Unwanted Heat

Kenzie

“We should be there in about ten minutes,” Hunter says, as he maneuvers us through the rush hour traffic that is New York.

“Okay,” I wouldn’t care if he told me it would be another hour until we got there. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to get out of the house as I was today. I absolutely love the new house and the fact that now I can at least go outside, unlike at the condo.

“Mr. Parker will be leaving momentarily, if he hasn’t-”

CRASH

The sound of metal crunching and screaming fills the air. I’m screaming, Hunter is calling for me to hold on and Ben is yelling at Hunter to turn the wheel a different way. I have no idea what’s happening, but the car is being tossed in all sorts of directions. Another sound of metal comes, and I realize we’ve been hit again, this time on the passenger side of the SUV. My head bounces off the window and everything before me goes black.

I must be in and out of consciousness, because I only hear bits and pieces. I feel myself being dragged from the vehicle, my feet falling hard to the ground. I try to take a mental inventory of my injuries from the accident: my head is pounding, I can feel warmth running down my face so I know I’m bleeding from somewhere. My wrist and arm hurtI think I banged it against the door, or maybe the window. When I open my eyes, everything is fuzzy. I hear someone calling my name, maybe Hunter, but he sounds too far away. Then, the world goes black again.

“Wakey, wakey,” a voice I never wanted to hear again pulls me from a… sleep if that’s even what is was. Whatever it was, the voice immediately brings me back to reality. A slap to the face, forces me to open my eyes and the sight before me is exactly what I expected it to be.

“Well, look who decided to wake up,” he snickers as he looks me over, and despite still wearing all the clothes I left the house in, the look he is giving me makes me feel naked.

I don’t say anything, opting instead I take in my surroundings. I’m tied to an uncomfortable wooden chair, with my hands bound behind me. I can feel the rope cutting into my wrists, tearing at my skin, as I slowly test the knots. My ankles are tied to the legs of the chair, just as tight as my wrists, from what I can tell. My head is still pounding, but the pain is more manageable. My wrist and arm hurts, but that just could be from the rope. Looking around, I instantly realize where I am-my old apartment. And the man I never wanted to see again, is standing in front of me, smirking holding a gun, pointing it at me.

“I have to give that hubby of yours some credit, he certainly didn’t make it easy to get to you. You have no idea how long I had to watch you, before I could finally formulate a plan. After he told Harper he would go back to her and drop you, the last thing I expected was for him to go back to that fortress. Apparently, he just likes to lie to everyone, doesn’t he?”

I don’t say anything, knowing how arguing would just push him further and make him angrier. Right now, I’m just trying to buy some time. I don’t know how, but I know Nicholas and Carter will find me. I just need to… stay alive until that happens.

“What do you want?”

“You, of course.”

“Why? You hated me. I was a lousy wife, a lousy lover and nothing I did was right. Why would you want me back?”

“Because you were fucking mine!” his voice bellows through the empty room, bouncing off the walls, as he suddenly waves the gun in front of me. My stomach drops, fear settling in as I try to control my breathing hoping a panic attack doesn’t start. A gun… he has a fucking gun and I’m strapped to a chair. Any chance of being rescued just became more dangerous, especially considering Nicholas hates guns and refuses to even touch one. “You are mine! You belong to me! I don’t care if you were a lousy cook, a piece of shit in bed and that you flirted with every one of damn my coworkers, you were mine!”

It takes everything in me not to argue and point out that I wasn’t any of those things, but I know that will only make the situation worse… and it’s looking pretty dim as it is.

“You made me the fucking laughing stock of my family and my job when you fucking disappeared that night. How do you think it made me look when I came home the next morning to find you gone? Do you know what they fucking said about me?”

I don’t answer. I don’t point out that he just admitted that when he tried to kill me, he was gone for the entire night, that he didn’t even bother to check on me all night despite the fact, he knew I was hurt and passed out at home. I don’t say anything because doing so would just make it worse, but it’s taking everything in me not to tell him what I truly think of his piece of shit ass.

“I tried to convince you that you belonged to me, but then you had to go and fucking threaten to show my father the pictures you paid someone to doctor up for you.”

Now, I’m fucking livid… he’s fucking denying laying a hand on me?!?! He thinks I paid someone to what… photoshop the bruises, the swollen eye and the scars on me? He thinks I paid someone to write fake medical reports? Fake police reports? I knew he was crazy… but this takes denial to a whole new level.

“The thing is, I knew you weren’t that smart. I knew you’d fuck up at some point, you always do. Did you not think that I wouldn’t see the pictures of you and your new hubby all over the magazines? They were fucking everywhere! How did you think I wouldn’t see them?”

Yeah, that was probably a screw up on my part. In my defense, I truly didn’t think the press coverage of my dating and then marrying Nicholas would be so intense. I figured our picture would be tucked away in the gossip section of a local newspaper or something. Not on the internet, multiple times a week, for anyone to see. But, it doesn’t matter because even if I knew that’s what would happen, I wouldn’t change a thing. I would still sign the contract with Bridget, and I would still ultimately marry Nicholas. Falling in love with him and the happiness I experienced made it all worth it. Even if it meant that he would find me-even if it meant he killed me today.

“The moment I saw your picture with him, I had someone dig into who he was. Then it was so easy… I just had to feed the press some stories to break you both up. When he still didn’t leave you, I had no choice but to get closer to that drama queen, Harper. I had to get closer to her so I could figure out other ways to get to you. Of course, like a typical woman, she couldn’t even do her job right. She couldn’t convince that husband of yours, that he should be with her, over you. Look at her! She was more his type than you will ever be. You’re nothing-absolutely nothing and she was everything he needed.”

Fuming… I still don’t say anything. Instead, I focus on my wrists and the rope that surrounds them. I may be buying time until someone figures out where the hell I am, but I’m not going to sit and wait, without doing something. There’s no way I’m letting him walk all over me again. I just need to get my hands a little loose before I can do anything.Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“What do you want, Richard? You want money? I’ll give it to you,” I’m starting to get desperate. Watching a gun waved in front of you will do that. “I have access to lots of money now… just take me to a bank and you can have all of it.”

“I don’t want his fucking money!” he snaps, pointing the gun directly at me as he screams. “I don’t want anything of his!”

“Then what do you want?”

“Have you not been fucking listening or are you that stupid? YOU. ARE. MINE! He is not going to have you.”

“You want me?”

Fuck…

“Ding ding… we have a winner!” the smug smile on his face makes me wish my hands were free so I could fucking slap him.

“Why? You hated being with me. Why not find someone who you love? Someone who can do all those things that I can’t?” I’m trying to keep him talking, hoping that I’m buying myself enough time to get the rope loose.

“Because you could have been fucking everything! You needed work but you were finally getting it! It took you a while to follow the fucking rules, but you had most of them down pat. You just needed reminders of why you should follow them. It’s not too late, I can make you into the woman I needed you to be-the woman you should have been. I don’t give a shit about love; love doesn’t make me look good to my boss. Love doesn’t help my career. A halfway decent looking woman, who can follow a few simple rules, at my side, though? That can make or break a man’s career. I’ve put too much work into you just to let you go. With Dad now out of the picture, you can threaten me with those pictures all you want because you and I both know I don’t give a shit about them. I lose my job because of those pictures you made up? I’ll fucking punish you, like you’ve never been punished before; then I’ll move us to a new city and get a new job. You’ll never get rid of me. There’s nothing you can hold over my head any longer, bitch.”

What the fuck do you say to that crazy logic? How do you make sense of that? I look around the small, empty, dirty room hoping to find something that can help me. The windows are covered in filth, barely letting any light in, not that it matters because it’ll be dark outside soon. I have no idea what time it is, or how much time has passed since the accident, but I know the sun will be setting soon. The floor is covered in newspaper, plastic bags, broken bottles, wires and just plain garbage. Nothing that can help me while I’m tied to a chair; I need to find a way to get lose from the chair, if I’m going to have any chance of getting out of this.

Suddenly his cell phone rings, he pulls it from his pocket glancing at the screen before answering it and telling whoever it is to hold on. He walks away from me, out into the hallway leaving me to carefully weigh my options. I could scream, I know the other residents would hear me considering how paper thin these walls are. But I also know, none of them would call the cops. The last thing anyone living here wants is the cops to show up.

With him gone, I double my efforts on loosening the rope from my wrists. I try to pull my ankles from the chair legs and I’m surprised when they move a little easier. Abandoning the rope at my wrists, I focus my efforts on my ankles. It’s a risk, because if he comes back out he could see that the rope is lose, but it seems to be my best option. I refuse to sit here and wait for him to kill me-I did that for far too long.

“We need to move… I want a new car here within the hour. I’m not taking any chances… get me something NOW!”