The scars of us Read online

  Dragging me by my bound hands, he guides me up the stairs. The same staircase I remember from before. I gulp down heavily, my eyes flicker between Harlan and the steps as I try to keep up with his pace. I try to stop my lip from quivering as the feeling is almost too much. I want to scream, I want to cry, but I know it’s no use. All I know is that I have to be strong. Stay strong.

  “Here we are. Where you belong.”

  I glare at the monster as he opens the door to the room where I was isolated last time. How could he do this to me? What the hell is wrong with his mind that makes him think this is okay?

  “You’re getting some sick buzz from this, aren’t you?”

  “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” He presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

  I take huge, deep, unsteady breaths, my eyes focused on the piece of shit standing before me. Never have I had so little faith in humanity as I do at this point. These pathetic people, living and breathing the same air as me, disregard me so easily. I’m just some sort of toy. My pain is their pleasure; my tears give them great joy.

  “You’re pathetic, do you know that? You hide behind a rich man and thick brick walls because let’s face it, someone like you could never live a normal life.” I look over my shoulder as he ignores me but continues to push me into the room, his hand gripping my shoulder so tightly that it causes me to tense my whole body. “So, come on, Harlan. Why are you here? What happened so bad to you that made you this person.” I nod my head toward him, my face contorted as I scowl with disgust. “Were you bullied, Harlan? Huh? Did your daddy hurt you when you were a little boy?” I continue my assault of taunts, his stare pinches and his nostrils widen as I see the look on his face harden.

  “Bitch, don’t you dare.” He glowers at me, reaching for the handle of the door in an attempt to pull it closed. But I stop him. I stamp my foot against the hard floor, blocking his path.

  “Move,” he roars at me, pressing his huge hand against my chest and pushing against it so hard, I fly backward. “You deserve everything that’s coming to you, Isabelle,” he sneers, my ass dropping back against the floor. I can’t soften the blow, or stop myself from falling as my hands are still bound.

  “And so do you, Harlan. Mark my words.” I let the false warning fall from my lips. I have no idea if I can hurt him, but given the opportunity, I’ll give it my best shot.

  I want my revenge.

  If they don’t kill me first.

  Rolling onto my knees, I use what little strength I have to get back on my feet. The soreness from my fall kicks in as I stand, hobbling over to the bathroom. I inhale deeply, my nostrils widening as I take in the smell that holds a thousand memories. I gag a little. Although the smell isn’t bad, it’s a connection to the things that have happened to me here. It’s the kind of smell you get in an old room. It’s like a stale floral smell, one I just want to forget. But I can’t. It floods my senses as I collapse forward on the basin, trying to get my breath and rid myself of the odor. I rest my head there for a second, mentally trying to pull myself together. I clasp my eyes shut, just long enough to allow my heart rate to steady. I slowly lift my head; my whole body stiffening as I do. It’s funny how difficult it is making the simplest of movements when your hands are tied behind your back. I thrust out my hip, straightening, and catch my reflection in the mirror. Dried blood marks the side of my head, my face pale and the skin under my eyes dark and mottled. I hate the weak girl staring back at me in the mirror. My heart speeds up as the anger grows from my gut. I should have stopped them. I should’ve never opened that damn door. All of this is my fault, and only I can rectify this messed-up situation. I need a plan. I need to think smart if I want to get out of here alive. I have to know if he’s alright. Above all else, I hope and pray that he’s alive and safe. Swallowing down the hard lump that has formed in my throat, I know there is no amount of positive thinking that can reverse the image of seeing him drop to the ground with a thud. No amount of wishing will reverse the scene I witnessed. The blood. There was so much blood. I’m not sure anyone can come out of that mess alive. Shaking my head, I try to chase away the demons inside, the dark thoughts clouding my hopeful ones. I have to stop. I have to focus on something else. Allowing my eyes to glance around the room, I search for something that might free me from the binds around my wrists. I look for something, anything sharp enough to possibly cut through the rope. My eyes scan the small bathroom for exposed brickwork, sharp corners, but there's nothing. Walking closer to the bath, I continue my search for something to cut through these damn ropes. I turn, catching my arm on the edge of the counter top. Sucking in a sharp breath, I realize I cut myself. “Shit,” I grumble, looking over my shoulder at where the stinging is located. I’m not bleeding, but it’s taken the skin off. “Yes,” I rush out, scooting back until my fingers find the sharp corner. I desperately peer over my shoulder, making sure the rope is against the edge of the counter. I wiggle my bound hands up and down, not too much, but just fast enough to cause the right amount of friction. Over and over I work; my wrists sting and my arms ache. But, I won’t stop. There’s no way I’m giving in until these binds are completely removed. Taking a glance backward, shards of the rope stick out and I know it’s working. I’m doing it. I’m breaking through the binds.

  I continue until I feel the ropes loosen. Forcing my wrists apart as much as my frail body will allow, until I hear a snap, then a thud of the ropes dropping down on the tiled bathroom floor.

  “Yes,” I say with a laugh, my shaky body dropping to the floor as my laughter turns into a sob. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to be that girl who is always overcome with emotion. I just have no control over it right now. I place my wrists on my lap, staring at them as I clench and release my fists. “I did it. I DID IT,” I yell out, needing to find some release. “What do I do? Talk to me, Brax. Tell me how to get out of this fucked-up situation.” I speak loudly as if he can hear me. Only, I know that he can’t. He’s not here. At least not in body. But his heart and spirit will always guide me.

  A niggling voice in the back of my mind tells me to stand up. Search the rooms. Find something: a weapon, a way out. I lean forward, my palms pressed against the cold floor. Like a bullet out of a gun, I stand to my feet, and start to search the bathroom. I need to be smart. Resourceful. One step ahead.

  I growl out with frustration. I can’t find a damn thing. Think, Isabelle, I tell myself, slapping the side of my head with my open hand. Glancing up at the towels hanging on the rail, I grab them and peep my head around the bathroom door, looking into the bedroom. Looking upward, I locate both cameras. I have to be quick. My eyes roam the room, looking for the chair, and I spot it beside the bed. Racing over, I grab the chair and position it below the camera. Lifting up onto my tiptoes, I wrap the towel around the camera several times, wedging it so it doesn’t loosen or fall off. I jump down, racing over to the one near the door and do the same. Moving the chair out of the way, I race over to the closet. Pulling out the bathrobe, I remove the sash, wrapping each end around my wrist. I race back over to the door. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes to see why the security camera isn’t working, and when they do, I will be ready.

  Standing there, I wait. My adrenaline spikes and I feel my body shake. I try to compose myself, but my body is reacting to the fear that I have zero control over. Deep breaths don’t help, my pounding heart doesn’t either. But then I hear it. The sound of footsteps approach the door and I know it’s time. I have to face whoever walks through the door. I have to find the strength. I know I can do this.

  Oh God, can I do this? I start to doubt myself. The door opens slowly and I suck in a breath. Those few milliseconds feel like hours as I wait for a face to appear. And then it does. Her head swishes from side to side as she searches for me.

  “Isabelle,” she calls out in her usual honeyed voice and I don’t waste a second.

  “Over here, bitch.” My voice is almost a growl as I charge toward her, wrapping th
e sash around her neck and pulling as hard as I can. Her back is to me and I use my knee, pressing it against her back, trying to gain leverage. I can hear her garbled half-words falling from her mouth as she grapples to loosen my hold around her neck. Pulling harder and harder; her legs give out as she struggles to fight against me. But I don’t stop. I wrap the sash around my wrist once more, tightening intensely. I pull back on the material, her head falling back, her eyes meeting mine.

  “You messed with the one guy who meant something to me. This is for him. This is revenge.”

  My arms are weakening, and I’m struggling to keep up this level of pressure. Her face is paling and her body is weak. She is struggling to breathe and is barely putting up a fight. I grit my teeth together, trying to hold her there until I know the bitch is dead. With my eyes closed, I give the sash one last tug and her body drops to the floor. But I don’t stop. I straddle her body, continuing to hold her there. I stare at her lifeless face; redness and swelling appear around her otherwise beautiful eyes, and her bottom lids are drooping. Removing the sash from around my right hand, I press my index and middle finger against her neck. I’m taking no chances. I need to know she is definitely dead. Moving my fingers around, I press repeatedly trying to locate any sign of blood flow. I rest my ear close to her mouth, but nothing. There is no pulse and I don’t detect any breath against my skin. I unravel the sash from around her neck, the redness and bruising already noticeable. A shudder ripples through me as I look at her dead body crumpled on the floor.

  Oh my God.

  I did that.

  I killed someone.

  There’s no way I can stay here. I have to get out.

  I have to go…

  It’s been a week. A whole fucking week since I was shot and lost her. Again. How could I have let this happen? Fuck, I have to get to her. I growl, throwing back the sheets and stepping from the bed where I’ve been resting for the last five days. Carter insisted. He’s had me holed up in here, sending his motherfucking nurses in every five minutes. Rest, he said. Fucking chance would be a fine thing. My mind can’t rest, won’t rest, until I’ve found her and have her back in my arms. My bare feet meet the cool floor and I start to make my way around the bed, only to be pulled to a stop. Glancing down, I look to where my hand is attached to this machine.

  “Fucking thing,” I groan, ripping the needle from the vein in the back of my hand, blood pooling on my skin. I wipe the back of my hand down the front of my pants. I have to get out of this room. My frustrations grow with every damn second that passes. I’ve begged Carter to get a team together, to get them to storm that sick bastard’s house, but he’s been full of bullshit excuses. Today is the first day where I actually feel something like alive, and I will demand we plan this—our next moves, our plan to get my Izzy back—because without her, I’m dead inside anyway. I step toward the door, dipping the handle and make my way out of the room. The beeping I’d blocked out causes the nurse to come running. I walk with my head down, but my eyes lifted. I can only imagine what a fucking mess I look, but by the expression on her face and the way her lip quivers, I must look like a fucking monster.

  “Braxton, please,” she rushes out, swallowing down harshly as she stops just in front of me, her palm held out in some pathetic attempt to stop me moving.

  “Get out of the fucking way.” The tone of my voice lets her know I’m not fucking around and she shuffles quickly, stepping until her back hits the wall of the hallway.

  “Please, Brax…”

  “Please, what?” I roar. “I’ve had enough. I got a girl to find. So if you don’t mind, your services are no longer required.” I flick my wrist at her, giving her a dismissive wave. I keep my eyes on her, staring hard. She drops her head as I slowly continue forward, passing her, shaking my head at her audacity. Like she can tell me to stop. Force me back on the bed. No fucking way. I reach the top of the stairs in no time, and attempt to step down the curved staircase. My leg jolts beneath me, almost giving way, but I won’t let it. I stop momentarily, staring down at the treacherous fucker. No way it’s giving up on me now.

  “Brax.” Tara’s voice calls to me, and my eyes follow the sound, locating her making her way up the stairs. “Here, let me help.” She reaches for the top of my arm, but I snap it away.

  “Get the fuck off me.” My voice comes out as a growl and her nose crinkles as she scowls at me.

  “What is your problem?” I can’t help but notice her voice is lowered, and she leans in close. “I mean, was it so bad that we were there for each other? That I comforted you, the way you comforted me? Huh? Was it?”

  “Really? You’re doing the whole ‘let’s over-analyze the one-night stand’ shit.”

  She stands beside me, her arms now tucked across her chest. “It was more than that and you know it. You felt our connection. We had a connection, Brax.” She repeats herself. Her voice wavers slightly, but I don’t miss it for a second.

  “You really are just a stupid little girl, aren’t you?”

  “And you really are a jerk, aren’t you?” She mocks me, angling her body away from me and lifting her leg to make her way up the steps. But instead, she pauses for a moment, looking at me over her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, she just looks at me with her sad fucking Bambi eyes and shakes her head. Snapping my eyes away, I continue to make my way down the staircase. I was an asshole to her, but right now, I don’t have time for childish bullshit. I place my arm across my painful chest, hoping the pressure will provide some sort of comfort. But it doesn’t. I pull in a breath, my teeth clenched, trying to get a handle on the pain before I find that cocksucker, Carter. I won’t let him know I’m in pain. I’m not going to be subjected to a torrent of ‘I told you so'.

  I make my way to his office door, knocking lightly before pushing it open. My eyes scan the room, but he’s not here. I let the door slam shut as I release it and wander further down the hall. “Carter,” I call out to him as I wander from room to room.

  No answer.

  The house seems eerily quiet, so I make my way outside, locating him in the pool. He swims the full length of the enormous pool so effortlessly. “Carter,” I yell for a second time, this time catching his attention. He snaps his head, his eyes land on me heavily.

  His arm comes flying out of the water, droplets flying in every direction. He points his index finger at me. “Stay right there, motherfucker.”

  I can already feel my annoyance growing. Carter has always spoken to me that way, and normally I’d shrug it off. But not this time. I’m not taking his shit anymore. He doesn’t get to talk to me like a damn child. I’m his equal, his partner. Without me, Carter would be nothing.

  “Fuck you, Carter. Get out here and fucking talk to me. Man to man. I need answers,” I yell, the pain in my torso increases with the volume of my voice.

  “Shit, Brax.” He glares at me with hatred in his eyes as he pulls himself up on the side of the pool. “Seriously, I’m not in the mood if you are gonna whine at me like some little bitch.” He reaches down, grabbing the towel and dragging it across his face.

  I don’t bite, I get straight to the point. No time for messing around. I need answers and fast. “Why haven’t you done anything, Carter?”

  “I’ve done plenty,” he drawls, “I’m not quite sure what you are referring to?”

  “Izzy… Isabelle… did you somehow forget that she’s been taken, and I was shot in the process? You’re as good as my brother, why aren’t you avenging the motherfucker that ripped us off, that ripped you off?”

  “The girl is your business, not mine. If you want us to do something, then we will. But I will take your lead on this. It’s not my place to go jumping the gun while you’re laid up in bed. You need to recover, fully, then we can talk about what you want to do.”

  “You?” I say, glaring at him. “Don’t you mean, we?”

  “Yeah, sure. That’s what I mean,” he quickly counteracts, stepping toward me, stopping right in front of me,
continuing to rub the towel through his dripping wet hair. “Anyway, you shouldn’t be down here. You’re not ready. You need longer to recover. I need you fighting fit, we have the Savages to appease.”

  “Get someone else. I’m out,” I say, throwing my hands in the air, allowing them to land by my side with a thud.

  “Out,” he repeats slowly. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not fucking around. Until I’ve found Izzy and mutilated every bastard that was involved in her kidnapping, count me out.”

  “Life goes on, Brax. Money needs to be made, it doesn’t just fucking grow on trees.”

  “You go do the fucking deal then.”

  He scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes with annoyance. “The boss doesn’t do the deal, Brax. Come on, you know this.”

  “I’m the boss, too. You call me your partner, yet treat me like the fucking hired help. No more. I’m your equal. It’s about time I stepped out of the fucking firing line you keep placing me in.”

  “So, this is all some motherfucking power struggle now, is it? We are a team, and having you on the firing line, as you put it, is what works. It isn’t because you’re not my equal, of course you are. It’s because when it comes to making money, closing a deal, I can’t just trust any old cocksucker. I chose you, Brax. Because you are loyal to a fault and we’ve built this business to what it is now. Together. With me in here, and you out there. Making shit happen.”

  He rests his hand loosely on my shoulder, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. The patronizing look he’s giving me only adds to my already out-of-control anger. Placing my hand over his, I squeeze as hard as I can, my face contorted as he looks at me with wide eyes.

  “I’m not the lost boy I once was, Carter. You don’t get to call the shots anymore.”

  “Get your fucking hand off me,” he says, wrestling his hand free from my weaker-than-normal grip. “I think that gunshot didn’t just mess up your body, it fucked up your mind in the process. What is wrong with you? We have to stick together.”