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Joshua. Please. Save me.
After what feels like a million years, he comes over and slides the ginger out, tossing it into the trash. My rear tunnel still aches like I’ve been speared with a red-hot poker.
As I slump against the wall, he walks over to the door and uses the retina scanner.
“Tamara,” Heather calls out weakly. “Hang in there, Tamara.”
She’s being so brave. Still thinking about me, right after she was raped and forced to watch my torture session. But I don’t have the strength to answer.
This will be my life every day until I die.
No.No. Joshua told me I was strong and brave. I’m not giving up. I lived through everything that Joshua did to me. I can live through Micah.
CHAPTERFIVE
TAMARA
The minutes tick by, the drips of blood running slowly down my back. Meanwhile, I try to think about anything but how much pain I’m in.
My arms, stretched over my head, are burning, my muscles screaming.
I jump when the door clangs open, and my stomach clenches in fear. More torture?
But this time, Micah is accompanied by a woman who looks to be in her mid-forties, carrying a black bag. She’s pretty, with high cheekbones and pale blue eyes, and she’s got frosted blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. The roots have grown in, and as she gets closer, I see she has circles under her eyes. Those eyes go wide when she sees me.
“What the hell have you done to her?” she cries out in horror.
“I’d think it’s rather obvious, isn’t it? And it’s not your concern. You’ll clean her up and check on her daily to make sure her wounds don’t go septic.” He fumbles with my cuffs, and then I’m free. I stagger, almost falling, and brace myself with my hand pressing against the wall.
She looks at him with utter hatred. “You sick bastard.”
“Yes, I think we’ve established that. Why repeat yourself?” His tone is mildly puzzled.
She walks over to the sink, and I see there’s a hose on the cart next to it. There’s also a drain in the floor. She attaches the hose to the faucet and gestures at me to come over. Agonizingly, I obey her, but I can’t suppress my whimpers as she hoses down my back with lukewarm water, rinsing away the blood and washing out the wounds.
When she’s done, she sets down the hose and washes her hands and dries them carefully. Then she pulls on a pair of rubber gloves from a box sitting on the cart.
“You’re a doctor?” I say.
“A nurse. My name is Astrid Barnard. I’m so sorry,” she says in a soft voice as she sprays something cold on my back. “This is antiseptic. I’m also going to be giving you antibiotics. I don’t want to help him, but he’s holding me and three of my children here. And I don’t know where the other two children are right now.” She chokes on a sob as she speaks.
A fresh groundswell of horror sweeps over me and nearly drowns me. Children? He’s holding children hostage?
I’m going to find a way to hurt you, Micah. I’m going fuck you up so badly.
“I have to do whatever he tells me. I’m sorry.” Her voice is a hoarse, heartbroken whisper.
Tears fill my eyes. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault you were kidnapped by a nut job. You do whatever you have to do.”
I twist around to look at Micah, who is standing close, looking bored. The movement costs me dearly; fire licks up my back, and I gasp in agony.
He can’t keep children prisoner. He can’t. He can’t.
Joshua, what the fuck is taking you so long?
Micah flicks her a look of annoyance. “Your children are living in the lap of luxury here. They’ve got video games and television and excellent food. They have nothing to complain about. Do they, Astrid?”
She looks at him with a flat, blank expression. “Would it do any good to complain? And you may call me Mrs. Barnard.”
