Secrets and Scars: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (Fatal Hearts Series Book 3) (2 page)

“The man you just saw is not Miles. His real name is Alvin Jones. We went to school together.” I closed my eyes to block images of his face. “He has two personalities. Miles is a good man, and Alvin… he’s a monster. He did horrible things to me. He beat me... and he... he raped me. And he filmed it all.” I clenched my jaw to kill the sob rising in my throat.

“Miles beat and raped you?” Owen’s face folded with shock, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “And what do you mean he has two personalities? I don’t get it.” He shook his head, as confused as I had been when I discovered the truth.

“I didn’t either. I still don’t, really. But it’s true. The man chasing after us is
not
Miles.” My chin hit my chest. This conversation was going to produce more questions than answers. “Owen, Alvin is the way he is because of—”

Owen raised a hand to stop me from talking. He leaned forward and peered through the bushes again. His eyes held a warning in them when he looked back at me. “I hear him. He’s getting close. We have to get out of here.” He helped me to my feet. I almost sank back down from the weakness in my knees, but he refused to let it happen.

Soon after we left our hiding place, we heard Alvin clearly. He wasn’t running now, but the sound of snapping twigs and his cursing floated on the wind toward us.

Owen wrapped an arm around my forearm and pulled me behind a thick tree trunk. My heart shot into my throat. The sound of breaking twigs became louder, as did the rustling of leaves as Alvin pushed his way through the brush. He was close now—too close. A few breaths away. With my back pressed against the rough trunk, I placed a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out with fear. What if Alvin heard the loud pounding of my heart? What if he recognized my smell?

I closed my eyes and focused on my hand in Owen’s. I was not alone. Two were stronger than one.

I heard Alvin breathing now, heavy and furious, the way he did when he raped me. He had to be on the other side of the tree trunk. Then he cleared his throat and the movements stopped.

The few seconds we waited felt like hours. I imagined him crouching, waiting for us to take a peek, ready to shoot our brains out.

A silent breath rushed out of my lungs when I heard him move again, his clothes swishing, the sound of his footsteps retreating, fading. I prayed he was moving away and not tricking us, waiting for us to walk into his trap.

Still holding on to my sweaty hand, Owen placed a finger on his lips, then turned his body. He took a quick peek. My heart pounded in my throat as I prayed I wouldn’t hear a gunshot and watch him fall to the ground. When he turned back to me, the dread that had etched his features a few heartbeats ago was replaced by relief, as well as worry. “Good news is
he missed us. Bad news is he’s on the path I cut earlier.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The one leading to my yacht.”

“What do we do now?” I jammed my hands into my armpits, my entire body still bristling from the danger that vibrated around us.

“We have to take another route,
up the central mountain peak
.” He expelled a frustrated breath. “Shit. Now it will be hours before we reach the yacht.”

Chapter Three

With no watch or phone—Owen had lost his on Alvin’s yacht—we had no way of knowing how long we’d been climbing the mountain. The only thing we could depend on was the sun, which had sunk low on the horizon.

The thick trees on the mountain blocked the light—a blessing, as we were able to stay cool. We barely talked as we walked, no longer running. Exhaustion dragged us down.

We alternated between running and speed-walking until dusk.

“We have to stop. We need to rest.” Owen stopped walking and turned to me. “Some food is not a bad idea either. Let’s stay here.”

I gave him a weak smile. My mouth watered at the idea of food. It had been a while since we’d shared one of the muesli bars we’d stolen. The few bites hadn’t done much to alleviate the hunger that gnawed at my stomach. “Do you think he’s back on his yacht?” I dared to hope, even though I, of all people, knew Alvin wouldn’t quit until I was dead.

It was the thought of being caught off guard that terrified me.

“Not a chance. I’m sure he’s still out there searching. But we can’t walk in the dark. We still have a long way to go.” He surveyed the area around us. “We better set up shelter before nightfall.”

I picked up a dry twig and broke it, trying not to freak out at the idea of sleeping in the jungle. Owen, on the other hand, had already dropped the sack and was using a pen knife to cut branches from nearby bushes. He seemed to know what he was doing.

I dropped the two pieces of wood, shrugged off my fear, and stepped in to help.

Except for Owen giving me instructions, we barely spoke as we built a simple frame from branches, vines, and sticks, then covered it with foliage. We used more foliage and twigs for a makeshift bed, over which we threw a blanket similar to the one inside my dungeon on Alvin’s yacht.

“Are you okay?” Owen whispered once we had finally settled into the shelter and done our best to cover the entrance. The shelter was big enough for both of us to fit inside, but not much room remained for movement.

Owen had asked me the same question a few times already today, and he had always gotten the same response: a simple nod. The feeling of being okay had become foreign to me, but I had to force myself to stay positive.

“Try to relax. We’re going to be fine.” He flicked on the LED torch on his pocket knife and rummaged in the sack, pulling out two cans of sausages and a loaf of white bread. “You need to eat something.” The bread was squashed from when he’d pressed his back against the tree trunk earlier. But food was food. How it looked didn’t make it any less edible or appreciated.

I shifted my weight, crushing the foliage beneath me in an attempt to get comfortable. Twigs dug into my flesh, but I ignored them.

Owen broke off a chunk of bread and gave me a piece.

We ate in silence, listening to small animals moving about, alert for sounds of Alvin. I was grateful for the quiet between us, because I had no idea what to say to Owen. We had come from barely speaking in Boca Raton to relying on each other for survival in a Jamaican jungle. Once the food was gone, however, it seemed silly to not say anything. I figured he was just as uncomfortable as I was about striking up conversation.

“Do you think there are dangerous animals here?” I asked to break the ice.

He let out a breath close enough to touch my skin. “I don't know. It’s best not to think about it. This shelter will hopefully keep whatever’s out there out.” He closed the sack and lay down. I did the same, making myself small and trying not to touch him, which was almost impossible.

“I hope so.” The shelter might keep some dangers out, but not the one that mattered most.

“I know you’re scared,” Owen said. “But it’s been a long day. You must be exhausted. We can’t move on until I’m sure you have enough energy to carry on. And it could be dangerous to navigate this jungle in the dark.” He switched off the torch. “Get some sleep. I’ll stay up and wake you if I hear anything.”

“I’ll try.” In spite of my fears, I turned my back to him and closed my eyes, resting in the small comfort that I was no longer alone.

Chapter Four

A nightmare transported me back to Alvin’s yacht, to his studio of horrors. The monster had tied me to a stripper pole, then whipped me with a thin metal chain that cut as deep as a knife. Each lash was like a stream of fire that raced down my skin, burning it, breaking it, tearing it apart.

I glanced down at the fresh wounds on my stomach, seeing the white flesh moments before bright red tainted it.

He laughed and swung his hand back, ready to strike again. My tortured screams fell on deaf ears as I slid up and down the pole, tugging at the handcuffs and begging him to release me, all the while knowing I would never win against metal, against him. After more skin-numbing lashes, I passed out from the pain.

I felt his hands on me, shaking me awake. My eyes flew open.

The cover of night was too thick to see through, but I felt Owen’s presence behind me, the safety he offered me.

The bed rustled as he drew closer and wrapped an arm around me.

I sobbed as he hugged me tight. The pain from my wounds awakened as he pressed me to his body.

I pulled back, biting my trembling lip. “Hurts,” I murmured. A groan escaped my lips as I attempted to pull myself up on one elbow.

I heard a click and then weak yellow light chased the darkness from the shelter.

Owen’s hands moved to unbutton my shirt.

I placed my hand on top of his. “What are you doing?”

“Show me what he did to you. I want to see.” By the time he finished saying the words, the top buttons were already open, the shirt swept off my shoulders. The light shifted as he shone it on my back.

“Fuckin’ bastard.” He ground the words between his teeth.

“Don’t… don’t touch.”

“I need to do something about these wounds, Chloe. We don’t want them getting infected. Don’t move.”

I craned my head to watch as he removed from the sack a half-empty bottle of water, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol we’d also found in the depot, and a clean white cloth. “I’m not a doctor, but I know we can’t leave your wounds untreated.”

As Owen cleaned and disinfected my wounds with the few supplies we had, tears slid down my cheeks. I wasn’t crying from the pain, but from the emotions that rose to the surface, brought on by someone showing me kindness.

Memories of Jim tending to my wounds in the dungeon flooded my mind.

“Thank you.” I pulled the shirt over my shoulders again, buttoning it with unsteady fingers.

“Don’t thank me, Chloe.” He draped the blanket over me again. “Now get back to sleep.”

Chapter Five

At the break of dawn, we finished up the loaf of bread we had started eating yesterday, and washed it down with the rest of the water from the almost empty bottle. Unable to take a shower, we opened the second bottle of water and used some of it to wash our faces.

“I hope you managed to get some rest.” Owen kicked dry breadcrumbs into nearby bushes, and turned to me with a tight expression. “I still can’t believe he did that to you.”

“I started it—”

“I don’t know what happened between you two in the past, but only a monster treats another person that way.”

I picked up the empty bottle from the ground and stuffed it into the sack, avoiding eye contact.

How would Owen react when he found out what I’d done to Alvin? Would he still defend me, or would he place me in the same category as Alvin? I wasn’t ready to find out quite yet—not unless I wanted to risk being left stranded in a jungle.

“Let’s go. I’m pretty sure he didn’t stop searching all night.”

Before we continued our journey, we dismantled the shelter and made the area look as undisturbed as we could. Alvin would only need to spot a few crumbs or an empty bottle to help him figure out where we were headed.

Owen picked up the sack, threw it over his shoulder, and glanced at me. “Should I take another look at your back?”

“No.” I ignored the itch of my wounds. “I think what you did last night helped. I feel better.” The truth was, each second we stood in one place brought us closer to danger, and I didn’t want him to waste our supplies. Who knew how long we still had to go?

“If you’re sure.” Owen started walking, pulling out the map he’d found in Alvin’s notebook.

He slowed down so we could study it together. I was never much good at reading maps, so I left it to him.

“Want to know how far we are from the yacht?”

“Not really. Just tell me when we’re close.” In some cases, not knowing was better. Less room for disappointment.

This time, as we jogged, Owen didn’t take my hand. I was stronger than yesterday, better able to move without support.

A soft drizzle had fallen overnight, and a coolness lingered in the early morning air, which smelled of damp earth and wildflowers. In another place and time, I would have reveled in the smell. But not today. So many things I had loved before had been taken away from me, so many moments I had enjoyed had proven to be lies. Everything I had lived for was an illusion. Once I arrived home—if I ever did—I’d have to completely reinvent myself. Again.

Before any thoughts of the HIV could pop into my mind, I forced myself to snap out of the negativity and deal with it later.

At least I had my life back, for now. If it was worth saving, it was worth living.

When the air started to warm in the sun, we slowed again. Panting, I tipped my head back and gazed up at the sky through the opening in the canopy. I so wished to be out in the open, to walk on the beach, to watch the waves instead of just hearing them. For a sliver of a moment I pretended everything was fine, that Owen and I were on a hike, not on the run from certain death. But the moment was brief. Alvin pushed himself to the edge of my mind, but before he could penetrate it, Owen yanked me out of my thoughts.

“Fuck!” he growled, as branches snapped below his feet and he began to fall into a pit in the ground.

Fortunately I had been walking close, and I lunged forward, falling to the ground and gripping his hand. I inched forward as he clung to me, almost pulling me into the trap.

I used my free hand to grab a protruding root. My hand and skin stretched as I moved forward, my breath hitching inside my throat. My back screamed as the cuts that had started to heal cracked open again.

“Hold on to me.” I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth. I would not let him fall. I would not let go.

Owen tightened his hand around my fingers, which threatened to snap under his weight.

With a loud groan from both of us, he hauled himself higher and grabbed onto the wooden rim of the pit, relieving me of the pressure of his weight.