Chapter Twenty-Six

Sophie's POV

I hadn't really known this house from the outside. The only time that I had seen this side of it was a brief glance as I was being dragged inside, before McGill had put a bag over my head, and a fleeting image as Eames carried me out and away. I did not have an intimate knowledge of the house itself, nearly all of my memories were wrapped up in the dungeons, but all that it took was one glance at the place to set my heart to pounding.

I could feel a cold sweat breaking out all over my body, and I could hear the pitiful whimpers that were escaping me with each panting breath that I took. I was shaking all over, from head to toe, I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried, and I was sure that things couldn't get any worse…and then Detective Raymond reached for me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to his side.

It really was amazing, this ability that we had as human beings, to switch from one emotion to another in the blink of an eye. Who would have thought that it was possible to go from the sensation of being completely consumed by fear, positively mired in it, to a red-hot burst of anger, one that was so intense that it stained your vision, in the course of a single heartbeat? I certainly wouldn't have thought that I had it in me to do so, but that was what happened just the same. One minute I was struggling to free myself, pitifully whimpering as I pushed against him, and the next thing I knew I succeeding in shoving him away from me, with enough force to throw him off-balance, though not enough to knock him on his kind of fat ass, which would have brought the moment full circle into perfection for me.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, stalking toward him and shoving him again and again, feeling stronger and surprisingly powerful with each contact of my palms and his beefy shoulders. "Don't you ever touch me again, or so help me God….."

My threat died a swift death when he reached out to take hold of my wrists before I could ram him a fourth time. I wanted to hold on to my anger, to use it as a shield against him, but unfortunately it faltered somewhat as he rose to his full height, to tower over me, as he glared down at me. He moved close to me, too close, so much so that I could feel his body pressed against mine, and I fought against the urge to gag when I realized that he was aroused.

I would not let him rape me. I didn't care if I had to fight him to the death; I didn't care if he beat me black and blue, and broke every bone in my body. I wouldn't bat an eye at whatever pain that he dealt out, because I had every intention of giving just as good as I got. That angry feeling inside of me had not diminished completely, even though terror had been reintroduced into the mix of emotions that I was experiencing at that moment. As a matter of fact, it seemed very possible that my fury might rocket to the spot to act as the dominant sensation, because the notion that this man might try to rape me was enough to send me into a rage.

There were things that had happened during my time in captivity that were difficult to live with. There were memories that sought to frighten me at times, when Eames was touching me intimately, until I reminded myself that his hands were different, that his touch was the one that I loved, the one that I had no reason to fear. There were moments when I had to concentrate, to focus my attention on the differences in the hands, to convince myself that the ones that were smoothing over my skin belonged to Eames, and not to McGill or Jude…or the faceless stranger who'd taken so much delight in cruelly twisting my flesh until I'd had no choice but to weep as I begged him to stop.

Thankfully for me, not to mention Eames, the memories stayed buried for the most part, but how would I be able to suppress the feelings that would inevitably haunt me if I was raped? I'd never given Eames any indication that there were times that I struggled, I'd never wanted him to know that there were times when I wanted to recoil from his touch because I had a brief moment where I believed that he meant to hurt me. I wouldn't be able to hide the fact that I'd been raped, not if I was incapable of killing Raymond before he could take me by force. If I survived, the memories would always be in the back of my mind, tormenting me, and tainting the intimacy that Eames and I shared…that is, if he could bear the thought of touching me at all, after I'd been violated…..

"You have every right to be scared, Miss Evans," Detective Raymond growled, tightening his hold on my wrists as he spoke, little by little with every word, until I was certain that I could feel my bones cracking beneath the force. "I can imagine what sort of thoughts are racing through that pretty little head of yours right now, but I'm telling you, hell, I'll go so far as to promise you that you're dead wrong. I didn't bring you here because I meant to do something bad to you, and I've got no intentions of hurting you….."

"You're hurting me right now," I whispered, wincing as he rotated his hands back and forth, chafing, and undoubtedly bruising my flesh with the force of his grip. His eyes grew narrow as I spoke, almost as if he thought that I was trying to trick him, until his gaze landed on his hands, and then they grew wide with what I would have sworn was disbelief. "And you're thinking of doing worse to me, I can see it in your eyes and I'm telling you right now that I'll die before I let you do that to me…but not until I've done my damnedest to kill you first."

"That's good, Sophie," I told myself, "don't let him see how scared you are. Show him the anger instead of the fear and you just might live through this."

The problem was that I wasn't accustomed to surviving through fury. I told myself that the reason I'd lasted as long as I did was because I'd kept myself as quiet and as still as a mouse. I insisted, to myself, that I'd made it because I'd found ways to blend in with my surroundings and not call attention to myself, but those were lies. The true reason that I'd survived and the others hadn't was because it hadn't been my time to die; it was really just as simple as that. I was going to have be honest with myself and rely on the survival instincts that had been with me since birth to get me through instead of continuing to lie to myself and trust the tried and true methods from the past which were, in all reality, nothing but bullshit.

Detective Raymond slowly loosened his grip on my wrists, but it was obvious that he had no intention of releasing me completely. I knew that my threat hadn't scared him, I wasn't the sort of woman that a man would find intimidating, but it was obvious that he was wary of me now, in a way that hadn't occurred to him before that moment, and that pleased me. I had to show him that I wasn't someone who'd be easily cowed, I had to make him see that I was willing to fight him tooth and nail, and then, once I had him certain of who I was, I would do everything in my power to convince myself of the same.

"You've got this all wrong, Miss Evans," he said quietly, in a tone that made his voice, which was always deep and gravelly, the sort that one might possess when you've wounded them with your words. "I have no intention of hurting you and I certainly don't plan on trying what you think I want to do. There are plenty of times when I've gone without a woman, but all of the ones that I've had were willing when I had them, and I don't like the idea of spoiling my record of not being a rapist with you."

I didn't want to glance down at his crotch, the thought of looking at him there was nauseating to me, but my eyes went in that direction anyway, in spite of my best efforts to keep my gaze centered on his face. The glance, as quick as it was, provided me with the visual proof that he was still aroused. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't brought me to this hellhole with visions of rape in his mind, but he was certainly excited about something. I had to wonder if his stalwart "convictions" where forcing himself on a woman were concerned would remain intact if, or, rather, when he truly began to hurt me, or would the opportunity be too good for him to pass up?

His gaze followed mine, and I watched his throat working almost convulsively as he struggled to swallow. "You're a nice looking woman, Miss Evans," he murmured, returning his eyes to mine, and tightening his hold on my wrists, in a bid to bring my body close to his once more. "You're soft in all the right spots and you always smell so damned good, so it's a no-brainer that being close to you makes me hard, but that doesn't mean that I want to rape you. I'd like to fuck you, I won't deny that, but I'd never do so against your will….."

"Which means that you will never do so," I hissed, pulling hard against his hold, and, when that didn't convince him to turn loose of me, I was obliged, happily so, to bring my heel down on top of his foot. I probably shouldn't have taken so much pleasure from the bellow of pain that escaped him as I ground the sharp point of my high heel into his foot, but I liked it very much, so much so that I raised my foot and brought it down again, with more force than before, until his roar became a piercing squeal.

"Bitch," he gasped, finally obliging my request that he turn loose of me, but not before he shook me back and forth, as if I was a bothersome rag doll. "You fucking cunt…I'll make you sorry for that."

He turned me around and drew me back against his chest, with one arm clamped across my stomach and the other across my breasts, and one hand curled around my throat. He slowly tightened his grip on my neck, bit by bit, until I began to choke, then struggle, which was when he would relax his hand. He did this several times, gradually suffocating me, then allowing me a gulp of air, until I was writhing about in his arms and whimpering uncontrollably.

"You wouldn't come out here of your own accord, so I had to improvise a bit," he whispered, placing his mouth right beside my ear, to ensure that his lips would caress me with each word that he spoke. "You're the only tool that I had left, and I wasn't going to allow you to hinder my investigation any longer. I suppose that Pretty Boy is going to have a hard-on for me, now that I've done what I have, but it'll be worth it if I can solve this damn mess before another woman who has the unfortunate luck of looking like you gets sliced and diced….."

His words died away with a gasp, followed by a strange gurgling sound, as he jerked back suddenly, and then fell forward, against me, knocking me to the ground. I could feel something very warm seeping into the top of my dress, and the smell hit me at the same moment that the realization of what had splashed onto my dress did. I gagged and tried to vomit, turning onto my back as I did so and staring for one horrified moment into the gaping crevice that had been placed in Detective Raymond's throat. My stomach heaved once more, but brought nothing up, as I watched his blood trickle out of the wound and stain his tie. It was almost as if I was mesmerized by the horrific sight for just a moment, and then my adrenaline kicked in and I scrambled backward on my butt, sending dirt flying this way and that…only to be stopped at the last minute by the twitchy-eyed freak who stepped forward to grab hold of my ankles.

Jude stared down at me for several moments, completely silent and motionless, save for that eye of his, and I mimicked him perfectly by doing the same, expect for the fact that I was looking up instead of down, even though the voice inside my head told me to fight, to attack, to kill! I guess that my fear had frozen me in place, so much so that I was deaf to every suggestion to save my life. I was so scared that I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, I could barely even think…though his words, when he did begin to speak, made my heart beat faster and faster, until it felt like it might explode.

"You've been very wicked while you were away," he whispered, almost sadly, and then his eyes grew fiery with the force of his temper, and he started moving backward, dragging me across the yard, through the dirt, viciously twisting my right leg when I tried to break his hold on me. "You've been a slut for that man, you've been his whore and now you will have to be cleansed of him, you will have to be purified, purged of any trace of him, before we can make you complete, before you can become. I hate to do that to you, I know that it will be the worst pain that you've ever endured, but it has to be done. You've left me no choice but to do so, you ought to have known better…you brought this on yourself, you know?