Chance (22 page)

That was what this was;
she was being kidnapped. Logan had sent someone to kidnap her and bring her
back to him. This was like a movie. It was unreal. As crazy as it sounded, that
was her theory about what was going on. Halfway through the journey, her theory
was confirmed.

“Logan wants you back,”
the man said conversationally, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m taking
you to him, right now.”

“I…I don’t want to go
back,” she said, her eyes beginning to well with tears.

She couldn’t imagine how
angry Logan would be with her for leaving. She'd hit him where he lived and had
taken control from him. What would he do to her when he got her alone? How
would he react to the fact that she’d ran away from him? Would he punish her?
If so, how? Would he beat her or chain her up? She was terrified.

“No choice,” the man
replied. “Logan always gets what he wants. I’m sure he won’t punish you too
hard. You’re his sexy trophy, that’s what he calls you.”

HIS SEXY TROPHY? THAT'S
what he calls me?

She felt utterly sick. Hearing
that made her feel as if Logan only considered her a mere possession or a 'thing',
rather than an actual person.  

He’d always told her he
loved her, and she was stupid enough to believe him. She'd fallen for his lies,
time and time again. Now she was going to have to go back there to him and be
his doting, obedient wife once more. She'd be nothing more but his
sexy trophy
.

She suddenly had an idea.
She could call the police and tell them she’d been kidnapped. Her parents had
bought her a cell phone that was in her pocket. She decided to do it—to call
911. She reached into her pocket as carefully as possible, struggling to get it
out without alerting her abductor.

As if he had eyes in the
back of his head, the driver immediately noticed what she was doing. He pulled
the car over sharply and spun around in his seat, pointing the gun in her face and
held out his other hand. He didn't care that he was wielding a gun around in full
view, anyone looking into the car would see. Charlotte, with her heart sinking,
held up her hand and handed him the phone, which he pocketed.

After the longest four
hours of her life, they pulled into the driveway of her Logan's house, her
prison. Both of the cars were there, so he was home. As the car stopped, the
front door opened and Logan stepped out. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie,
with his hair slicked back. He looked as handsome and dashing as ever.

He was smiling. Charlotte
wasn’t fooled this time; she wasn’t going to be taken in by his suave appearance
and fake smile. She knew what lay behind those false gestures, as well as what
he was capable of doing. She was scared, terrified. Logan came to a stop on the
front stoop. He just stood there watching, with his hands in his pockets and a
small, satisfied smile on his face. He looked triumphant.

“Out you go,” the driver
snapped at her.

He leaned over into the
back and opening her door for her. She didn’t move.

“If you make Logan wait,
it’s only gonna be worse for you. Trust me,” he said.

His words were almost
kindly, definitely sympathetic, as he made eye contact with her and gave her a
small smile. She could see he actually felt bad for her. He was just doing his
job, apparently.

My big goon of a
kidnapper was probably just as scared of Logan as I am. But, he didn't have to
live with him or have sex with him all the time. He isn't Logan's personal sexy
trophy. My fucking pig of a husband! Dad was so right, he's such a bastard!

“We’ve all been there,”
he assured her. “Just do as he says and things should be okay for you. Hang in
there.”

Her legs felt weak and
wobbly, as if they may not hold her. She was glad she didn't have any luggage
or anything to carry. She'd surely drop it. None of her muscles felt as if they
were working. It felt as though she was walking through mud as she took the
long, slow steps towards him.

His smile gradually grew
wider, the closer she got.

“Well, well, well,” he
chuckled quietly. “The prodigal wife returns.”

He moved away from the
front door step and left space for her to walk through.

“In you go, my darling,”
he smiled.

Logan smiled an extremely
disturbing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His eyes were cold and dead—like
his heart.

She stepped slowly into
the house, totally defeated and scared.

“Take off your coat,” he
told her as he closed the door behind them.

She did so.

“And the rest of your
clothes,” he said coldly.

She stopped, taken by
surprise at his request. “Wh—
what
?”

He quickly grabbed her by
her chin, jerking her head up and pushing her to the wall, slamming her back
against it painfully, knocking the air from her lungs in a big whoosh.

“Don’t say a fucking word
to me until I tell you to,
whore
,” he spat viciously, looking more like
a terrifying monster than a man. “
Understand?
”

She managed a small nod.
Her eyes were wide with terror. He slowly released his grip and then repeated
his demand.

“Take off your clothes.
All
of them.”

She slowly, and quite
reluctantly, began to undress. Logan soon grew impatient with her fumbling
fingers and shaking hands.

He stepped forward and
backslapped her across the face. Hard.

“Hurry up! I haven’t got
all day,” he bit out.

That was the first time he’d
ever hit her.

She turned away from him,
cowering. She was afraid he'd do it again, or do worse. She didn't react the
way she’d always imagined she would in this situation. She didn’t stand up to
him or tell him to get lost or to get out of her life. She didn’t immediately
walk out and leave him again.

She just accepted it.
Accepted it and did what she was told.

She struggled to get out
of her clothes, going as quickly as she could. She stumbled and almost fell as
she kicked off her shoes and socks and tugged off her jeans. She stood there,
feeling vulnerable and cold in her bra and panties as she looked at him
beseechingly.

“I said—
all
of it,”
he commanded loudly.

She unclipped her bra,
slid it off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor before pulling her
panties off and stepping out of them. She folded her arms over her breasts,
trying to hide her nudity as best she could. Feeling beyond naked, she felt as
if she were stripped raw and utterly vulnerable. She was at the whim of a
dangerous, angry psycho.

He smiled again. A nasty,
triumphant smile that reminded her of a shark. She was his prey, of course. Then
he grabbed her again, placing his hand on the back of her neck and his other
hand on her shoulder, shoving her forwards into the living room. He pushed her
to the sofa and bent her forwards over the cushioned arm.

“Stay there,” he ordered.
“I don’t want to see your stupid face when I fuck you.”

That was where and how he
took her; he raped her from behind with her face pressed into the cushions of
the sofa and her feet half off the floor as he raised her legs into the air and
spread them to give himself easier access.

His hips pounded into her
as he harshly grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head backwards with his hand.
She screamed in pain as he violated her. Her screams only seemed to fuel his
sex frenzy. Finally, after a few horrible, humiliating and hideously painful
minutes of hair pulling, scratching and clawing at her body as he pounded into
her dry, painful, raw opening, he grunted, spasmed and fell over her, panting
in release.

Charlotte felt shaky and
weak by the end of it. The entire experience was so painful, demeaning,
disgusting and dehumanizing. She felt nauseous, used and filthy to the bone, as
if she could take an hour-long shower in boiling water, using bar after bar of
soap and still be dirty.

She just lay there, her
limp body hanging naked off the end of the sofa. He'd broken her; broken her
spirit and reclaimed her as his own. She was his possession to be used, abused
and discarded however and whenever he felt like it.

He left almost immediately
afterwards, without saying a single word to her. He locked the doors behind him,
as usual. She stayed there on the sofa for quite some time, she wasn’t sure of how
long. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, wetting the sofa.

Eventually, she got up. She
went and took an almost scalding hot shower. She felt as if she were merely something
that resembled a human being, albeit a sick and sorry example of one. She'd
finished toweling herself dry, put on her pajamas, made herself a cup of coffee
and sat down on the sofa. She avoided the couch where she'd just been raped and
switched on the TV.

As a thick, heavy, black
cloud of depression settled over her, it felt as though she'd never left her
prison. It was as though her entire escape had been nothing more than a fleeting,
happy dream. Now she was back to an even more devastating reality.

How would she ever explain
this to her parents? By now, they'd be wondering where she'd gone. They'd
probably wonder if she'd decided to go back to her bastard of a husband, after
all. They'd try to reach her on her new cell phone. Of course, by now, Logan
probably had it. If he didn’t destroy it, he'd probably lie to them. He'd tell
them she’d come to her senses and came crawling back to him.

Would they call the
police? They knew how much she wanted to stay with them. It would be the
natural progression of things when someone went missing. However, even as a
spark of hope lit in her chest, she knew Logan was too smart for that, he'd
find some way to allay their suspicions.  

So, what was to be done?
There was no chance of her leaving Logan again, not now. She felt lucky to have
gotten away with just being raped and smacked around a little, although she was
still worried there would be more to come. He wouldn’t be so gentle with her anymore.
He'd always shout at her and beat her whenever she stepped out of line. He'd force
himself on her, instead of persuading her to accept his sexual advances.

Things would be different
between them—she could just feel it. They'd crossed a line. It was no longer
just a sick version of husband and wife. Now, it would be vengeful master and
slave. Every time she'd stood up to him, things became different; he'd increase
his vigilance and control over her as he took away more of her liberties. This
time, she'd robbed him of control. It had been the ultimate rebellion on her
part. This was going to be Hell.

She prayed her parents would
worry about her and go to the police when they couldn't reach her after her
disappearance. She'd welcome the authorities with open arms and laugh as the psychotic,
sadistic bastard was dragged away.

Please Mom. Please
Dad. Please God. Help me.

As it happened, Logan had
already decided what was to be done about the matter. When he came home an hour
later, he walked straight to her and stood over her with her cell phone in his
hand.

“Email your parents and explain
the situation,” he ordered her.

She paused and opened her
mouth to ask what situation. She flinched as he impatiently snatched up her
wrist and shoved the phone into her hand.

“Don’t just sit there
looking like a dribbling fool! Email them and tell them that you’ve come to
your senses and returned to me. While you’re at it, tell them what a selfish
fool you’ve been.”

She closed her mouth
again.

“Do as I say, Charlotte!
E-mail your parents. Explain the situation. Tell them what you'd like but I
think it’s only fair they know you’ve decided to go back with me,” he shrugged.
“After all, they're your parents; you wouldn’t want them worrying about you.”

With him standing over
her, she bit her lip then hesitantly opened up her e-mail account and began to tap
out a lie.
The email told her parents she'd
spoken to Logan on the phone and then agreed to meet him. She typed that they'd
talked and he'd promised to be a better husband. She said he'd agreed to get
counselling to help him with his mental issues. He'd give up his career in crime
and try to be a better person, the man she deserved in her life.

It was all complete nonsense,
of course. Besides, even if Logan had done all of that, or at least had promised
her that, it wouldn’t matter. She hated him with every cell in her body. She
decided right then, as he stood over her, that she would escape again. No
matter how many times he brought her back, she'd keep leaving. He couldn't keep
her forever. She'd rather risk death than be his docile sex slave and punching
bag.

Logan was leaned over her
the entire time, reading every word she typed, making her change anything he
wasn’t satisfied with.

“Good girl,” he smiled, when
she'd finished.

He gave her a
condescending pat on the head. She shuddered. His touch frightened her now,
repulsed her.