Carver Page 5

  The dripping tap would have been torture for men who were trained for it, but for her, it must have been pure hell. Her binds didn’t allow for her to reach that far, so she wouldn’t have been able to shut it off. To get a drink. Nothing. She would have been completely reliant on this sick son of a bitch from the moment he took her.

  As the music turns off, we can hear a man speaking as if to an audience. “I swear to fuck if there’s someone watching what he does to her…” I don’t need to say more. D and Cas know I’ll fly off the handle.

  My carefully controlled rage is being reserved for when she’s out of this building. For when she can’t see or hear anything.

  “Vashchenko is sending the men he has watching Danika,” Dimitri says as we come upon the staging area of this hell-hole.

  “What the fuck for?” I bark.

  “Clean up.” The man smirks. He knows me well.

  Small notes of a woman’s voice echo around the room, and I grin at Meadow’s bravery. She whispers my name over and over again, using my reputation as a deterrent. The man tries to balk at her, but I can hear the quiver in his voice as he ignores her warnings.

  “So why are you scared?” I use her question as an opening to make my presence known.

  I walk to the center of the room as Cas and Dimitri take either side. Noticing a wall at Meadow’s back, the bastard will have nowhere to go.

  “Bring him on!” the man yells, arms flying out to his side. “I’m not scared of the boogeyman.” He laughs, and I’m just a few feet behind him now.

  Meadow’s eyes spot me just as I hop on the stage. Mercy is already in the palm of my hand. Grabbing his shoulder, I spin him around to face me. “Boo!” I snarl in his face and he pales. “Seems my reputation has preceded me.” My grin is pure malice.

  “Who are you?” He tries to act tough, pretending he has no idea who I am.

  Crushing the back of his neck with my fist, I bring his body into mine. Even though he’s a few inches shorter, our chests touch. I have to fight everything in me not to slit his throat when I get a good look at Meadow’s weakened form on the stage. She’s whiter than normal, has lost weight. Black rings circle her eyes, and I know she’s past exhaustion and into survival mode.

  It’s the bruising on her thighs that snaps my control like a tight rope.

  “You”—Mercy slices through his gut—“touched”—blood drips in a river down the front of his body as I pull it out slowly—“her!” The guy moans, which angers me further.

  Tossing him off the stage and onto the cold cement floor, I drop to my knees, Meadow my only concern. When I hear movement behind me, my head whips around. “Don’t fucking touch him,” I hiss.

  Edging closer to Meadow, where she’s laying still, I use Mercy to slice through the ropes around her wrists, ankles, and waist. Belting the blade in its holder, I pick her up in my arms. Her nearly naked body is frozen to the touch, and I know she should be shivering. Her teeth should be chattering, but she lays limply in my arms as I walk off the stage.

  “He dead yet?” I ask as I walk closer to Meadow’s captor.

  “Gotta say, man, you’re aim is either off, or you have plans for him because you only got the meaty parts.” Cas laughs at the man.

  “Tell Vashchenko’s team to get him stitched up and then bring him to the dungeon. I’ll take turns.”

  “Carver,” Meadow whispers, lifting her hand—but not quite reaching—to touch my face. “You’re not an illusion.”

  Her listless eyes close before I can answer. “No, Meadow-mine, I’m real.” I’ll prove it to her every day.

  After.

  After I destroy her monsters.

  She’s my beauty, and I’m her beast. I’m made to protect her from everything but me.

  8

  Carver

  I watch Meadow as she sleeps in my bed. Right where she belongs. I count each breath as her chest rises and falls. I count each moan as memories assault her. I inhale every ounce of her fear as she fights back the demons.

  These men, the ones who chose to target everything light in this world have no idea the wrath they’re about to encounter.

  Walking down the steps into the dungeon, I shed my vest and kick off my boots as I push the door open. The smell of piss and venom is pungent in the room. Chains rattle as both men are startled from whatever sleep they’ve been able to get.

  That’s about to end.

  “I hope you’ve found peace with your makers,” Luther says from behind me. “The beast has no leash. He’s been given free rein for as long as he likes,” he taunts.

  Neither man says anything. They flinch with every step I take. Their eyes watch me critically as I trod over to a bench that holds some painful but less lethal items I enjoy.

  Picking up the cane, I rub my palms up and down the cherry wood and metal that was specially designed to remain unbreakable upon forceful impact.

  “Eight days.”

  I slap the cane against the palm of my hand. The sound rings out in the room.

  “One hundred ninety-two hours.”

  I slam it down on a bench we have in the room. The crack of wood meeting wood reverberates through the room. Echoing until it vanishes.

  “Eleven thousand, five hundred twenty minutes.”

  I stand in front of both men.

  “Nearly seven hundred thousand seconds.”

  I bend down to their eye level as they hang from the wall.

  “That’s how long Meadow has been locked in fear. How long she has been having nightmares. How long she’s been trapped in a broken mind.”

  Releasing the chains of Alastair Adams—Viktor was able to get this psycho’s name before they dropped him on our doorstep—I let him fall to the ground. Relief colors his gaze as he feels freedom.

  I do the same for Thomas. He collapses in a heap.

  Turning, I walk towards the door, smirking at Luther’s impassive expression. “You can leave,” I tell them as I spin around again. “If you can get past me.” They both look to each other with hope. Thomas’ time down here hasn’t been pleasant. “Not a person in this house will stop you from leaving should you get past me.” I don’t mention the dogs with their scents all ready. Ready to kill both men.

  “You’re lying.” Thomas spits on the ground. He knows me slightly better.

  “I’m not. You can walk right out that front door.” Luther and I both step to the side, showing an opening for them to leave.

  Alastair is braver, or dumber, than Thomas as he charges forward, intent on tackling me to the ground. Gripping the cane in both hands, I bring it over my head and slam it down on his spine seconds before he would have reached me. The feeling of the weapon vibrating from impact warbles through me with satisfaction as the guy drops to the ground, his head cracking off the cold floor with a satisfying whack. Blood pools from his mouth as he lays unconscious.

  “The fool,” Thomas scoffs. “Why not kill us and get on with it.”

  “Because that would show a mercy I don’t possess. Not for you, not for him.”

  “You’re the coward.” He leans against the wall.

  Luther steps forward, anger in his stride. “You want to talk coward?” He backhands McCray. “Let’s talk about you taking Lil.” His left fist flies across the man’s jaw. “Let’s talk about how your family forced Ariel into a despicable life.” His right hand does the same, only he has brass knuckles on this time. “How about when Talia was nearly sold to some sadistic fuck.” Luther’s big fucking boot lifts off the ground and slams onto the man’s knee, busting it in one powerful stomp.

  “Ahhh!” Thomas screams, and I laugh. The sound of bones crunching and pain being induced makes my blood pump.

  “What about going after Catalina? A girl who has no part in this life.” I walk over with Mercy in my palm. I know where she’s going this time. “And Meadow. Barely an adult, off at school, taken just because her existence was made known.”

  I crouch over top of his busted knee,
listening to his whimpering, and then I sit on the broken limb. “Bastard,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

  Tilting my head to the side, I can agree with this. “I am. A sadistic one at that. You see, I let you live because I had scared her that day. I never wanted her to see me in the same light as she did you.”

  “You failed miserably.” His laugh turns to cries as I put more of my weight on his leg.

  “For a moment, I thought I had.” I lean closer, resting Mercy against his neck, so that with every beat of his heart, his veins, pump against the blade. “Until she came apart in my arms, showed me exactly what heaven looks like and begged me for more.”

  “You sick fuck.”

  A burst of amusement leaves me as he spits and growls his insults. “I may be a beast, but you, Thomas McCray, are the monster who is going to die a swift death in her nightmares with my cock buried so deeply in her cunt that you’ll never be anything but a footnote in her life after today.”

  With one smooth, painfully slow cut Mercy moves, slicing through flesh as blood spurts with his every heartbeat.

  “You’re nothing,” I whisper in his ear as the energy leaves his eyes, and his body slumps to the ground lifeless.

  I can feel the warm spray of blood now dripping down my bare chest, and satisfaction rolls through me knowing I’ve avenged every woman in this house who has been hurt by this man. This fucking scumbag of the earth.

  The sound of dogs barking and snarling pulls me from my contended stance over Thomas’ body. Luther and I look back to where Alastair had been lying to see the spot now empty. “Guess he took you on your word.” Luther laughs.

  Together, we walk up the steps and to the door where King and Atticus stand as the rain comes down and a commotion is brewing.

  “He try to run?” Luther questions.

  “Oh, he still is.” Atticus laughs.

  Stepping out into the fray, I see Alastair running from both East and West—Catalina’s dogs—and our two pit bulls. For a slimebag, he can run. The dogs chase him around the yard, terror written in every line of his body as he tries to elude them. Most days this would amuse me. I’d sit in the rain and watch until they caught the man and tore him limb from limb. Today, I’m fueled by my need to eliminate every last one of Meadow’s demons from sight and mind.

  Reaching for the Glock on Atticus’ waist, I take aim at the man and whistle. The dogs stop, and Alastair turns to the noise. “Just like our little bitches,” King hisses. I take aim and pull the trigger. The bang reverberates through the house, and I hear a scream from upstairs. Knowing immediately who it is, I toss the gun to Atticus as I pass him, and I’m on my way to Meadow before our guest’s lifeless body hits the ground in a heap.

  Meadow

  Fear is defined as a deeply embedded emotion designed to make us feel the apprehension of impending danger or evil.

  Fear is an emotion we all experience at least once in our lives.

  Real fear, the terror of not know what is going to happen, or by who, can debilitate a person’s mind allowing other emotions to occupy our spirit.

  Fear has held me captive for longer than I can remember. It’s holding me in its icy claws right now, drowning me before I can swim into the light of life again. Nightmares plague what little rest I find. An ache deep inside my flesh melts into my bones, so each breath reminds me of everything I’ve suffered.

  My subconscious somehow knows when Carver is in the room because I’m able to settle into a calm that floats away as effortlessly as a shimmer in a pond when he leaves.

  One reoccurring memory plagues me viciously. It’s the one time in my life when we had no troubles. No misery following us. And yet, it’s the entire reason I’m here now.

  “Come on, Meadow, David is so excited to meet you.” Mom has brought men around before; they always leave when they meet me, though. I’m the one puzzle piece that every man doesn’t want.

  “Maybe you should just go,” I mutter. My feet shuffle as I lean against the door frame at my room. I want Mom happy, but I feel like I’m preventing it from happening.

  “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. David loves children. He’s been waiting to meet you. It would be rude to stand him up.” I can tell she’s trying to be encouraging, even though she’s getting upset with me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Meadow, you’re eight years old, not in diapers.” Her eyes crinkle with laughter, and I smile because even though we’ve struggled, and Mom has tried to hide it, I know she loves me. I also know if this man doesn’t like me, she won’t let him stick around.

  Hand in hand, we leave our tiny apartment and walk the four flights down the stairs and out the front door. Standing beside an old blue car is a tall man with dark hair and a kind smile.

  He wipes one hand along his thigh as he walks towards us and bends down so that he’s my height as he speaks to me. Holding out his hand, he says, “Hello, Meadow, I’m David Riley. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” His other hand pulls something from his back, and I drop my hesitance as I see a bright pink tulip with a small unicorn ornament that’s covered in rainbow sparkles. “Your Mom says you love unicorns.” He smiles at me, and I search his face, looking deep into his eyes. The eyes never lie. Happiness radiates from him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Riley. I love them!” I reach for the gifts, and he eagerly hands them to me.

  “Shall we go to dinner then, ladies?” He sweeps his hand out like the princes in my favorite Disney movies as he leads us to his car.

  I remember that night being magical. It wasn’t just a dinner out, it was carnival rides at the mall, and cotton candy overload. We laughed the whole time, and David took me on every ride I was tall enough for. He indulged me, and Mom teared up a few times.

  She was in love; I could feel it even then. Her joy was on display for the entire world to see.

  Now she’s in ruins. Shattered in a broken nightmare. He is, too. For a year, I’ve watched David struggle with the knowledge of us realizing who he was in his past life. His failures as a father and husband before he was ours.

  Carver. I feel his presence before I hear him. “Meadow?” He crawls up the bed, over my frame covered by lush blankets, and lays in front of me. Protecting me.

  “You always protect me.” I bring my hand up to touch his damp cheek and hair wet from a recent shower. The rough facial hair is prickly against my palm. “You watch over me.”

  His dark stare roams my face as he searches for something. He looks furious, relieved, and satisfied all at the same time.

  “You were dreaming again.” He doesn’t confirm my statement. It’s one thing I’ve come to love about him. He doesn’t feel the need to affirm things that are true. He just is.

  “I feel like I’ve been stuck in my dreams forever.” I don’t remember much since I was taken. “How long?” My lids shut as his finger trails across my forehead and into my hair.

  Carver doesn’t pretend to misunderstand what I’m talking about. “You don’t share her blood, yet you’re so alike,” he mutters. “Lil has been worried. She dislikes that I’ve let you rest so long.” He sounds perturbed about that, and it makes me giggle. “I like that sound,” he says.

  “How long?” I repeat.

  “He had you for five days.” Carver’s frown deepens, his eyes darken. “We found you eight days ago.”

  I blink rapidly, taken aback by the amount of time I’ve lost. Nearly two weeks that I’ve been in a real-life bad dream. It’s been traumatic and enlightening.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you away, Carver.” His hand covers my mouth before I can say more.

  “No. No apologies, no regrets, no past. Me and you, Meadow, that’s it. That’s us. Forever.” I wish I could be as sure as him.

  “I want that, Carver, I always have,” I whisper, leaning into his body. His arm wraps around my back, pulling the blanket off, revealing my naked body. “Oh,” I gasp. My apparel wasn’t a thought before.

  “Even bruised, you’re b
eautiful.” Carver leans over me, his hands gripping my hips as I roll to my back. “Lil helped me undress you. I didn’t want anything chaffing your sensitive flesh.”

  “Okay.”

  Carver slides between my legs, pushing them open further to make his frame fit. I close my eyes, loving the feel of his weight on my body. Even broken and unsure of what that man did to me, I can feel an intimacy with Carver I’ve yet to know in my short life.

  “He didn’t. Not the way you think.” His words are muttered hoarsely in my ear, echoing what I’ve been trying not to think about.

  “How do you know?”

  Pushing up on his elbows, he explains, “We had our doctor’s assistant check you out. When I saw the bruising, I knew you would need answers. Lilith and Talia were here the whole time.” His concern warms me.

  “Then why…” I can’t bring myself to ask the hard questions. I want the answers, but I don’t want to voice the words.

  “He’s dead, Meadow. Thomas, too. They’ll never touch you again. No one will.” He avoids answering me. Maybe because he’s afraid I’ll break, or maybe he doesn’t want to think about it either. Carver seems to be about moving forward from here on out. I can’t say I’m opposed to it.

  “I need to know why, Carver. I have this weight on my chest, and it screams the need for answers.”

  Blowing out a defeated breath, he says, “The simple answer is that you were pretty to him.” Leaving me with more questions than answers.

  “And the complicated one?”

  An angry grimace crosses his face. “He wanted you to be his pet. To control your every move.” That makes sense because of the strings.

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes. He was a bad man, Meadow. We don’t know why he chose you, but Atticus and Luther have been to his apartment, and he was obsessed with you.”

  “You killed him?” I look down because that’s the only thing I don’t want. Carver committing a crime on my behalf.