WARNING: This Chapter contains details of violence.

CHAPTER 14

Cheers

"Get up!" A masculine voice boomed from above me.

I jumped a foot off the bed, terror and fear instinctively kicking in. The jerking motion made the chains connecting my wrists strike my bruised jaw and my head exploded in pain. I moaned and waited for the room to stop spinning. It finally slowed and I tried to understand what was happening, but my brain was clouded with dreams.

"Get the fuck up!"

His harsh demand had me scrambling off the bed and my feet got tangled in the blanket causing me to trip. I let out a painful cry as I landed hard on my hip. As I lay helplessly on the floor, his boots paced dangerously close to my head. I was afraid to look up but knowing what he was doing was better than waiting down here like a sitting duck.

I chanced a quick glance, hoping he wouldn't catch me peering up at him. His eyes were blood shot and he was holding a whiskey bottle in his hand, top off and half empty. His lips were moving, but the blood was pounding so hard behind my ears that I couldn't hear what he was saying.

His face contorted with rage and his body started shaking. I lay motionless on the floor while he came unhinged. He was like an escaped mental patient—or someone doped up on drugs. I couldn't stop staring at that stupid rogue curl, dangling over his flat eyes, swaying back and forth like a metronome.

He spun around, staggered across the room, and slid down the opposite wall, hunched over with his knees pulled up so he could rest his arms on them. The bottle of amber liquid swung precariously between his thumb and fingers as he stared at the floor between his spread legs, chest rising and falling quickly.

I was afraid to move from my spot on the floor. I remembered him saying the reason he didn't drink was because he hated being out of control. Clearly, something happened to make him pick up a bottle of whiskey, but I didn't know what that could be. He'd always been dangerous—unpredictable—but this version of him was petrifying. I took him in, noticing the stubble on his face and his wrinkled clothes. He looked like he'd been on a bender. While I was trying to make sense of things, he threw his head back and let out a savage yell. The sound reminded me of a wounded animal, getting louder and louder until he roared.

Every muscle in my body tensed with what was to come. In a fit of rage, he threw the bottle at the ground a few feet in front of him. It exploded, sending shards of glass in all directions. A jagged piece of glass barely missed my calf. I quickly slid backward on the floor to get out of the line of fire. My back hit the edge of the bed, heart beating erratically. I tried to become invisible, hoping he'd forget about me.

He met my eyes from across the room. They were glassy and filled with so much grief he was drowning in it. "Today's my birthday," he shrugged and blew out a breath. "Well, it's Emmie's birthday too." His voice was low and gravelly, breaking off at the end.

How was I supposed to respond to that? It seemed like bad form to wish your tormentor a happy birthday.

"Come here." He crooked his finger at me. I swallowed heavily; looking at the broken glass and liquid splashed across the floor and shook my head while forcing a pained smile on my face. He narrowed his eyes in warning. "Don't make me come get you."

Most of the glass was out of my path, but I was careful to avoid the shards in front of me as I walked across the room. To my left, a long sliver caught my eye. It was big enough to use as a makeshift knife. My heart rate quickened, and I quickly averted my eyes. I didn't want to alert him to its presence. If he gave me even half a chance, I'd grab it and stab him. I wouldn't even have to think twice before I did it.

"Sit," he ordered and patted the floor beside him. I sat down and leaned against the wall with my arms hugging my legs to my chest, protectively. The concrete was cold on my bare bottom and the whiskey vapors were burning my nose, making it hard to breathe. He looked sideways at me, his eyes glassy and I wasn't sure he recognized who I was. "She would be thirty-two years old today," he slurred and then scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his face, making a sandpaper sound. Even though he was in so much misery, I was still surprised to see a tear sliding down his face. "It should have been me at the bottom of that mine," he pleaded with me to rewrite history and make it so.

He stared off into space for a few minutes and then let out a keening sound as he reached over, pressing my knees down until my legs were stretched out on the floor. Alarm coursed through me and I started breathing faster. I didn't know what he was getting ready to do but I knew I wasn't going to like it. My face turned painfully red as he laid his head in my lap and pulled my arm around his neck, holding it there.

How can he ask me to comfort him after everything he's done to me? But if I refuse—? I held myself stiff, afraid to do the wrong thing.

"Do you ever wish you could go back and do things over?" he asked in a voice so quiet I barely heard him.

Of course, I wished I could go back and make different decisions. If I could, I wouldn't be in this cellar right now. But I couldn't say that to him. The last thing I wanted to do was make him angry. That wouldn't be good for me… at all. Fortunately, it seemed to be a rhetorical question. He just wanted someone to commiserate with him and it looked like I was the lucky person.

"I should have looked harder and not given up," he said, as his tears fell onto my thighs and his whole body convulsed with silent sobs. "I left her out there all alone… and she died… because of me." He could barely push the words through his grief-stricken throat.

I didn't want to do it. After the way he'd forced himself on me at his last visit, I wanted him dead, not just stewing in his guilt over his sister's death. In fact, I reveled in the knowledge that he was in so much pain. His pain made me happy and I smiled for the first time in weeks. But when it came right down to it, I still wanted to live. Maybe if I showed him some kindness it would convince him to let me walk out of here. I cringed at the thought of comforting him. It was wrong on so many levels, but I had to do it. I wiped the smile off my face and lifted my hand, reluctantly putting it on his head and smoothing his unruly curls. "You were just a little boy," I soothed. "What happened wasn't your fault."

He sniffed and then his voice became small, almost childlike. "Why won't you love me?"

My eyes darted to the piece of glass I'd marked as a potential weapon. He was drunk and his reflexes wouldn't be as sharp as usual. Maybe I could get to it first and stab him before he knew what was happening. While I debated that course of action, I continued stroking his hair, lulling him into complacency. The silence had gone on for too long and I had to say something. I swallowed hard, and whispered, "How can I love you when you hurt me and make me bleed."

He sighed, gently tracing figure eights on my leg. "I don't want to do those things. That's why I stay away when I'm angry with you. But I didn't want to be alone today."

We were both quiet for a while and finally, in my best therapist voice, I said, "There are people who can help you. You won't have to go alone. I'll go with you."

His finger stopped its continuous movement and I waited, hoping I hadn't made a mistake. A couple minutes when by, but it seemed like an eternity. When he finally spoke, I let out the breath I'd been holding. "You're the only one I need," he said and then quietly began humming a familiar children's tune.

"I meant a professional. They would know how to get you the help you need."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I'd gone too far. Abruptly, he shrugged my hand away, and sat up. We were so close I could see the vein in his neck pulsing. "The only thing I need is for you to love me like I love you." His lips crashed into mine, knocking my head against the block wall. For a moment, I didn't react, but then I recoiled as I pushed at his shoulders. He leaned back, studying my face with his cold eyes, drawing me into the dark pit of emptiness where he resided.

His voice turned hard as he got to his feet. "I don't want to put you in a case like the others, but you're leaving me no choice." He grabbed my upper arm, squeezing hard as he dragged me. I looked around for the shard of glass I spotted earlier and made a swipe for it, but I missed. In a last-ditch effort, I stretched my arm out and tried again. He gave a hard tug and I knew I'd never lay hands on it.

I had my feet under me now, scurrying as he pulled me to the center of the room. He had boots on so he wasn't worried about the glass, but I was trying to dodge the pieces as best I could. I stepped in the wrong place and a thin sliver of glass sliced into the side of my foot. I hissed at the pain, but he didn't hear or care that I'd been hurt. He was only focused on getting me in front of the women.

Once he stopped pulling on my arm, I took my weight off my injured foot and looked down to see blood dripping onto the concrete. He pointed at the women. "Since you won't love me, you can tell me about how much they love me."

My nerves were strung tight. I'd been going over and over the details of their stories for days, but the thought of reciting them while he was drunk terrified me. In his current state, one lash might kill me. I pushed the pain from my foot to the back of my mind and muddled through the entire recitation. By a stroke of luck, I made no mistakes. I couldn't help the huge smile that split my face. I'd finally done what I'd feared was impossible. I'd given him no reason to hurt me today.

In my delighted state, I turned to him, expecting him to be smiling, but he wasn't. In fact, his face looked frighteningly dark. My smile disappeared, and my heart started pounding. For a moment, I'd forgotten to be afraid.

How stupid could I be? This wasn't a game. I didn't win a prize. Those women had all died by his hand.

I shivered.

What have I done?

His cruel eyes never left mine as he fumbled with his buckle, pulling his belt out of the loops. My mouth hung open in shock, and my chest tightened. I couldn't breathe. This wasn't supposed to be happening. He said he wouldn't hurt me if I got them all right. And I did. I got them all right. I should be safe. Why was he doing this?

With an evil smile on his face, he took a slow step toward me as if I was his skittish prey. I started backing away one foot at a time, uncaring about the glass on the floor. I held my arms out to ward him off and kept going until my back hit the same wall we'd been sitting against earlier.

"Please don't hurt me," I begged. "I did everything you asked."

He kept advancing—my words not registering. When he grabbed my arm and pulled, I dug my bare feet into the floor, fighting against him. He yanked harder, and I stumbled as my feet scraped along the concrete and glass until I was right back where I started.

I barely had time to turn my face away before the belt landed across my breasts for the first time. Fire ignited like a box of matches—poof—instant agony. That one whip across my chest stung far worse than anything he'd done to my back. There was no way I could let him do it again. Gasping for air, I turned away, presenting him with my already damaged back.

He struck once—twice—three times. I fell to my knees.

Four—five—six times. I was gasping, hands pressed flat on the floor, doing my best to keep my face from digging into the concrete.

Seven—eight—nine times—

I stopped counting as he lashed out in a flurry of strikes. Whip after whip landed on my back with no end in sight.

I screamed.

I begged.

I bargained.

I cursed.

He showed me no mercy.

A scratching sound at the door woke me. He hadn't been here in a couple days and a small part of me was hoping he wouldn't come back at all. It would mean I would die down here, but wouldn't that be preferable to what he was doing to me?

I lay on the bed with my eyes closed, silently waiting for him to come inside. After the last beating he gave me, I couldn't even look at him without rage building. I kept my breathing slow and even and made no attempt to slide the blanket off. I felt him stop beside my bed, watching for signs that I was awake. I expected him to be angry that I still had the blanket over me. I had prepared for him to shake me or kick the bed because of my open defiance, but he just moved away without doing or saying anything.

I opened my eyes a little to see what he was doing. He put the box of supplies he carried on the table and quietly moved his chair to the center of the room with the back resting against the wooden support pole. I noticed all the glass was gone and realized he must have cleaned up while I'd been passed out from the beating he'd given me.

As if he could sense me watching, he glanced my way. My heart thundered in my chest and I quickly closed my eyes. I waited a few minutes and when I heard him speaking in low tones, I chanced another look. He was pacing in front of the women, bare chested and carrying on a conversation with each of them. After he finished his chat with Melissa, he walked back to his chair and sat.

I glanced at the women, letting my eyes travel down the line, trying to figure out what he saw when he looked at them. Movement caught my eye as he stood and began unbuckling his belt, pulling it from the loops in preparation for another recitation. Sweat broke out all over my body and I started shaking under the blanket. Just the sight of it made it hard for me to breathe. He let the belt fall to the floor beside his chair and started unbuttoning his pants. When his pants and underwear were around his ankles, he sat back down.

I couldn't take my eyes off the belt—innocently lying there. I wanted to set the damn thing on fire and watch it burn the same way it burned me. I smiled, imagining myself casually walking over to him and grabbing it. Before he knew what was happening, I'd have it wrapped around his neck, watching the life drain out of his eyes as I strangled him. He'd never beat me again. I'd make sure of that.

My entire body hummed with excitement. I wanted to do it—I wanted to do it so badly. But what would happen to me if I failed? The answer was simple. He'd kill me. I didn't want to die. But wasn't I going to die anyway? I knew my death was his end game. The other eight women hadn't survived; I didn't think I was any better than they had been.

The way I saw it, I had two choices; kill him before he could kill me or accept my death at his hands. I chose killing him… but how? I was getting weaker by the day. If I was going to do something, I needed to do it soon. My time was running out.

Over the weeks, I'd formed plenty of escape plans, but there had been major flaws with each of them. The only weapon I had at my disposal was my brain. I figured I could manipulate him—use his emotions against him. He fancied himself in love with me and so far, I'd done nothing to encourage him. I wondered what would happen if I did. If I could make him believe I've had a change of heart, maybe I could distract him and get my hands on the belt. It was a risky move, one that might get me killed, but at least I would die valiantly.

He leaned back, stretching his legs out and pumped his shaft. He closed his eyes and moaned, so engrossed in what he was doing, I don't think he'd notice if I walked across the room and stood right in front of him. The belt was right there, taunting me. It was now or never. I might not get another chance to take advantage of his distracted state. If he was like most men, it wouldn't last long.

My heart beat wildly as I slowly slid my leg out from under the blanket and off the bed. I waited to see if he noticed.

He didn't.

Being careful not to let my chains clank and give me away, I slid my legs further off the bed. By the time both feet were on the ground, I was sweating and breathing a little harder, but he still hadn't looked my way. Very gradually, I sat up. I could feel my heart pounding from the inside out as I slowly walked across the room, careful not to alarm him. I had to walk with my legs spread apart in order to keep the chains from dragging on the floor, but it was a small price to pay.

I was waiting right in front of him when his eyes popped open. They widened for a split second and then he turned curious, but he continued pumping his hard cock with slow, even strokes.

My entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. The thought of my slippery hands ruining my plan nauseated me and threatened to send me running back to the bed. At least I'd live to see another day—probably. I met his eyes as I wiped my clammy hands on my bare thighs, hoping he didn't see how afraid I was.

His dick stuck straight up like a proud offering and a drop of cum leaked from the head. He placed both his hands on the arms of the chair, jutted his hips further out, and peered up at me with hopeful eyes, inviting me to touch. I swallowed hard, bracing myself for what I was about to do. He looked me up and down, stopping to focus between my legs. His eyes had a dreamy look in them. "You get more beautiful every time I see you."

He was one messed up freak. I didn't look beautiful, not even close. My skin was jaundiced and loose over my bones and I was covered in bloody bruises from my face down to my toes. I was hoping my hypothesis about him was correct—that he was becoming more sexually attracted to me the closer to death I became. And since his dick was still hard, I had to assume there was something to my assumption. Maybe I wasn't such a bad therapist after all. I gave him a thin smile, ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach and lowered myself to my knees.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes glazed over. He was so mesmerized, he didn't suspect a thing as I placed my left hand on the floor, a foot away from the belt—careful not to look at it and remind him of its presence. The element of surprise was the only thing I had going for me.

I did my best to project vulnerability as I looked up at him and gestured with my chin to his crotch. "May I?" His eyes widened and his mouth hung open. After a moment of pause, he nodded slowly, seemingly incapable of speech. Very slowly, I reached my hand out to touch him. Before I got close, he grabbed my wrist and held on tight. I shook my head, frowning. "No touching."

He retracted his hand and tilted his head to the side, warily watching as he let me take control. I kept my expression neutral, but on the inside, I was smiling as I moved his left arm behind his back. "Trust me." I held his eyes with mine as if we were linked. It gave me great pleasure to manipulate him for a change.

My plan was two-fold—distract with one hand and attack with the other. When I had both of his arms behind his back, I sat back on my heels. He wasn't restrained, but it would make it harder for him to react when I made my move. Hopefully, he wouldn't see it coming.

I kept my left hand on the floor, seemingly for balance, while using my right to gently trace down his stomach, drawing out every sensation.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his stomach muscles quivered.

While he was consumed with his arousal, thinking I was finally giving in, I slid my left hand into the pocket of his jeans, feeling for a weapon or key, while my other hand continued its assault on his stomach, getting close enough to his cock to tease, but not to touch.

I'd never seen him with a gun or a pocketknife and didn't expect to find one, but when my fingertips found the metal ring of keys, I was afraid he could sense my triumph. I looked up from hooded eyes, meekly trying to put him further at ease. The keys jingled against each other as I slipped them from his jeans. To me, it sounded like symbols in a marching band and I knew he had to have heard them. To distract him further, I closed my hand around the base of his penis and squeezed.

After this was over, I could pretend it never happened.

"Unnh," he grunted and pushed his hips off the chair, placing his cock dangerously close to my mouth. He was letting me know his patience was running thin and that he wanted me to do more. He was long and thick, bobbing just inches from my lips. "Open your mouth." He tried to make his voice sound commanding, but it came out as a desperate whimper.

His chest rose and fell as he took slow deep breaths in through his nose. With each exhale he would moan, anticipating what was to come. I swallowed back the bile in my throat, preparing myself. If there was any hope of getting out of here, I had to do what he wanted. It was just one harmless act, I told myself. It would take mere minutes of my time… and might save my life.

After I'd made peace with what I was about to do, I opened my mouth wide and leaned forward, one heart crushing centimeter at a time.