Chosen: Part One Page 8

  I needed a good night’s sleep before I confronted my father. The thought of seeing him again made my stomach clench. We had never been close; he was always far more involved with my three older brothers. But knowing what I did now, being in the same room with him was difficult enough. Convincing him to give me what I wanted would be a lot harder.

  Turning over on my side, I tried to think of something more pleasant--rainbows, bunny rabbits, unicorns, whatever. Instead, my thoughts drifted irresistibly to Adam. His eyes, his voice, the way I had felt when his fingers brushed the nape of my neck…

  I groaned and pummeled the pillow, trying to get more comfortable.

  It didn’t work. Again and again, I saw the gleam of arctic blue eyes, the fleeting of appearance of that dimple that fascinated me, and that sinful mouth…

  Finally, I resorted to reciting multiplication tables in my head. They were just boring enough to still my thoughts and let me slip into sleep.

  I awoke suddenly some unknown time later. The room was dark and quiet. I had no idea what had disturbed me.

  Until I saw the shadow standing beside the bed.

  It took me a millisecond to understand why that was wrong. When I did, fear exploded in my brain. Someone had gotten into the apartment!

  Instinct took over. I tried to scramble out of the bed but the moment I did, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist and dragged me back. I started to scream only to be stopped by a large hand in a leather glove covering my mouth.

  Pressed down into the mattress, panic exploded in me. I began to fight in earnest, thrashing desperately. But even fueled by the most primal desire to survive, my strength was nothing compared to that of the rapist, killer, whoever he was, whose presence in the shattered whatever illusion of safety I still possessed.

  As the realization of that sank in, tears seeped down my face. I despised myself for that but the terror was so razor-sharp that it shredded my pride.

  I wanted to plead, beg, do anything I had to but with the hand still over my mouth, I couldn’t make a sound. I could only stare in stunned horror at the syringe that appeared in his other hand. At the sight of it, any thread of reason that I still possessed snapped. I lashed out in all directions and managed finally to wrest a low curse from my attacker. Any satisfaction I could have felt at that vanished in the next instant.

  The prick of the needle as it entered my neck was the last thing I knew before darkness claimed me.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I came to slowly. My first instinct was that something was wrong but I had no idea what. Gradually, I became aware that my head was throbbing and my whole body hurt.

  Fear darted through me. Could I have been in an accident?

  My eyelids felt weighted down by stones but I managed to force them open. At first, all I could see were blurred shapes. Slowly, my vision cleared enough for me to realize that I wasn’t in my bedroom in the apartment.

  The moment I did so, memory roared back. The intruder, the syringe…!

  I bolted upright only to be hit by a wave of dizziness and nausea. Groaning, I fell back onto the narrow ledge where I had been lying. It was about the width of a cot and covered by a thin mattress that couldn’t conceal its hardness.

  The overly bright glow of fluorescent lights from above hurt my eyes. Carefully, I turned my head and tried to take in more of my surroundings. The floor, ceiling, and three of the walls appeared to be made of concrete. But the fourth wall…

  The fourth wall was made of stainless steel bars stretching the full height of what could only be a prison cell.

  Seeing them, I began to shake violently. That got even worse when I realized that I was no longer wearing the sleep shorts and camisole I’d put on before going to bed. In their place was a rough burlap sack that hung as far as my knees with holes cut into it for my arms and neck.

  The discovery that someone had undressed me while I was unconscious made my stomach clench. I only just managed to sit up and grab the metal bucket beside the ledge

  before I started retching. Long, painful minutes later, nothing was left in my stomach. Even then, I was still racked by dry heaves.

  Gasping, I leaned back against the wall and fought a wave of panic. The fear that gripped me was worse than any I had ever known. It froze me to the core of my being.

  I tried to tell myself that I should be grateful to still be alive. But for how long? I’d been drugged and kidnapped, taken to some unknown place, stripped of my clothes, and imprisoned in a cell. But why?

  Had Grandmother or my father discovered what I’d found out? Did they intend to keep me here until I was no longer a danger to them? But how could I ever not be?

  At the possibility that I could spend the rest of my life in so terrifying a place, hot tears threatened. Rather than give into them, I scrubbed my knuckles across my face and forced myself to think.

  I knew my family well enough to understand that if I had been found out, I wouldn’t be in a cell. At least not one that wasn’t padded. I’d be in a private mental institution drugged out of my mind and no threat to anyone.

  But if my family wasn’t behind what was happening to me, who was?

  For all that our public image made us out to be dedicated public servants, the truth was very different. Our ruthless climb to wealth and power had left the Delaneys with no lack of enemies. Had one of them decided to seek revenge for some wrong, real or imagined?

  Or was it a stalker? A deranged individual who had fixated on me?

  I remembered the shadowy man, his immense strength, how helpless I felt when I tried to fight him…

  The crushing enormity of my circumstances crashed in on me. Suddenly unable to bear what was happening, I jumped up from the ledge and threw myself against the steel bars. Gripping them with both hands, I screamed, “Let me out! Let me out!”

  The sound of my voice--so weak and rasping--shocked me. Belatedly, I realized that I was unbearably thirsty. Every muscle in my body was sore and my mind felt on the verge of unraveling. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t give up. I never would.

  “Let me out!”

  On the opposite side of the bars was another blank concrete wall. Between it and the cell ran a narrow hallway. As I stared down it, my throat clenching tight with fear, the door at the far end opened.

  A large man stood there, silhouetted against the light from the other side. He was dressed all in black, including the hood that covered his head and the gloves on his hands.

  At the sight of him, I recoiled. Snatching my hands from the bars, I stepped back deeper into the cell and looked around frantically. Apart from the cement ledge attached to one of the concrete walls and a portable chemical toilet in a corner, the stark space was empty. There was no window and no other door except the one set in the steel bars, and that was securely locked. With nowhere to go, no place to hide, and no hope of escape, I was trapped like an animal in a snare.

  My heart beat frantically, the sound pounding in my ears. Terrifying images of rape, debasement, and death flooded my mind. Trembling from head to foot, I could only watch with mounting terror as my captor walked toward me.

  Grace and Adam’s story continues in

  CHOSEN: Part Two

  Coming Dec. 16, 2015

  AVAILABLE NOW FOR PRE-ORDER ON AMAZON

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  I wake gasping for air, swept by a wave of panic that subsides only when I manage to untangle my body from the covers and sit up.

  For a moment, I have no idea where I am. Gradually, the bed and the room resolve around me. I force myself to breathe slowly until my heart stops hammering against my ribs and I am reasonably certain that I can stand.

  The rank wisps of a nightmare still cling to me. Afraid to chance returning to sleep, I leave the bed and pad over to the tall doors at the far side of the room.

  Earlier, I observed that they give onto a second floor balcony overlooking the garden. I am about to open them when a sound stops me. It is faint but distinct, and very close. I strain, listening as it comes again, a little louder and more quickly. At first the intervals between the sound are random but then it becomes so steady that I finally realize what I am hearing.

  Rain is splattering against the glass panes of the doors. Rain. As with so much else, I know what it is without having any memory of ever experiencing it. That at least I can remedy. Without hesitation, I fling open the doors and step outside.

  The stars are gone, replaced by dark, roiling clouds backlit by streaks of lightning. The columned overhang above the balcony protects me until the wind, mounting in the heart of the storm, slants the rain past it. Drops fall across my face, against my body, warm and delicious, smelling of a distant sea and a lush, moist land.

  I catch their taste on the tip of my tongue and laugh, stretching out my arms, holding them high so that the rain sluices down my bare skin, streaming in rivulets toward my breasts. That quickly, the silk nightgown dampens. The fabric clings to my nipples, making me suddenly aware of them.

  Hesitantly, driven by curiosity about my own body, I touch one, then the other, watching as they harden. The sensation is startling.

  Scarcely breathing, I skim my hands over my breasts, noticing that they feel heavier and fuller. My fingers drift slowly downward, finding the contours of my waist, the dip of my naval, the flat, suddenly quivering plane of my abdomen until they come to the juncture of my thighs. Pressing lightly, I’m surprised to feel through the fragile silk a hot, satiny wetness that owes nothing to the rain.

  Emboldened by the darkness, swept up in the fury of the storm, I grip the fabric of my nightgown. Slowly, I begin to raise it, baring my ankles, my calves, a little higher, until just as I raise the gown above my knees, I freeze.

  Ian is standing nearby, watching me.

  My entire body blushes. Too late I realize that his room must be only a short distance from mine, a space that narrows to inconsequence as he comes toward me. His chest is bare above black pajama bottoms that ride low, exposing the V of his hip muscles and his tight, washboard abdomen. As the rain blows over his broad shoulders and cut torso, his skin glistens darkly.

  A few feet away from me, he stops. “I told you to go to bed.” His voice is soft and almost detached.

  I drop the gown so that it falls once again around my ankles and lift my head. Quelling my embarrassment, I return his stare.

  “That’s something you tell a child.”

  Reluctantly, the corners of his mouth twitch. “Your point being that you aren’t one?”

  “I’d say that’s obvious. Besides, I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps I’ll find out tomorrow, if you choose to enlighten me.”

  He needs a moment to realize what the defiant edge in my voice, the tilt of my head, the straightness of my back and shoulders mean. When he does, the heat in his eyes sends a ripple of dark excitement through me.

  “Sarcasm, Amelia? You truly are full of surprises.”

  He closes the distance between us until we are separated by mere inches. If I swayed toward him even a little, my nipples would rake his bare, sculpted chest.

  Softly, he asks, “Do you really want to challenge me?”

  Of course not! This is a man to placate and soothe, above all to please. But when I open my mouth that isn’t what comes out.

  Instead, I hear myself say, “I told you earlier, being compliant isn’t in my nature.”

  His grin is wolfish. Before I can even think of drawing away, he brushes his knuckles down my cheek, along the line of my jaw and throat to the soft hollow at the base of my neck where he presses lightly.

  My breath catches. His touch is both arousing and strangely comforting. He holds me spellbound.

  “I think you have a lot to learn about yourself,” he says.

  Step by implacable step, he backs me against one of the columns along the outer edge of the balcony. The sudden hardness against my spine comes as a jolt. I have a flashing image of myself secured to the column, my hands raised high above my head, fastened with silken bounds.

  Slowly, holding my eyes with his, Ian reaches for the golden pins that still hold the coiled diadem of my hair. He pulls them out one by one.

  As he does, I watch the play of emotion across his face. He looks like a man in the grip of a compulsion as irresistible as what I myself am feeling, a ravenous wildfire of hunger for each other that threatens at any moment to rage out of control.

  Having freed my braid, he wraps it around his hand and gives a tug, drawing me even closer to him. A low groan breaks from him as his mouth claims mine, sucking at my lower lip. I feel the sudden, sharp nip of his teeth before his tongue plunges into me, exploring, stroking, demanding.

  Abruptly, my legs give way. I catch hold of his shoulders just in time to avoid sliding down the length of his body to his feet.

  A shudder runs through him. I can feel how desperately he is fighting for control.

  “Last chance, Amelia,” he says against my mouth. “Go back inside now.”

  I’m beyond being able to speak. All I can do is shake my head.

  A long quiver of anticipation runs through me as he grips the neckline of my nightgown. With his eyes locked on mine, he slowly pulls the garment down to below my naval. My wrists are caught in the sleeves, trapped against my hips. I feel the rain cool against my back, sizzling away the heat pouring from me, from him, from us.

  Looking down at my exposed flesh, he groans. “You are so beautiful.”

  Releasing my braid, he wraps his fingers around the base of my breast, his long fingers squeezing lightly, caressing, and lowers his head. I feel the rasp of his stubble against my skin in the moment before he sucks my nipple int
o his mouth, swipes his tongue over me—once, twice—and sucks again hard.

  A cry of mingled shock and pleasure erupts from me. I grab hold of his hair with both hands and pull. He releases me but only for a moment. Covering my breast with his roughened palm, he circles it against the hypersensitive nipple as he takes the other into his mouth and subjects it to the same exquisite torment. I writhe against the column as all thought of trying to stop him vanishes.

  Abruptly, he lifts his head. What I see in his eyes should frighten me but I’m beyond that, driven by need for this man that eclipses all else. My throat is so tight that only a whisper escapes me.

  “Please…”

  For a moment, I am terrified that he will not respond, that he only means to toy with me, proving his mastery and leaving me to suffer for defying him. But if any such thought has occurred to him, he is beyond acting on it. Instead, he makes a low, guttural sound and bends, tucking an arm under my knees and lifting me effortlessly.

  A few quick strides and we are in the golden room. He kicks the doors closed behind us, carries me over to the bed and drops me flat on my back. Before I can draw breath, he comes down on top of me, kissing me deeply if swiftly, his mouth trailing from mine down my body until he is stopped by the nightgown bunched around my hips. Sliding his hands under me, squeezing the cheeks of my derrière, he pulls the gown the rest of the way off.

  He is still wearing the pajama bottoms but even so the combined sensation of his skin against mine with his weight and strength controlling me is more than I can bear. Desperate for what I can barely glimpse, I struggle to move as my hands push against his shoulders.