I watch as he leaves, thrashing in my bindings, hoping that they have magically loosened during that fuck nut’s little show and tell.
“He has officially ruined ‘good girl’ for me. How pissed are you about that, Coop?” My chest warms a little as I see the makings of a smile form beneath the tape over his mouth. I continue to struggle, my wrists raw as the rope burns into my skin.
“I can’t die here, Ebs. I don’t want to be another head on a table. My luck, he’d put me next to that bitch Esme. May she rest in peace. Pieces? What is the etiquette here?” She’s hyperventilating now, trembling from the rush of panicked adrenaline, her pupils dilating. She’s losing her fucking mind, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
“We still have Mateo,” I assure her, not really believing my own words.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
EBONY
Atorchlight bounces around outside down the pitch-black tunnel, the shuffling of feet through dirt getting louder as whoever is out there gets closer. The release of tension bleeds from my stiff limbs, a long shaky exhale bursting from my mouth as our saviour edges into the room. The shock evident as his eyes fly wide and his face goes blank, his body frozen in place as his brain tries to make sense of what it’s seeing.
“Mateo,”Megan grits out, the sobbing plea lighter as she tries to shake him loose from his stupor.
“MATEO!” I growl, full of impatience, my gaze darting to the upstairs room where I can see Nathaniel pacing as he yells animatedly into his phone.
The colour returns to Mateo’s face, and he rushes over to Megan. “Fuck, Megan. What the hell is going on?” He can’t hold back his emotions as he fumbles with the ropes, falling back on his haunches and raising his arms when she winces at the contact.
“I got a call; some guy, said something about a live tracker signal. He’s on his way, but I couldn’t wait,” he explains in a rush, hurrying over to the vanity table and searching through the draws for something to cut us loose.Wagging a parental finger their way, he glances over his shoulder at the guys. “I’ve been searching high and low for you guys. You are not easy to track down. Why didn’t you wait for me?” He chuckles awkwardly.
Rushing over to remove the tape from their mouths, the hiss of discomfort held back behind pinched lips as it likely rips a layer of skin along with it. They remain silent in their precarious positions, all their energy at play keeping them balanced on the stools.
“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” Mateo chuckles as he glances down at the tight t-shirts plastered to the guys chests, the cold pinch of the fridge air defining every muscle beneath. I had been so transfixed with the bloody mess of their faces and the fresh burns on their skin I hadn’t even noticed what they were wearing.
The slogan‘Born to breed, bitches’adorns Coopers chest while Caleb has‘I got the tip wet at Percy’s 21st’,stamped across his.
“Who is Percy? And who’s the wet bitches I need to hunt down and kill?” I ask tersely, more annoyed than I should be considering I know they would never willingly be caught dead wearing those. Both Caleb and Cooper sway in their ropes to look my way. Caleb is the first to respond.
“It’s a long story for another time. There’s been no bitches - wet or otherwise, Dove. How about we concentrateon getting the fuck out of here and then we’ll have storytime later.”
Megan laughs at our exchange but it feels forced.
I hate myself for dragging her into this.
Megan fumbles with her words as he returns and kneels at her feet, relief filling her red-rimmed eyes. “He’s fucking crazy. Please untie us.” She doesn’t know my foster father, but the level of concern in her voice is the perfect response. Shoulders slumped in defeat, he tosses aside the nail file that is about as useful as a butter knife and tugs frantically at the ropes at her ankles. Resting on one knee, unable to get the knot loose. Frustrated, he pulls off his baseball cap to wipe his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm, the hearth furnace fire warming the room despite the oversized chest freezer sending out wafts of cool air.
“What happened to your hair?” Megan retorts, confusion pulling her brows together as she leans forward to try and meet his gaze. I hadn’t noticed the tufts of hair amidst the commotion, but the beach boy blond he usually sports is now a muddy brown.
“You don’t like it, baby? I thought I’d go for something a little more…natural,” he quips, that Adonis grin tilting slightly. “You know it’s not very nice to call people crazy,” he adds, and I stiffen.
A shiver courses up my spine, dread filling my belly as I watch him rest back on his haunches. His lower lip pinched between his fingers as his gaze bounces between us. Moving forward, he trails a finger up her bare thigh.
He rolls his neck as he pushes up the hem of her skirt, but the move is anything but affectionate, as though he’s sizing up a pound of meat at market to getthe best price. Light fingers teasing her skin as his darkened gaze trails up over her ample cleavage, to her lips, then finally meeting her wide sad eyes filled with tears. Feasting on her fear. Any signs of the carefree doting boyfriend gone.
“Mateo. I don’t understand,” Megan cries out like an injured bird. An uneasy chuckle leaving her lips as panic and confusion war for dominance in her soft brutalised features.
Tucking a lose curl behind her ear, he rises, his face inches from hers. “So fucking gullible.” He grins wickedly, feeding off her emotions as Megan slumps against her restraints, the tears flowing freely now as her heart breaks. What remains of her hope in tatters on the floor at his feet.
Turning to me, I shudder at his proximity, the stench of his clove and oil aftershave making me gag as he patiently waits for the penny to drop. The dawn of realisation feels more like a sledgehammer to the gut as the world shifts on its axis.
Memories of the dark-haired boy who used to torment me carves out the hope I had been holding onto so tightly since he rushed into the room. My lungs struggle to house a full breath as panic snakes its way around my windpipe, my quickening pulse thumping in my ears.
“Nice to see you again, Ebbie; it’s been a while.” I bristle at his use of the horrid nickname I have tried so hard to forget. His voice as he held me down in the dirt and called me a whore all those years ago as clear in my head now as it was that day. The day he helped himself to a part of me that wasn’t his to take. The Turner men werebig on keeping their sadistic proclivities in the family. Seems nothing’s changed there.
“How’s the scar, unicorn bitch?” I seethe, refusing to give him the fear he’s searching for. I’m not a little girl anymore, and these men would do well to remember that. It does as intended and bristles at the moniker. His body tensing as his eyes turn to slits with irritation.
I want to kick myself for not trusting my gut, for not noticing all the similarities earlier. So many times, I convinced myself it was my trauma trying to push people away to keep myself safe, but instead, I practically welcomed my abusers back into my life.
