Merciless

Waking up with my heart beating out of my chest, the hope that it was all a nightmare crumbles into dust when all I can see is cement and cinder block walls.

I have to close my eyes and cover my face to keep from losing it. “This can’t be happening.” The trembling words leave my lips unbidden. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I try to tell myself that it’s all a dream. I rock back and forth, and as I do, the sounds of the mattress creaking beneath me and the feel of my heels digging into the comforter makes my body freeze.

I try to remember last night, and I know full well I slept on the ground only a few feet away. I know I did.

My hands fly over my body. As if they could check to see if I was touched.

I feel the sharp edges of a scratchy throat but swallow thickly, trying to suppress the terror of what he could have done to me.

I must have crept into the bed and not remember it. I know I haven’t been touched. I would know, wouldn’t I? “I would,” I say the words aloud as if I was speaking to someone else. Maybe I just needed the reassurance. I don’t remember a thing after falling asleep. I wish I could have just stayed awake.

The whispered words echo in the hollow room as I glance up at the door. And then to the camera as it moves. Carter Cross, I almost speak his name aloud. I’ve heard his name before, always spoken with anger. I know he’s one of a number of brothers and the head of a drug cartel. That’s where the information ends. My father never liked me knowing anything and the only bits I learned were slivers of the truth from Nikolai. And he only told me what I needed to know. They said it was to protect me, but I would give anything to know what I’m up against.

I’d give anything to know what Cross is capable of.

Is he just going to leave me here to die? My throat pains in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Let me out,” my raspy voice begs and the words themselves are like knives raking up my throat. I haven’t eaten or had a drink of water since I’ve been here, and I don’t even know how long that’s been.

I stand a little too quickly, and nearly fall as I try to make my way to the door. I’m dizzy, lightheaded, and I think I may throw up.

Still, I head straight for the door, pulling at the doorknob and desperately trying to open it. My fist slams against it, over and over.

There’s no use, stupid girl.

Again, I slam my fist and scream out, “Let me go!” but I’m only met with an unmovable door in an empty room, with no way out and no idea of what will happen to me.

The pain from the next slam of my fist makes me wince and cradle my hand to my chest. My back presses against the door as I fall down slowly onto my ass, resting my head against the door.

So many slow moments pass. Moments where I just try to breathe. Moments where my fingers brush along the cuts at my wrists. Moments where I stand and stretch and pretend like it’s not odd to stretch when you’re caged like an animal. What’s the point if there’s no escape?

It takes me longer than it should to see the foam tray with a grilled cheese sandwich and the cup of water next to it.

And a bucket of water with a sponge behind it. I spent so much time staring at the door, I didn’t see it.

He came in here.

He was here.

My chest heaves and again my fingers travel to my thighs. He didn’t. I would know. I can barely contain the fear of knowing he came in here while I slept. It’s hard to swallow and I stay far away from the tray of food.

Time slips by again. And then more time. There is no change in my predicament, save my sanity.

Although my stomach grumbles and the delicious scents of butter and cheese are all I can smell, I leave the tray where it sits.

I don’t eat, and I don’t undress to bathe myself. Not with him watching. The anger boils and rises to such an extreme that I almost slam the bucket across the room, straight at the camera.

I’m not his pet or his test subject. He can take that foam tray and go fuck himself with it. At least that’s what I think when I first move closer to see it; the thought even gives me joy. Hours pass and then more. How much time, I don’t know. There’s nothing in this room and loneliness and boredom are only two of the emotions I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle if this is how my new life will proceed.

My mind starts playing tricks on me and I find myself etching small things into the cinder blocks with a button on my shirt. The shirt’s already ripped so it doesn’t matter. The top two buttons have been pulled off, the first one long lost and the second now a writing tool. A small and poor one, but there’s nothing else to do but pace and let my mind wander.

And that leads me to awful places.

I’m busy carving a pattern, a useless, meaningless pattern of birds and vines into a block that’s not even deep enough to be seen clearly when the door opens behind me.

My heart lurches and I swing my body around so violently that the back of my head collides with the wall, the button slips from my hand and the sound of it pinging to a stop on the ground fills the room.

The flood of light is lost quickly as Cross steps inside my cell and closes the door behind him. His figure is like a shadow of darkness as he walks toward me.

“What do you want?” I ask instinctually, barely able to breathe, let alone swallow the pathetic words before I can speak them. I’m glad I didn’t eat because if I had I would have lost it all in this moment. Panic rages inside of me.

He’s quiet as he takes one step forward and then another. He only takes his eyes from me once, and that’s to look at the chair in the corner of the room.

“My father will come for me,” I tell him as he walks toward the chair and positions it so he can sit and face me. “He’s going to kill you,” I add, and my words are strangled, but audible.

All I’m rewarded with is a soft smile on his lips. The stubble on his jaw is more noticeable and his eyes seem darker, but maybe it’s just the light. Everything else about him is more foreboding than I remember. His height and broad shoulders, the lean build of his body with the rippled accents of his muscles. God made him to do deadly, sinful things. One look and that’s obvious.

As if reading my mind, he grins at me, forcing me to take a step back, which only widens the grin to a charming and perfect smile. I feel like I’m caught in a cage. A little mouse to a lion. And he’s only toying with me.

“You’re sick,” I spit at him, clenching my hands into fists.

“I’m well aware of that little fact, Aria. Tell me, what else do you know about me?” His voice is smooth velvet, and it echoes in a deep way from wall to wall in the room. The kind of echo you feel deep in your gut, one that haunts you so much later in the night.

“I know my father will gut you,” I answer him with sickening contempt.

“He isn’t going to do anything. He doesn’t even know I’m the one who has you.” His head tilts slightly as he examines my every reaction.

“Yes, he does,” I breathe as if it will be true if only I say it is. His look turns to pity, but only for a moment. It passes so quickly I wonder if I even saw it, or maybe it was only the dim light in the room playing tricks on me.

“He doesn’t and even if he did, he’s useless.” Menace lingers on the heels of his words, falling hard and crashing to the ground around me.

He adds, “He couldn’t even defend your mother’s honor.”

“Fuck you,” I dare to sneer at him. Anger rises quickly inside of me and my breathing quickens.

“You fight now, but you’ll submit later,” Cross says easily, completely unaffected by my words.

“Submit?” the fear is evident in my voice.

“You’ll do as I say. Every command. Kneel at my feet, undress, lie in my bed… Spread your legs for me.” The depth of conviction in his voice is frightening.

“I’ll die before I submit to you.” My throat dries and tightens. I can barely breathe as he stands.

He’s not quick, not hurried in the least to stalk toward me. I can run. I know I can, but the room is small; there’s nothing to hide behind and he’s so tall, it wouldn’t take much beyond a lunge for him to catch me.

My knees weaken, and I nearly fall to the ground, but I don’t. I stay as tall as I can although I have to crane my neck to look Cross in the eyes. My heart pounds chaotically as if it’s trying to escape. For every step he takes forward, I take one back until I’ve hit the wall.

“How did you sleep?” he asks me in an eerily calm voice.

“Like a baby,” I say, and my answer is nothing but defiant. I surprise myself with the immediate answer. Fuck him. Fuck Carter Cross.

A crooked smile twitches onto his lips. “Do you always have nightmares?” he asks and the strength inside of me wavers. My gaze flickers from him to the floor.

“It seemed like a terrible dream,” he adds, his eyes blazing with a threat.

I get the sense that he was here, that he knows I had a nightmare because he was here, not from the camera. As much as I’d like to hide the sickening sense of defeat from my expression, I can’t. He sees my weakness, and I can’t hide from him.

“Answer me.” His command comes out tense and deep.

I almost tell him, no, but then decide on silence, pretending to ignore how the fear that’s growing inside of me makes my limbs feel numb. I expect anger from him, but all I can see is the twinkle of humor in his eyes.

“You will give me everything that I want,” Cross says and then reaches out to me. My eyes close tightly as his fingers brush the hair from my face. He tucks the lock behind my ear and I think about biting him, about fighting him when I remember the first time he touched me so comfortingly, only to then grip my throat and hold me like his prized possession.

With another step forward, he bathes me in darkness, blocking the light and forcing me to push myself against the wall and stare up at him with genuine fear I wish I could deny.

“You’re going to love doing it too,” he whispers in the small space, heating the air between us and my body betrays me at the thought.

It makes no sense at all. Save the scent of his presence. He smells like the woods. Inhaling the deep scent reminds me of the way my mother used to describe our eyes. Like the canopy of the forest after a long day of rain. Maybe I could blame it on instinct.

Or maybe I’m just meant to be the whore to a monster.

I don’t admit my response to him. There’s no way in hell I ever would.

“Let me go,” I whimper the plea and hate myself for it. I can pretend to be strong. He can’t see what’s deep inside of me. I can pretend to be stronger than he knows.

His only response is to chuckle, a deep and rough masculine sound that rumbles his chest and the anger I feel from it overwhelms me.

I’m barely holding on to my composure. I know if I strike him, he’ll respond, and I will lose. I’m not stupid. This is what he wants. The realization makes my eyes widen. He’s playing with his shiny new toy.

“Just kill me.” My muscles scream as I stiffen them, refusing to lash out. Although my body heats and adrenaline pumps faster at the thought of him doing it, I still tell him to just get it over with. I don’t want to be played with. “I’ll never give you anything.”

“Now what would that accomplish for me, songbird?”

I don’t want to cry and give him the satisfaction. I refuse to. My eyes are already burning from being so fucking weak. I won’t be weak. I won’t let him win.

Be smart. A million possibilities run through my head at what the smart choice would be in this moment, but the only situation I allow to rule my actions is to not give in. I’ll wait. I’ll survive day by day until my father comes. He will come. I know he will.

“I’ll fight you until the day I die,” I sneer at him with every ounce of conviction I can gather.

It only makes him smile. A wicked grin that sends a chill through my blood. “You’ll find comfort in thinking that… for a little while.” With a growing smile of triumph, he leaves me where I am. His shoes smack on the ground, and the sound grows quieter as he confidently strides to the door and turns the knob with ease.

How? He’s simply walking away, and the door opens for him. I don’t have time to consider anything. All I know at this moment is that the door is open. And whether or not he’s there, I need to try to run. He opens the door just enough to get through. But I still run to it. I do my damnedest to make it to the door before it shuts and like the merciless prick he is, he leaves it open.

My bare heels bash against the cement as I sprint toward the light, but just as I make it, my hopes are so easily dashed. Just as the hope that I’ll actually get out of here so easily burns into my chest, his tall broad frame fills the doorway, standing with a foreboding presence and taking a large step toward me.

A step so powerful and undeniably in control that I stagger backward, my foot scraping against the cement and throwing me off balance.

My ass hits the floor first and my head would have smacked against the concrete as well if Cross’s hand wasn’t wrapped firmly around my forearm. His fingers dig in and I let out a squeal of both surprise and pain.

“You’re smarter than this,” he hisses. The rage in his eyes swirls with darkness, but with it are golden flecks of intrigue and delight. “You won’t leave this room until I say so.”

I’m paralyzed by the certainty in his voice. The strength of his grip. The desire that drips from each of his words.

“You. Are. Mine. Aria.” He says each word lower and lower until I can barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. The concept of being owned by this man is a deadly concoction that sends a ripple of both fear and desire straight to my core.

Without warning, he releases me, and I fall to the ground, still shaken but staring up at him. “I’m not an object to own. No one owns me!” I scream at him even though I don’t believe my own words in this moment.

He merely smiles at me. As if it’s all a joke to him.

“Let me go,” I try to scream at him as if it’s a demand, but the words are a pitiful plea even to my own ears.

Still, I try to stand, to get back up as he smiles and closes the door, leaving me right where he wants me.

I swear I hear him answer me before the steel door closes with finality. I would swear on my life I heard him say, “Never.”