Saving Hailey: Chapter 5

THREE DAYS EARLIER

The door to the room I’ve been locked in for four days opens wide and two bulky men enter. I recognize Darius first, the scorn across his face when he killed Matthews will live forever in my nightmares.

Behind him comes Jax, carrying a tray with a sad-looking sandwich and a glass of orange juice—the same thing they’ve brought three times a day since Matthews abandoned me here. I didn’t touch anything for two days, but yesterday I caved, gulped the orange juice in one go, then sat in the corner, waiting for something tohappen.

I was certain the juice was spiked but two hours later there was no adverse reaction. My stomach growled whenever I caught sight of the sandwich, but the mere thought of taking a bite shook me with nauseous dry heaves.

I can survive much longer without food than drink so the juice will have to do for now.

Dad’s teaching has been bouncing around my mind since I arrived: the average human can survive three minutes without oxygen, three days without water, and three weeks without food.

It’s only been four days. I’ll be fine.

Darius waits for Jax to leave my breakfast on bed number one and exits the room. Once we’re alone, he steps further in, laying a flowy pink negligee beside the food. I’m still wearing the same clothes I arrived in: Nash’s hoodie and a pair of jeans. I don’t smell so hot, but that’s a problem for another day.

Darius stalks closer to where I sit in the corner, my knees bent close to my chest. They haven’t gagged or tied me up. I guess there’s no point limiting my movement while I’m locked away.

That makes sense but what doesn’t is that no one’s spoken one word to me all this time.

The light’s been on since Jax shoved me in here, and I haven’t moved other than to grab the juice or use the bathroom: a big communal room with a row of showers down the left wall and a row of toilets on the right. No separators, walls, curtains… no privacy if more than one person were using it.

Darius crouches before me, his eyes narrowing as he rakes his heated gaze over me. “Wash up, eat, and get dressed.”

I push myself further into the wall, marginally increasing the distance between us. My body’s a lead weight and I’m so hungry I barely care that they might’ve sprinkled drugs on the sandwich but thinking about chewing makes me sick.

“Don’t think you have a choice,” he barks. “You have thirty minutes. Unless you enjoy showering with a crowd, you better start moving. Believe me, it’ll be better if you cooperate.”

With that, he stands back to his full height, casting a quick glance around the room. He frowns at the perfectly made beds but shrugs it off and leaves.

I haven’t used the beds. I couldn’t pick a number, obsessing over what the order might mean, Jax’s I’d choose very carefully echoing in my mind over again. If there are more people coming, would I be safer in bed number one or thirty? Maybe somewhere in the middle?

I’d be safest with Nash.

My insides coil, twist, and turn whenever I think about him… in the stark fluorescent light of this room, that’s all I’ve done. Instead of choosing a bed, I’ve been sitting by the wall, battling sleep, thinking about Nash, and analyzing my reaction to the flashback.

I should’ve stayed at Lakeside. I’d still be safe. Or as safe as one can be with a liar.

Safer than here, that’s for sure. Nash never hurt me.

No one hurt me here, either, yet, but Jonathan’s lifeless body lying on the gravel, still holding onto his dead daughter, haunts me every time I close my eyes, so I guess it’s only a matter of time before they do. After all, they brought me here because they want the evidence… and I don’t know where it is.

I also don’t understand why no one has asked me a single question about it yet.

It makes no sense and waiting for the ball to drop is slowly driving me crazy.

Maybe that’s their tactic: drive me to the brink of insanity before they torture the information out of me.

I stay awake as long as possible but my brain takes short naps. Humans can’t survive longer than eleven days without sleep… most would die after a week. The electronic clock on the wall tells me I don’t sleep for longer than two or three minutes at a time, my body in combat mode, ready for war at any moment.

Exhaustion threatens to pull me under, but despite the weakness in my limbs, I’m on high alert, thinking through my time at Lakeside. I’m constantly dissecting the information, looking for clues I might’ve missed, scrutinizing every word my father spoke, every word from Matthews, every fucked-up memory of Alex, and everything Nash said but I have nothing beyond what I wrote in the diary.

I’ve also had precisely zero new flashbacks, as if my mind’s rebelling against remembering the past while I’m scared to death of the present.

The evidence these men are after must be priceless given the trouble Nash went through to retrieve it—the trouble whoever’s in charge here went through to kidnap Jonathan’s daughter to make sure he’d deliver me…

I strain to remember, hoping sheer will might help, but the gaping hole of my memories doesn’t clear. I have no idea what or where the evidence is.

One thing I am sure about is that I made a bad situation worse by running from Lakeside. Maybe I should’ve asked Nash for an explanation first. He was using me, but he kept me safe. He made me feel wanted, needed… loved. I can’t remember ever feeling happier than I did when we were together.

It was an illusion but it felt so fucking real.

I miss him. Well… not him, whoever he really is. I don’t know him. I miss the character he created. I miss Nash as he was with me. The fire burning in his eyes whenever he touched me, the possessiveness in how he held me, the safe fantasy he crafted. I miss it so much that with every passing hour my heart’s slowly being shredded like a wad of unwanted papers.

Pushing my feelings aside is impossible. Nash buried himself deep in my heart and I can’t evict him. I don’t think I want to. I repeat everything I’ve learned, trying to muster the hatred he deserves. He’s not a college student. He’s no army man, either. He’s like the men holding me captive. Like the man in my flashback, the one with blood running down his hands. Like the men my father’s spent his career chasing.

A lying, manipulative con man who gave me everything I never knew I wanted, then ripped it away.

I don’t love him… but I love the illusion.

Dad always said mafia men are a ruthless, unforgiving breed. No sentiments. They use any and all means to get what they want and don’t care about the destruction they leave behind.

My grandfather was brutally murdered by the mafia some thirty years ago. Dad said Grandad was one of them… and they turned on him.

I think that’s when Dad vowed to clear the streets. He’s kept that vow, sending dozens behind bars. Dozens of dangerous men no one else was brave enough to target. The same men I’m surrounded by now. Ruthless killers.

It’s been four days, but my breath still hiccups every time I remember the flashback when Nash pulled the trigger. Deep, red blood covering the hands of an older version of Nash.

My stomach churns with a mixture of disappointment and longing. He lied for weeks, wrapping a security blanket around me while simultaneously weaving a web of intricate lies. I thought he had feelings for me… Even if they were less powerful than mine, I believed what he felt was real.

Silly me. After Alex, I should’ve known better. I’m not good enough to keep, just a cheap solution to boredom.

The door opens again no more than fifteen minutes later. Darius steps inside, cocking one eyebrow as he slaps the door closed and turns the key, pocketing it quickly.

“You’re running out of time. If you won’t shower yourself, I guess I’ll have to help you.”

He stalks closer, rolling the sleeves of his black shirt past the elbows, uncovering veiny, muscled forearms with black serpents snaked around.

I shrink further, praying the wall behind me will swallow me whole. His heavy boots touch my toes as he bends to grab my elbows, digging his fingers so hard into flesh and bones that tears blur my vision.

I’m on the floor one second, the next my feet dangle three inches off the ground. He settles me down, gaining a better grip under my arms, then hauls me up again.

“Let me go!” I croak, the words like razors slashing my tongue. “Put me down.”

“Oh, I will.”

He enters the shower room, settling me under the closest nozzle, and turns the water on.

I squeal, trying to get away from the ice-cold stream spattering my back. My legs barely hold my weight, weak and wobbly from lack of movement, but I back myself against the wall where the water doesn’t reach.

“You should’ve done this yourself,” Darius snarls, a twisted, deranged smile curling his lips. “We don’t have all fucking day. The next shipment will be here soon.”

My brows furrow. “What shipment?” I mutter.

“You didn’t think you’d be alone here forever, did you? There are thirty beds and every single one will be filled within the hour. You’re getting company.”

I don’t have time to wonder how often that room is occupied or why. He grips my neckline, ripping the flimsy t-shirt I’m wearing down the front to expose my bare stomach and breasts covered by a bra.

They’re not covered for long. He rips it off, then quickly moves lower to the zipper of my jeans.

“Fine! I’ll do it myself!” I shove his hands away.

His eyes turn darker when he zeroes in on my boobs. I can’t keep them covered while I’m trying to save my last shreds of dignity by not letting him undress me further.

“You had your chance. Now it’s my turn.” He grips my wrists and pins them to my stomach, staring at my chest while he makes quick work of shoving my jeans down my legs.

He doesn’t do the same with my panties. Instead, he tears them at my hip like he did with my bra, and I’m naked, my skin heating despite the ice-cold water.

I shut my eyes, diving deep into my calm, happy place: early morning at Lakeside in Nash’s bed. His arms around me, cradling me close, his lips on my head, kissing me awake, the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin.

“Morning, pretty girl. Sleep well?”

“You’re coming out at my end,” Darius grunts, shattering my artificial calm. He snaps me out of the happy place and I’m back in the bathroom, shivering, scared, and silent while his calloused fingers toy with my nipples.

I close my eyes, desperately clinging to Nash, but our lazy morning can’t be summoned, my happy memory forever tainted by the truth: Nash isn’t real. Nothing we had was real. The memory is suddenly out of reach and I feel Darius’s touch like a bare electrical cable.

I thrash against his hold, but my struggle is useless. He’s much stronger, his grip on my wrists like a vice. I can’t kick him while my jeans are pooling around my ankles.

Humiliation floods my system as the scent of vanilla assaults my nose. He squirts cold shower gel over my boobs, letting it drip down my stomach. Gritting my teeth, I block the feel of his hands kneading my breasts under the guise of washing me.

Every inch of my body is covered in goosebumps. Bile burns a hot path up my throat, but I summon my acting skills and ward off the overpowering helplessness.

I won’t break down.

I can’t fight him while his hand travels lower, along my waist, then to the other side, getting closer to where I never want him to touch me. I’m assaulted on all fronts. My mind replays the hell Alex put me through, amplifying the most horrific moments, and past fear mixes with present.

Without warning, Darius swipes his fingers along my pussy. “Make sure you’re wet later or it’ll hurt, little princess.”

A pained whimper tears from my chest. I bite my lip, copper pennies dancing on my tongue. Every muscle in my body knots so hard it hurts. I’d welcome the pain if it distracted me, but it can’t compare to my mental anguish and only fuels my misery.

“Almost done,” he pants, his breathing heavy, charged with primitive desire. “Let’s see how tight you are.”

He shoves two fingers inside me, opening the floodgates that hold my tears at bay. A filthy groan vibrates the air, the warmth of his foul breath fanning my cheek.

“So fucking tight. Now I definitely want you. I’ll ruin that little cunt as soon as you’re done choking on my cock.”

His words barely register, my body a drawn string when he wiggles his fingers, pumping in and out of me for what feels like centuries before he retreats, dipping his head to take my nipple between his teeth. He clamps down hard, making me cry out and writhe against him.

“Turn around. I’m not done here.”

He doesn’t give me time to obey.

Not that I would.

Cuffing my wrists in one hand, he spins me to face the other way and plants my hands on the tiles above my head. He washes my back and ass, shoving his bulky fingers between my cheeks to briefly toy with the other hole.

“I bet you never had a cock here, did you?” He heaves a dark laugh. “You will.” He grabs the showerhead, streaming ice-cold water down my back. “I’ll let go of your hands now. You’ll keep them where they are so I can wash your hair… unless you want me to call my friends over and have them fuck you in every hole you have. Your choice.”

All I can do is nod, my cheek plastered against the wall, eyes leaking tears, legs quivering from fear, cold, and humiliation.

Mimicking the roughness of his fingers in my pussy, he’s just as brutal with my hair, almost tearing out the tangled mess I haven’t brushed in days. He works fast, probably because my hair isn’t as interesting as my tits, ass, and pussy. Shoving me against the tiles, he turns the water off and stalks away.

“I trust you’ll do the rest?” He throws a towel at my feet. “I’ll come back in ten minutes. If you’re not dressed, or there’s one fucking crumb left of your breakfast, I’ll make sure your cunt’s bleeding and you’re too sore to sit for days.” He exits the bathroom, his heavy steps stalking away.

I slide down the wall, hugging my knees close to my chest, and cry like I haven’t in years.