vaguely remembered seeing Roger standing over me with the gun in the air, screaming. I couldn’t hear what he was saying because the ringing in my head was too loud. Tears slipped from my eyes as a loud crack sounded and darkness claimed me.
If only I could have kissed my Viking one last time.