Beautiful Tears (Enemies to Lovers - Dark Romance Book 1), page 15
The steak was tough and unappetising, but I ate it anyway. I still hadn't managed to find any wine in the place, so I had a glass of whisky to finish it off. The afterburn seared a path down my throat, but it wasn't an unwelcome heat. Anything that made me feel alive was good because I'd been dead for far too long. Yeah, excuse the hyperbole, but it was true. That's how prison makes you feel. Your free will is pretty much extinguished the second you enter, and the only thing you really have any control over is when you get to piss. Everything else is dictated to you. When you eat, what you eat, when you get to exercise, when you sleep, what you read, where you read... It had nearly destroyed me. Everyone needed something to live for when they got sent down. Some had a wife or family, some had a life they wanted to return to, or a business they'd created... but everyone had something or someone waiting for them on the other side. All I had was Harper. I'd become fixated on the woman, and it wasn't healthy. Did I need therapy? Probably. I also needed a whole heap of justice and several years of my life back. Would I get them? No. But I might get something else instead. Except I didn't know quite what that was, nor did I want to examine it too carefully.
Grinding the last bite of steak in my mouth, I swallowed it down with a finger of whisky. It made it almost palatable. Thankfully the French fries and green beans that accompanied it were perfectly edible, and I made the best of them. When I'd scraped my plate clean I headed back into the office and sank heavily into my chair. It was time to form some kind of reply to my parents' solicitor. Studying the ceiling above me I considered my options again, and realised, wearily, that I had none. I'd been neatly backed into a corner, and without their money I would quickly have to learn to fend for myself. This was something I was quite prepared to do, but not while Harper was under my roof. I couldn't trust her not to run off and spill the beans, nor would I be able to find anyone to look after her for any length of time. Well, someone who wouldn't ask questions, anyway. This meant I was between a rock and a hard place for the time being.
Flexing my fingers, I curled them into claws in frustration. It seemed like the whole world was against me, and I just needed a little bit of luck to get through this major hiccup and out the other side. Although it pained me to do so, I replied that I would be happy to meet Helena and discuss the situation. This way I hadn't actually lied, because I had no intention of marrying her. It wasn't unreasonable to take a little time to think about something as big as marriage, was it? I was pretty sure I'd manage to get to the bottom of Harper's lies by that time. All I wanted was a week or two. That would be more than enough time. How difficult could it be? I'd just have to meet the woman, wine and dine her, and pretend to be on board with the situation. If I could put that meeting off until Harper was out of my hair, then I might not even need to meet her at all. I'd play it by ear for now and wait to see what he came back with.
Thankfully the rest of my inbox was mostly junk, so I deleted all the rubbish and decided to finish up for the evening. My hand hovered on the lid of my laptop, pausing as my fingers bent down to touch the cover. Should I check in on Harper before I headed upstairs? How much trouble could she get into anyway? She'd be sleeping by now, and even if she wasn't, I'd locked the door. She was going nowhere fast. I urged my fingers to draw the lid closed. They did no such thing. Instead, they clicked on the camera app at the bottom of the screen, and I settled back down into my chair. You're obsessed with the woman. This can only end badly. My subconscious had a point, but I chose to ignore it.
When the footage began to stream on my laptop, I was pleased to see my first initial assessment had been correct. She was asleep, curled on her side, and the water bottle remained close by her bed. Nothing of interest to note there. I didn't shut down the laptop, though. Going back through the earlier footage I stared intently at the screen, desperately trying to figure the woman out. It wasn't a particularly interesting tale, especially as I'd left her chained to the wall, and I kept my finger on the rewind button for most of the time. Then just as I was about to lose interest, I saw something that made me pause. My eyes narrowed, and I hit fast-forward so I could watch it again in real time.
The reason I'd stopped the video was because I saw Harper vomiting into the bucket, but the video didn't play out as I expected. I assumed she'd stuck two fingers down her throat and made herself sick, but that didn't appear to be the case. She'd grabbed at the bucket with an urgency that suggested she'd been genuinely ill. I spent some more time staring at the ceiling. How did that work? I knew damn well I hadn't poisoned her, but perhaps the sandwich I'd made her eat had been left out too long. Shit. Now it was my turn to feel bad. Had I inadvertently given her food poisoning? No wait, it was freezing down there. It seemed unlikely - not impossible, but unlikely. Well, what other reason could there be? My brain cells tried to gather together some possibilities. She could be allergic to something I'd fed her, or she could be anorexic. If she were anorexic I'd probably overloaded her stomach.
I rewound the footage and observed her. She seemed uncomfortable nearly as soon as I'd left her. Her face looked strained, and her hand kept stroking her stomach as if she almost knew was what about to happen. I was still none the wiser to the reason behind her sickness, but I did know one thing. She hadn't made herself ill. I'd just spent most of the afternoon punishing her for something she hadn't done. Slamming the lid of the laptop shut, I put my hands over my eyes and sighed long and hard. I felt absurdly guilty. She'd tried to tell me, and I hadn't wanted to listen. This is the woman who lied to put you behind bars for ten years. Yes, but what if she was allergic to something? I could have killed her. I wanted to do many things to Harper Wilkinson, but I didn't want her death on my hands. She was right. We did need to talk. Perhaps not about the things she wanted to talk about, but tomorrow we'd sit down and have a chat.
Chapter 23 - Harper
For the first time in what felt like forever, I actually slept. It helped that my neck wasn't chained to the wall and that the duvet kept me tolerably warm. I probably got a decent eight hours sleep, and my usual nightmares seemed to have been beaten into submission. Perhaps that was because I was living with my own personal nightmare, though he didn't scare me nearly as much as my husband had. Mind you, it was early days yet. If he didn't get what he wanted, there was a good chance Brandt might go psycho on me. There was no way I could go another round with a madman. I'd had my fair share of that.
I needed to get out of here. Yeah, and how did I intend to go about that? Unless I suddenly developed superpowers that would allow me to bend iron bars, I was going nowhere fast. There was no chance of squeezing through them, either. As thin as I was, I wasn't that thin. I also knew there was little to no chance I could reason with him because to do that we'd need to talk and he wasn't ready for that. He might never be ready for that because the scars he wore plunged deeper every day.
Okay, so what other options did I have? Hiding under the duvet, I tried to rack my brains for anything useful. Brandt was unpredictable at best, but there was one thing I might be able to use. For all his threats, I didn't think he meant to kill me. I think he fully believed I'd take myself down to the local police station and exonerate him, provided he gave me a good enough incentive to do so. That meant that whatever he was dishing out would get progressively worse, day-by-day until I got to the point where I couldn't take any more. I didn't want to wait around for that to happen, which meant I had to be smarter than him, which was going to prove a challenge.
Curling deeper into the warm duvet, I let a couple of escape scenarios cross my mind. They were both long shots, and they would both rely on luck. That was the one thing I'd never had a lot of, so neither idea boded well, but I couldn't just lie here and wait for the monster to emerge. I needed to do something. It would help if I had a rough idea of where I was being held, and the whereabouts of the nearest house or road, but if I had to walk twenty or thirty miles to find it, then that's what I'd do. I needed to be strong, and I'd had a whole lot of experience with that.
Not for the first time I wondered if anyone would come looking for me. As I didn't have any family to speak of, there were only a few options. There was a slim chance the restaurant might have raised the alarm when I didn't show up for my last shift, but that was unlikely. I'd been there less than a week, and a waitress was easily replaced. They'd have better things to do with their time. Someone would be coming to look for me with regards to the arrears on my flat, but that could be months away. I also didn't fancy their chances of locating me, with virtually no paper trail. They might manage to trace me to Nottingham, but they'd get no further. Would they launch a manhunt when they found I was missing? Unlikely.
The last set of people were my husband's friends, who checked in on me from time to time. They were probably my only hope. When they found the flat vacant they'd start asking questions. They wouldn't go to the police, but they'd have their sources. It was possible they'd look for me. They'd want to protect their interests, and if they suspected Brandt had taken me, then they'd be doubly keen to get me out from under his nose. That would be making a deal with the devil, though. They were the very people I was happy to escape from. I did not want to go back to that life. My cold little cell was far preferable to that. It didn't take a genius to figure out that my prospects were looking bleak.
Closing my eyes once again, I wondered if I might be able to go back to sleep. There was no guarantee that Brandt would let me have the duvet for a second night, and I wanted to make the best of this little piece of luxury. As soon as the thought entered my head, I could hear the sound of footsteps. Immediately panicking, mostly because I hadn't eaten my evening meal, I wondered whether I'd get away with pretending to be asleep. Remaining as still as a statue, I tried hard not to breathe as he unlocked the cell door.
"You can stop the act, Harper. I know you're awake. Did you sleep well?"
He peeled the duvet back from my face, and I blinked back up at him. "Do you care?" His face hardened, but it was a reasonable question. Why bother with pleasantries when you don't mean a word of them?
"Don't push me, Harper."
Sitting up on the hard bed, I stretched my arms over my head and yawned. My nipples peaked above the cover, but I refused to feel self-conscious. Brandt was the one who had taken away my clothes, and he clearly didn't feel uncomfortable about it, so why should I?
"Have you eaten your sandwich?" Oh God, we were back to that again. I'd fallen asleep before I'd even thought about eating, so I guessed I was going to be in trouble again.
Brandt held his hand out for the box he had given me, so I handed it to him and wondered how long it would take him to go from Mr Nice Guy to Mr Fucking Scary.
He looked at the contents for a long time. They weren't particularly exciting, so I guessed he was thinking about all the evil things he would do to me. I wanted to shrink under the duvet and disappear into the floor, but I held my ground. If he wanted to dish out pain, I could take it.
"Why don't you eat very much?" His eyes attached themselves to mine, and I found myself squirming. How did I answer that? The most reasonable explanation was because I couldn't afford to eat very much and was in debt up to my eyeballs. It wasn't something I wanted to share with him. He'd probably turn his nose up, and be relieved that his white trash suspicions about me were correct.
"You need to let me go. People will come looking for me." It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.
"No one is coming for you. You have no family to speak of, and I don't think you made too many friends in Nottingham in the few days you were there."
"How do you know that?" I asked suspiciously.
"I have my sources. Now answer the question."
He sounded impatient. I didn't care. "What are you going to do if I don't?" I thought I might as well know what I was letting myself in for before I started lying.
"Why are reluctant to eat? Are you anorexic? Or is it because you're allergic to something?"
"If I made myself sick I'd be bulimic, not anorexic," I pointed out.
"I saw the footage. I know you didn't make yourself sick." He raised a single eyebrow as if encouraging me to continue. Damn. I'd forgotten about the cameras. I wondered how long he'd been watching me and why he would even want to. It must have been a very boring video. There wasn't exactly a lot of things to do down here.
Trying to change the subject, I said, "I drank the water. All of it. If you give me a few moments I'll try and eat the food too. My stomach can't take very much at a time, but in a week or two I'll be back to eating reasonably normally. If you're intending to keep feeding me." The last sentence was rather quiet. My head was elsewhere remembering when my husband had told me he thought I was getting fat. He pushed me up against the wall, yanked my top up over my breasts, and then stared at my stomach in disgust. He then basically starved me until I'd lost the five offending pounds that were bothering him. And I don't mean by feeding me soup and salad for a few weeks. It was water. Two weeks of nothing but water. I lost every single one of those pounds, and more besides. I also gotten the flu in the process.
"If I intend to keep feeding you? What sort of crazy question is that? If I wanted you dead you'd be dead already. I'm not a killer, Harper. You might have made me a monster, but I'm not a killer."
He looked furious for a minute, and his anger made him start pacing the small length of my cell. With his head focused on the floor I happily ogled his torso, clearly defined within a plain black T-shirt. For the one-hundredth time, I wondered why I was so fucked up. I should hate this man, or at the very least despise him. He'd kidnapped me, after all. Instead, I lusted after him. Especially after he'd cuffed me to the wall. This was madness. Complete and utter madness.
"Are you anorexic? I want a yes or no answer, else there'll be trouble." He drummed his fingers against the wall, frustrated that he couldn't figure me out.
"Not through choice, no." Alex, my husband, had probably cultivated the complex after a few years of emotional abuse. That was made doubly worse when he left me virtually penniless after his death. Those were yet more gems that I wasn't prepared to share just yet. There were some things I didn't want to talk about with anyone, and my late husband was one of them.
"What's that supposed to mean?" He looked perplexed with my answer, and I was happy enough to keep his mind running around in circles.
"It means that if you're patient with your torture plans, I'll eat. If you gradually increase the portion sizes, my stomach will learn to tolerate them. If you force me to eat, the chances are I'll be sick, and that will put us back to square one."
Brandt stopped pacing and sat heavily on the steel bed. Turning to face me he said, "I'm not a patient man, Harper. You stole too much from me. However, having said that, I'll back down on the food issue. There's nothing to be gained from making you sick and weak."
Tell that to my husband. Apparently I was much easier to control when I hadn't had a lot to eat.
Picking up the box he handed me a sandwich. "Small meals and often. Will that work?"
I nodded. Taking a mouthful of brown bread and peanut butter, I almost sighed. It was one of my favourites. Somehow I suspected my meal might be the highlight of my day.
When I'd finished chewing the first mouthful I asked, "When's the next torture session scheduled for?" I would probably regret my little quip later, but I've always hated long silences. They usually mean something bad is going to happen.
Brandt's head turned slowly, and he stared at me long and hard. "This isn't a joke. Do you find this situation funny? I sure as hell don't. My parents, the ones who aren't speaking to me because they think I'm a criminal, are currently trying to marry me off to ensure I do no further damage to the family reputation. The chain of events you set off for me seems to be spiralling out of control. No one gives a fuck what I want any more. They just want to control me, one way or another. Do you know how that feels?"
I did, but I wasn't about to tell him so.
"You've ruined my life in nearly every way that matters, and you want to make jokes about it?" His irises were getting bigger and darker, and his mouth was a vivid slash of angry red. Why did I always have to babble my way through tense situations? If I wanted to survive, I was going to have to learn to shut up.
"But that's not even the worst of it. Do you know what I want to steal from you above all else? Want me to tell you exactly what it is?"
No. I didn't want him to say another word, already knowing I wouldn't like this very much. My lips stayed firmly closed in response, but I knew that wouldn't stop him talking.
"I'm going to steal the same thing you stole from me, Little Thief. A little piece of your soul. When I'm finished with you, you'll be damaged goods. No one wants damaged goods in their life. When your soul is as blackened and tarred as mine, then, and only then, will I let you go. Remember those words. They're going to come back to haunt you. Now eat the fucking sandwich."
It now tasted like sawdust in my mouth, and I was almost afraid to look up at him for fear of what he was going to do next. Me and my stupid mouth. When I'd finished he handed me another of his white pills, and I swallowed it obediently. After I'd drunk my fill of water from the new bottle he gave me, he stood up. Walking over to my cell door, he held it open and motioned for me to go through.
"On your knees." He pointed to the floor, and my heart sank. It appeared we were back to square one. Obediently following his command, I reluctantly shrugged out of my warm duvet and dropped to the floor. When my knees hit the cold concrete I wanted to gasp out loud, but I stoppered the sound. I'd get used to it in a moment or two. Brandt walked round to the side of me and picked up the metal leash. Wrapping it around his hand, he yanked it firmly and began striding off. That was my cue to follow.
Crawling up the stone steps was slightly better than crawling down them, but only just. My knees were going to be black and blue if he expected me to keep up with him, and judging by the pull he exerted on the leash, he did.
