Kingdom come, p.14
Kingdom Come, page 14
Blood coursed through my circulation, running rapidly as a chill skirted my skin. Still, I refused to faint. If I fainted I’d be vulnerable—more vulnerable, if that were even possible. The covers wavered in my trembling grasp, hiding my nakedness until I was told to drop it.
“Cecilia.”
I blinked again as my other senses kicked into gear.
My name. They’d never before used my name.
The musty scent of the sheet dissipated, replaced with soap and shampoo. The ever-present odor of the bucket was gone. The closet was bigger. The window was wrong. I inhaled.
The bed dipped.
I was in a bed—a real bed.
“Cecilia, you’re okay.”
My breathing came fast, too fast. I took deep breaths, trying to regulate my intake as well as my rapid heartbeat as I stared through the dimness. “Where am I?”
I knew that I should know, but my scrambled mind couldn’t register.
My leg was cold.
“Cecilia, you know where you are,” the deep voice said, his tone calm and his tenor reassuring. I closed my eyes. That voice.
It wasn’t coming from the men I feared most.
Was my fear misguided?
There was someone else out in the world who wanted me, who believed they owned me.
Sitting against the headboard and pulling my knees to my chest, I lowered my head and wrapped my arms around my legs. “I know where I am,” I spoke into my knees. “I was just...please leave.” This was Greyson, the man who promised he’d stay downstairs. When his presence remained, I asked, “Why are you here, upstairs?”
I wasn’t looking at him. I couldn’t. My dreams and nightmares had converged, sending my mind into a spiral. The man beside me wasn’t one of the men in the hockey masks or my buyer. He’d killed the men who hurt me.
Had I imagined they were here or I was back in Boston?
The terror felt real—too real.
Tears coated my cheeks as more sobs came to life from deep in my chest.
Swallowing fast, I tried to hide my crying from Greyson.
I didn’t want to hide it but instead let it out. The tears were building up, growing much as torrential rains behind a weakening dam. I needed to set them free. However, I didn’t want to do that with an audience. “Greyson, I know it’s you.” The warmth of his body radiated beside me on the bed. “I-I must have had a nightmare.” My eyes closed tighter, as if I could keep the emotions trapped behind my eyelids. “Please leave me.”
The bed moved, letting me know he stood.
I sighed with relief, my shoulders drooping as I prayed he’d go away. Cecilia Abernathy wasn’t weak. I could maintain that front as long as no one saw me break.
His calm voice had a settling effect on my nerves. “I’m going downstairs to get my gun. I’ll be back up.”
“No, I don’t want you here.”
The sound of a loud screech motivated me to lift my head and open my eyes. “What are you doing?”
Greyson was pushing the overstuffed large chair from the window to the railing of the staircase.
“I’m moving this chair near the stairs. I’ll sleep here and you can sleep, knowing you’re safe. Cecilia, no one is going to get past me. No one. Those men are dead.”
The reality of my earlier revelation lurked in the shadows. “I was bought.”
“I can’t change that.”
Indignation infused my fear. “Why would you want to?” I asked to the darkness. “Why do you care?”
“Sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”
My volume rose. “Who did this to me?”
I threw back the blankets. As I scooted off the bed and stood, I realized I’d removed the shorts and bathing suit top. The New Hampshire t-shirt and bikini bottoms were all I wore. The shirt fell to the top of my thighs.
“Cecilia, go back to bed. I’ll get you some water. We both need to sleep.”
My head shook as I began to pace. It was then I recalled the cold sensation. I threw the blankets back more, revealing the plastic bag and ice. Greyson had brought that up. I looked toward him. “Why are you being kind?”
“What would I gain by being otherwise?”
“What is there to gain?”
“Right now, our lives.”
I shook my head as I peered around the room. The loft was now filled with an eerie blue hue. The storm was gone and the moon was out, reflecting light into the darkness.
“My parents...” My mind was a cyclone of thoughts. “They wouldn’t sell...” I spoke louder. “Do you hear me? They wouldn’t do this to me.”
Greyson came closer. Even in the dim lighting, I noticed his change of clothes, his damp hair, a darker shade of blond with the wetness. The fresh scents of soap, shampoo, and toothpaste replaced his earlier aroma. I took a step back. He took a step forward. I took one more back.
He stopped his advance.
“This isn’t the time,” he said. “It’s after three in the morning. Nothing will get settled now.”
“Stop placating me.”
“I’m not. I’m tired. Either you’re going to lie down and do your damnedest to fall back to sleep and I’ll sleep in the chair up here, or I’ll tie you to the bed and go downstairs.”
There was no way to know if this man was telling the truth, and yet his threat filled me with dread. “No, Greyson. I won’t let you do that.”
He scoffed. “Miss Abernathy, my patience is in need of renewal that can only come with sleep. Get your round ass in that bed, or I will follow through on my threat.”
I searched his gaze for a hint of humor and found none. With both of us barefooted, Greyson was easily eight inches taller than I was and based on his girth—not fat but muscle and bulk—he outweighed me by close to one hundred pounds. “Listen, please. You saw my arms and legs.”
“I did. My intention isn’t to cause you more harm. It’s to keep you safe, and since there’s no door on this loft, I need your word that you’ll try to sleep. If you can’t give me that, binding you to this bed is my only option.”
“You don’t need to sleep up here. The bed downstairs will work.” When he didn’t speak, I added, “You have my word, I’ll try to sleep.”
He pointed to the bed.
Slowly, I made my way back to the large mattress, sat, turned to my side, situated my leg on the pillow and placed the ice bag onto the back of my left thigh before pulling the covers over me. When I looked Greyson’s direction, his arms were crossed over his chest.
“I won’t leave.” Tears from earlier burned the back of my eyes. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“You’re overthinking this, Cecilia. Sleep, and tomorrow I’ll try to learn things. When I do, I’ll tell you.”
“How?” We were in the middle of nowhere.
For the longest time, he didn’t answer. In the silence, the heaviness in my chest returned.
Finally, he spoke, “Cecilia, you don’t have to believe me, but you are safe, as safe as you can be. I’ll sleep up here or downstairs. I’ll leave that choice to you.”
It was such a small decision in the grand scheme of life. And yet knowing it was mine to make gave me a sense of power I mostly likely didn’t possess. “Downstairs.”
He nodded and turned to the stairs.
“Greyson, thank you for the ice.” I let a few of the tears fall, the crack in the dam was about to burst. “Thank you for caring. I don’t know why you do, but thank you.”
“You told me not to make assumptions about you. Give me the same favor.”
“Does that mean you don’t care?”
“No, it means this is complicated.” He sighed. “Good night.”
I listened as he descended the stairs. Without shoes, his footsteps were soft and barely audible, only the creak of the wood gave away his location. I rolled to my side, careful to keep the ice balanced. Inhaling, I snuggled beneath the blankets in the large bed and imagined Greyson on the small bed downstairs. As uncomfortable as it may be, it would be better than sleeping in a chair.
With my face buried in a pillow, I opened the floodgate.
Cecilia
The tears burned my eyes as I allowed them to flow unobstructed.
I cried for Matthew.
I cried for my parents.
I cried for me and the loss of the life I knew.
I cried for what I’d suffered and what my kidnapping had done to me.
It wasn’t only my injuries or humiliation. Those men had brought to life a darker side of the world I’d successfully ignored. Yes, I read books and news articles. I’d known my whole life that there was a darker side to my family’s business. I was surrounded by men who killed before dinner. I didn’t know the details. I was spared, sheltered, and protected.
I was.
Until I wasn’t.
In the captivity of those men, they ripped back the veil, exposing the dangerous underbelly of a world I never before truly accepted existed.
In doing so, they forever cast a shadow on my existence.
Never again would the sun fully shine. Flowers forever lost their beauty. Life would always be different, and there was nothing I could do to make it the way it was or to regain my innocence.
My tears cleansed me in a cathartic manner.
I couldn’t change the reality.
I could accept it.
Sometime before the sun rose, I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke, the blue sky shone outside the one window. Despite my eyes feeling scratchy and my temples being sore, I felt lighter. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d allowed myself a good cry. If my current situation didn’t warrant a meltdown, I couldn’t think of one that did.
Twisting in the bed, I saw a blanket lying over the big chair still near the staircase.
I was most certain that it hadn’t been there before.
Getting out of bed, I forgot the braid I’d had before, ran my fingers through my long strands, and pulled my hair into a low ponytail. I’d always admired my mother’s straight hair. I could possess the same as long as I kept the illusion with products and flatirons. As I secured the hair tie, I knew that currently I’d lost the battle. Curls and waves would remain mine until I was back at home.
Before I could give the word home more thought, I slipped on the shorts over the bathing suit bottom and leaving the bikini top on the bedside stand, went downstairs. The shirt I wore kept me covered.
With each step down, the temperature dropped.
It wasn’t cold, but there was a definite chill in the air. Maybe it was as with the thunderstorms when I was young. The lightning and thunder had threatened, and I’d survived.
I turned, looking at the bed where Greyson had slept. It was made, well, except for the blanket upstairs. The aroma of coffee lured me toward the kitchen. As I crossed the threshold, I saw a laptop plugged into other boxes and devices on the kitchen table. Through the kitchen window, looking out to the back of the cabin, I saw Greyson.
After realizing all the electronics were locked, I used the bathroom, straightened my ponytail, brushed my teeth, and washed my face before pouring myself a cup of coffee. Standing at the kitchen window, I watched as Greyson tended to the fire pit. Plumes of smoke went up into the clear sky. He hadn’t turned my direction. His handsome face was lined with stress and concern, giving him the illusion of age beyond—what I assumed were—his years. Lost in his own thoughts, his attention stayed fixated on the flames.
I took this rare opportunity to really look at him, to see him without him knowing.
Who was this man who could kill without regret and still provide me with clothes, supplies, and food? What kind of man did what he did and then gave me a bag of ice for my bruise?
I scanned from his blond hair, down his wide shoulders, to his toned torso covered by a tight, lightweight shirt, one that accented the muscles hidden underneath. His long legs were covered by blue jeans, and on his feet he wore running shoes.
There was something about him that drew me toward him. It was a pull to learn not what was under his clothes but what he was all about. I wanted to get to know him, to discover what had made him into the man he was. If I was completely honest with myself, my attraction was also to him physically. He was handsome without the cocky attitude of so many men I’d known and dated.
I found the humbled quality sexier by far than the arrogant, privileged men who lingered in my sphere.
I’d read about Stockholm syndrome.
Was Greyson my captor?
Or was I drawn to him because he was my savior?
If it weren’t for him, I’d be...I didn’t want to finish that thought.
I couldn’t.
Maybe I’d be to a new location or maybe I’d be in transit. How did they transport victims of human trafficking? The term made the coffee percolate in my stomach. I hated the sound of the term even in my own thoughts, and yet if I were sold and purchased—the short man called me a commodity—that made me a victim of human trafficking.
If it weren’t for Greyson, I could be across the country, meeting the person who placed the winning bid, who bought me.
My buyer.
As I sipped the strong coffee, I gained the strength that this reprieve provided, all because of the man out on the back deck near the fire pit. For a moment, I wondered if Greyson was the kind of man I’d notice if life were different.
It was impossible to do ifs and whatabouts.
Life didn’t give us second chances to make first impressions. If I’d met Greyson in another time and place, I believed I’d sense his power as well as his compassion, which made me smile, given his profession. I would also notice his physical attractiveness.
Would it simply be in passing or would I long for more?
When Greyson turned my way, seeing me through the window, light came to his blue orbs. It wasn’t a full-out smile, but the change in expression made me grin.
Holding the coffee mug near my lips, I waited.
“Come out the back door,” he called.
I read his lips more than heard his voice.
I didn’t consider not following his direction.
As I opened the door, the morning chill cooled my skin, especially the soles of my feet as I stepped out on the deck. I reasoned that it wasn’t that I was obeying so much as I wanted to be out where he was. Quickly, I hurried toward the fire pit lined with bricks and built into the deck. Warmth radiated from the flames.
“Good morning,” I said as I walked closer.
Greyson nodded.
Standing at the edge of the fire, I could now see what Greyson had in the pit. I saw the remains of the clothes he wore yesterday, the coat that had been my only covering, remnants of the blond wig, and the shoes I’d worn. Tossed on top of it all were small branches and logs.
I looked up at his solemn expression. “Is that it?” I asked. “After you burn the evidence, can life go back to normal?”
“If I could give you your life back as it was, I’d do it.”
“What would happen to you?”
He shrugged as he crouched down and using a long log pushed the branches around as glowing white-hot coals formed near the bottom of the pit. When he looked up, he grinned. “I’d be gone, Cecilia, a figment of your imagination.”
He stood, his muscular body shielding me from the cool air and radiating its own warmth.
My gaze narrowed. “Did you sleep downstairs as I said?”
His lips twitched into a grin. “Don’t give yourself illusions of power.”
“Did you?”
“I did for a little while.”
“Then you came upstairs?”
Greyson nodded.
“Why? I asked you not to.”
“I heard you crying.”
I didn’t want him to know about my release. My cry was for me, not for anyone else. Inhaling the combination of fresh air and smoke, I said, “I’m not weak.”
“I never said you were. I am.”
Greyson
I was fucking weak.
Staring down into Cecilia’s eyes, I saw her unspoken questions about my presence last night. She wanted me to explain. I had the answer; when it came to this woman, the one way out of my league and one who shouldn’t give me the time of day, I was weak.
With each passing minute in her presence, I wanted more. She could be annoying and persistent. She asked too many questions, went on about her strength only to spend hours crying under the blankets. She also pushed when she should back down. While those were all reasons to make a decision and send her to one of the coasts, I found myself addicted to the challenge of her.
The push and pull gave her something she needed, perhaps something that had been taken from her while with the kidnappers. Cecilia needed at least the illusion of control. In reality, neither of us had control. Cecilia Abernathy and I were both wayward puppets in a game I didn’t yet understand, a game where no one had explained the rules.
Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the fire. My plan was to keep the flames burning throughout the day. The pit not only contained our clothes and shoes from yesterday but also the rags I’d used to clean the inside of the rental car. While by itself, bleach wasn’t considered combustible, given the right environment, the scraps of material and paper products easily caught fire. Even after all the rain last night, the grounds around the cabin had plenty of brush and old logs. A good twelve hours of fire would reduce the evidence of the kidnapper’s blood to ash.
The fire before me reminded me of the apparently vacant building in South Boston.
“Did you see the explosion?” I asked, turning back to her.
Her expressive orbs filled with question. “No. What explosion?”
“Probably an hour before you were brought out into the parking lot, the building across the street blew.”
Cecilia backed up against the deck’s railing and crossed her arms over her chest. “Now that you mention it, I think I heard it.” Her head shook. “There were sirens...it’s all a mess in my head.”
“That’s why it’s common practice to do debriefings immediately after an incident. The longer you wait, the harder it is for the mind to recall details.”
