Cellar Door (14 page)

Madonna

I wake up disoriented. It takes me a minute to remember where I am and why I’m here. The room I’m in now looks nothing like the room I’ve been held in since Liam took it upon himself to
protect
me. It isn’t that the other room was dirty -- it was sparse, yet impeccably maintained— but it was little more than a cellar prison. This room is a palace compared to where I’ve been sleeping. The navy blues and deep burgundy tones mix perfectly with the generously proportioned antiques. The distinctly male décor is breathtaking.

I’m facing away from Liam. I dread the walk of shame that will be necessary for me to get to the bathroom and pee. Eventually, my bladder wins out and I slide from the bed. Before my toes touch the floor, a hand clamps down on my arm and a deep, husky voice rumbles in my ear.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

I instinctively jerk away and stand next to the bed, glaring down at him. “I’ve got to pee. Is that okay with you, your majesty?” I resist the urge to curtsey, but I think I’ve made my point.

His lip curls in a snarl and those cold blue eyes make it impossible for me to meet his gaze for more than a few seconds. Nevertheless, I continue, “Regardless of how cozy we got last night, Liam, I haven’t forgotten that you brought me here against my will.”

“I don’t do cozy. Go pee. The bathroom is just through that door.”

He gestures behind me and flops back down on the mattress. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, but I swear I can feel him staring at my ass as I cross the room.

I trudge into the bathroom and my heart drops when there is no lock on the door. The lack of a lock will rob me of any opportunity to look for a means of escape without being seen.
Dammit.

I quickly pee and wash my hands, but leave the water running for a little cover noise. All I need is a few precious seconds. With one cautious look over my shoulder, I go for it and quietly unlock the window. Even though I’m only wearing the sleepshirt and underwear he gave me last night, modesty is the furthest thing from my mind right now.

I peer out, judging the distance from the window to the ground and sweet freedom. Considering all that’s at stake, it isn’t too terribly far down. The shrubbery beneath the window will break my fall. I make my move before I can change my mind.

My body crashes into what must be a fucking holly bush because the pointy leaves slash at my arms and legs. Adrenaline overrides the pain as I frantically work to free myself from my bloody salvation. I stand and take a second to get my bearings. I have no idea where I am. At best, my sense of direction usually sucks. I’m operating on gut instinct and an overwhelming fight or flight response.

I have the option of going right or left and I decide the front door is probably to my right. That’s where he’ll most likely come from as soon as he realizes I’ve run away. So I take off running to the left like the hounds of hell are after me -- and run right into him.

I scratch and claw as he yanks me up against him. I’m unable to think coherently, I just instinctively fight for all I’m worth. He wraps an arm around me and clamps his free hand over my mouth. It’s positioned perfectly to press against my nose and cut off my air. If he thought that would make me stop fighting, he was dead wrong -- panic sends me into a frenzy of kicks and muffled screams.

Somehow he has managed to get behind me. He half-carries, half-drags me back down to the basement level via an exterior door. I hear the beep of a security code in the distance. He carries me through a series of hallways to a cellar door.

He tosses me back into the room as if I weigh nothing. I run to the cot, eyeing him from behind it like a trapped animal. He ignores me, moving swiftly to remove the books, the computer, even the chair. After depositing them outside the door at the top of the stairs, he returns with a small First Aid kit, which he tosses on the cot. Then he leaves without ever saying a word.

I’m being punished. I may not know much, but I do know that much. He’s denying me all ‘privileges’. He’s keeping me from my only remaining connection to sanity: words.

“So, what?!? I’m fucking grounded now, you bastard?!?” I shriek, my voice laced with venom.

He doesn’t respond. It’s as if he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. I want to throw something at him, but he’s taken everything with him. So I hurl the one thing I still have—the spoken word.

“I hate you! Do you hear me? I. Hate. You!”

The door clicks shut, the lock beeps, the lights go out. I’m alone.

Liam

I’m pissed, beyond pissed. What is it going to take for her to
get it
? I wish I had access to crime scene photos—a visual I could show her to wake her ass up. I know what I’m doing is crazy. Hell, I know I’m crazy when it comes to playing kidnapping games, but I know the difference and nothing about this is play. I’ve always been able to walk a tightrope in the past, taking fantasy play and spinning it until hints of authenticity seep into the scene. But I’ve never taken a woman against her will. Not really. Until now.

No matter how much I attempt to compartmentalize this situation, there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind taunting me. My brain feels like a pinball machine with thoughts and emotions bouncing and pinging off the walls—going from reason to being unsettled and back again. One look into those cobalt blue eyes of hers and the crazy comes out again, that dangerous part of me that will do anything to keep her safe, to keep her with me.

Everything you’ve worked for can be lost now. All it takes is her getting free and telling someone. If she escapes and gets killed, it’ll be your fault. What do you think your colleagues will think of you when they find out what a fucking sicko you are? You’re depraved, demented. You like what you’re doing. You enjoy taking a woman, making her yours by force.

It’s true…I do, but…there’s always been consent at some level. And, for the most part, an understanding of the difference between fantasy and reality. But this, right here, is as real as it gets.

What am I supposed to do, wait until he kills her, all for the sake of doing the right thing? I’m a man given to reason, facts, and careful consideration of the risks and benefits of every decision I make. I don’t get backed into corners, yet this woman, this object of my obsession, has managed to do what no one else ever has—confuse me.

“Doctor?” My surgical nurse’s voice interrupts my musings as she looks over at me quizzically, obviously concerned. “We’re ready. Sir, at the risk of being out of line, are you okay?”

Alarm bells go off in my head. It’s time to put on the proverbial game face.

“Just one of those cases I’m overthinking.”

Her expression softens to one of relief and she’s back to business.

I keep my voice neutral, “I’m on my way.”

I’ve already scrubbed up, so I join her as she strides toward the operating room. I clear my mind of all thoughts except the details of the surgery that will consume the next three hours or so. It’s show time. Luckily, compartmentalizing is what I do best.

Madonna

If I thought being in here was bad before…now it really sucks. I shuffle over to the small refrigerator and grab a bottled water and deli sub sandwich.
A fucking cup of coffee would be nice.
This bastard has the audacity to think he can use rewards and punishment to control me? Who the hell does he think he is?
Bastard!

I sit on the cot and take a long draw from my bottle of water as I contemplate my options.
Options, yeah that’s a joke.
Suddenly I can hear his voice in my head:
“You have no fucking idea! The man who was following you strangled a woman and mutilated her body, then left her behind a dumpster in an alley—that could have been you!”

I can’t imagine the terror that woman must have felt. Her last hours must have been hell on earth. It would be so easy to feel guilty. After all, she was killed because he couldn’t get his hands on
me
. Though I’m grateful to be alive, I’m horrified that my safety came at the cost of another woman’s life. Nothing about this situation is fair. It just makes no sense to me.

What kind of monster becomes enamored enough with a serial killer to start killing in order to impress him? Maybe a way to break free is to talk to Liam and see if he can get his brother to influence whoever the crazed maniac is. I have so many unanswered questions: does his brother know who the killer is and just won’t tell him? Or does Liam know who the killer is and he’s not reporting it?

I refuse to sympathize with the man holding me in this room. And yet, it can’t be easy for him having a serial killer for a brother. But if he’s involved... I don’t even want to think about it, because it opens up a whole new world of crazy.

Maybe rather than fighting, I should pretend to go along with the madness so I can get the computer back. I still won’t have internet access, at least not at first, but I’ve got to get out of this room so I can learn the house and find out more about what’s happening here. What kind of relationship do the brothers have now? Does Liam visit him? He has to, or he never would have had the heads-up about the man who wants to kill me. I panic when the question that plagues me once again surges to the forefront of my mind: is he in on it? Am I locked in the basement of a man who is only playing the superhero?

One thing is for certain in all this madness: I have more questions than I do answers.