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“I…” she swallowed. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips before she finished answering. “I suppose.”
He stroked the soft silk of her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t be modest, Monique. You sent your friend off well. I especially liked the passage about death bringing freedom from these earthly chains. It was a very fitting choice.” He nudged her face toward his and trapped her with a cold stare. “What I do question is why you and Josh would even bother to attend. Are you trying to hurt me?”
Her mouth sprung open in protest. She gave her head a violent shake, and when he whirled on her, it was all she could do to stifle her cry. Her hands came up in pleading.
“No, Sebastian!”
“No?” he asked, cocking his head. He snared her wrists before they managed to settle against his chest. Grinding the small bones, he closed in on her until they stood toe-to-toe. A callous glint fueled the pale green of his eyes. He could feel each furious hammer of her heart slam against him. “Go home,” he warned.
“Sebastian, stop. Just listen to me…”
“Why, Monique? Why should I bother?” he asked in a husky voice. “You tell me.” He waited. When no answer was forthcoming, he clenched her wrists tighter and shook her. Her teeth rattled with the force. “Tell me!”
Her legs buckled at his roar. Sobbing, she hit her knees at his feet, her hands still raised and outstretched in a desperate plea. His lip curled and Sebastian fought the momentary urge to kick her and send her sprawling. Instead, he clamped his eyes shut and crouched down beside her. She flinched, muffling her cries as he stroked the soft corn silk of her hair. Giving a heavy exhale, he rested his head against the side of hers.
“I love you, but I asked you to go home. Take Josh and your kids and get the hell out of my sight. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”
Gripping her face, he planted a kiss on the line of her jaw. Her face blanched, turning white and sticky as a cold sheen of sweat erupted along her brow.
“I want her back, Monique, and I am growing very tired of waiting. She is carrying my child. Every day they are away from me is another day my family is in jeopardy. If I lose them, you will lose yours as well. Do you understand me?”
“Yes…”
“Good girl.”
Patting her head, he released her and rocked to his feet. Her legs trembled and shook beneath her as she stood. Drained, he moved aside and watched her leave, her chin still dimpling with her efforts not to cry she crossed the cemetery. Josh wound his arm around her shoulders and shot a wary look in his direction before steering her to the car. There was something he couldn’t quite place veiled in the man’s expression. Reproach, scolding perhaps. Something that said he should know better. Truth be told, he did, but it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to stop him and nothing would stand in his way. Those days were done.
~*~*~*~
Taylor fought to elude the smothering press of Marx’s hand. He held her up against him, covering her mouth, as he forced her to watch the sickening spectacle playing out to her right. Bradley was moaning. His eyes were glazed with sadistic pleasure as he masturbated, frantically jerking himself off to her muffled cries and the sight of his teammate fucking her with a flashlight handle. She had nowhere to go. No way to escape. The only thing she could do was retreat to a place deep inside herself and close her eyes.
“Yeah,” Brad growled, the sound of wet, slapping flesh growing faster. “That’s it. Pound that hole. I want to hear the bitch scream.”
The hand sealed over her mouth moved away and the thrusting intensified. She bit her lip, thrashing her head from side-to-side in a desperate attempt to shake the pain and keep the mounting screams at bay. She’d sooner die than add to their satisfaction again.
“Mm. You like that, honey? Does that feel good yet?” her attacker asked. “Don’t you pass out on me. We’re gonna switch places when he cums.”
“Go to hell,” she choked.
Laughing, he shoved the handle harder. Bradly howled above her and her empty stomach heaved as something warm and sticky shot across her skin. Leaving his weapon of choice inside her, her assailant roughly patted her cheek and smiled before he stood. He fumbled with the clasp of his belt, the front of his pants already straining as he stared down at her.
“I may be going to hell, sunshine, but you’re already there.”
~*~*~*~
The swollen moon hung like some sick mockery of the sun. He’d watched the rise of both today, and Sebastian had a sick feeling he would witness both fade. A pale light spilled through the twisted canopy of limbs overhead and cast silver swaths across the ground. They fell in haphazard patterns throughout the cemetery, never really illuminating anything. Just offering brief glimpses of what might have been.
Tipping the bottle of Southern Comfort, he took another long swig. The whiskey burned his throat but did little to numb the emptiness or pain. His gaze remained rooted to the fresh mound of dirt and the simple floral wreath adorning it. He knew in his heart Taylor wasn’t there, but he couldn’t find the strength or willpower to leave. It was the only connection he had left—the only place where he could feel some semblance of closeness.
God damn he missed her.
Sebastian shook his head and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. He might as well be the one buried in that ground. Part of him was gone. Losing her had ripped out his heart, his soul, whatever shreds of humanity he’d still possessed and turned them into something feral and animalistic. He was so close to losing her for good this time. No take backs, no second chances. What would he do then? She was still out there. He would see her again. Touch her again. He knew this with certainty, and yet he was going out of his mind with the mixture of grief and madness her absence inspired. What the hell had he been thinking? The bottle dangled from his fingers, swinging between his knees. How had it come to this? Why?
They had been so good together.
He took another long pull of whiskey. This time, his eyes watered and he grimaced against the rush of emotion as much as the burn. He never would’ve thought a mere woman could bring him to his knees. Yet here he was, crippled and unable to stand, willing to give anything, do anything, just to have her back. He missed the sweet innocence of her smile, her smell, the feel of her body as he drove deep inside her. Nothing else compared to Taylor. No one else even came close. She had been it for him, and now she was gone.
Taken from him—stolen.
Fucking Monique. The bitch was lucky he loved her. That small concession was the only thing that stayed his hand and prevented her and Josh from meeting a slow and painful demise. Holding his anger in was killing him. Someday, though, circumstances would change. He would bring Taylor home and, when he did, he was going to take perverse pleasure in torturing anyone who had played a part in her disappearance. They would experience, firsthand, the suffering and torment they’d caused him, and, maybe, if they were lucky, he would put them out of their misery before the insanity ate them alive.
He had to believe Taylor was still out there. Hope was the only thing that kept him going, but the worries kept coming, each question piercing his heart like a molten dagger.
What was she doing? Was she hungry or in pain? There was nothing, nothing in this world he wouldn’t do to take her place. He would gladly die a thousand agonizing deaths to spare her one more moment of suffering. He’d sworn to her he would always protect her. He’d vowed that he would never walk away, that he would never give up on her without a fight. How many times had they promised each other that death was the only thing that would ever tear them apart? Even then, he’d sworn to be close behind. It was supposed to be the two of them, him and her, against the world—forever.
Tears stung his eyes and he hung his head, raking his fingers through the disheveled mess of curls. He swirled the remainder of the whiskey, listening to the amber liquid slosh against the glass, and trying to find the strength to stand.
“You and me, Taylor,” he whispered.
But it wasn’t. Not anymore. He had nothing left. Nothing. Just the hushed profanity of his thoughts and the haunting scape of his memories.
CHAPTER 16 ~
Taylor hung limp in Bradley’s grasp, her feet trailing behind her as he dragged her across the floor. She tried to hold her head up long enough to survey her new surroundings, but the exhaustion and weakness gripping her made it so hard. From what she’d seen, they appeared to be inside some sort of silo or holding tank, but that wasn’t going to last long. Marx wanted her washed up and prepared for transport. She didn’t know where they were going next, but she had a sickening feeling, wherever it was, it would be her final resting place.
Her eyes raked over a circular set of stairs. They wound upwards in a slow spiral. Common sense deducted there had to be some sort of doorway or hatch up there, but there was no way to be sure. She almost wept with joy when she spotted a door on the ground level. Scanning her surroundings, she took note of blotches and rust stains, bolt patterns, anything that would help her remember its exact location.
Bradley’s grip on her arm tightened and he dragged her further into the building. They came to a stop outside a broad room that had no door. Snarling beneath his breath, he shoved her forward, propelling her inside. She stumbled, lost her balance, and sprawled forward, catching herself on her hands and knees. It hurt like hell, but at least she’d prevented crushing the baby.
She froze with uncertainty the moment she spotted Josh. A bright sunburst of hope flared to life when she saw him. Immobile, she watched the brief flickers of shock and horror register on his face, but like an ember doused with water, all hints of emotion quickly died. Muttering beneath his breath, he stepped forward to snare her elbow and haul her to her feet.
His eyes flickered away the instant they met hers. Instead, he focused his attention on the thin chain binding her hands.
“Put her ass in the tub and hook that thing through the loop,” Bradley ordered, tossing him a key. “Marx wants the bitch cleaned up before we move her. She fucking stinks.”
