Page 104 of Lady Sings the Blues

“Why did you kill Hadley, Shayla?” I decide to ask before he tapes my mouth again. Because I know once we reach the car, he’s going to tape my mouth again.

Even though I didn’t really expect him to answer, he snickers through his nose. “Had to get your attention. Got it, didn’t I? Now shut the fuck up before I change my mind about killing you.”

Okay, so I promptly shutthe fuckup.

With my headache intensifying, I’m thankful he seems to be in a hurry to get wherever we’re going. As I’m not sure what hurts more, the incessant pounding inside my skull or those pinecones and twigs stabbing my bare feet that he drags me back over, until finally shoving me back inside the vehicle. Though without, I note, tape on my mouth.

Another million miles over another million years, all in total silence, only the hum of the tires skimming over the pavement fills the void. I can’t seem to work up the courage to speak with him again.

Eventually, the sound of humming highway turns to crunching gravel underneath the tires, the car rolls to another stop. Houdini wrenches open the door and yanks me from the backseat, crunching gravel now under my feet, thenwestop. Keys clink and rustle. He yanks me again, and we walk until he shoves me not exactly gentle at my chest with the backs of my knees hitting something, I assume furniture, and then my bottom falls and hits soft cushion.

The place smells musty, like it’s been closed up for a while and in need of a good airing out.

“Get comfy,” he grumbles. “You’re gonna be here a while.”

Yes. Big, bad Houdini uses the wordcomfy.

That’s the last he says to me before he leaves. The door slamming shut clues me in to him leaving. And for some inexplicable reason, instead of trying to plot my escape or at very least to contact my husband…Oh man, my husband. He’s got to be worried sick.

All I can seem to think about is whether or not Houdini has a power cord compatible with the phone hidden in my pocket. In case the battery runs out, I could charge it. How could I contact Beau with a dead phone?

Answer: I couldn’t.

Thus concerning myself with power cords in these uncertain times doesn’t seem so ridiculous. However, I need to focus. To escape.

I blame the stress.

Stress makes us think crazy. Worrying about power cords would definitely qualify as me thinking crazy. Just not ridiculous.

Easier than falling apart, my mind shifts through whether or not the prospects put the food away before the men undoubtedly took off to find me so we don’t get rodents or bugs while I’m gone, because I cannot live with rodents or bugs. And because I have to have faith that the menwillfind me. Then I move on to wondering about Maryanne, if she’ll be able to get the grass stains out of her pretty bridesmaid dress.

Alone in the room, I can almost pretend I’m not someone’s captive when the door opens.

“Bed,” is all he grumbles.Uh-oh.

Houdini picks me up and cradles me like a groom might cradle his bride with one hand behind my back and one under my knees, giving me no choice but to loop my arms around his neck to keep from spilling to the floor, or at least it feels like I’ll spill to the floor. Who knows if Houdini would let me fall?

He sets me down, gently this time, onto the bed, not removing my blindfold yet tearing the tape from my wrists. It stings. They sting. Again gently, he rubs at my wrists leading me to let my guard down. Stupid, stupid, Elise. So stupid, in my lowered guard, I don’t fight him when he unbuttons the vest of my dress then pulls the zip of the skirt down the side, stopping where it stops just below my hip. I freeze while he shoves the leather off my shoulders then stands me up to let the bottom half slip to the floor so I’m almost bare to Houdini wearing only my lacy white bra.

Uh-flipping-oh. Double on that uh-oh when he runs his finger down from my collarbone, between my breasts to rest at my baby bump where he stops, resting his whole hand to cover my bellybutton the way Beau does, and he grumbles low, “Fuck Elise, you got a beautiful body, even knocked up.”

I don’t want to thank him. That might encourage him.

“Sleep,” he orders. “I’m wiped.”

For the briefest of seconds I think he might let me lie back without wrist restraints. No such luck. Softer than the duct tape, I feel the satin he binds my wrists together with. This time, he binds them to my front. Although soft, he binds them tight.Tight. Super tight. That cutoff line just before tourniquet tight. It won’t make for a comfortable night, but I shouldn’t lose my hands because of it.

The uh-oh gets worse when I hear clothing drop to the floor, the covers rustle from the other side of the bed, and his weight and body heat slide in next to me. I start to really get nervous then when he flips me to my right side, his knees cocked against my knees to curl back over his, and he drops his arm over my waist to rest again on my belly.

Scary, murderous Houdini spoons me.

A spooning Houdini freaks me out so badly I blurt out, “I thought you were gonna cut my heart out.”

As the full weight of my stupidity hits, I suck in on my bottom lip and bite hard, bracing.

Who the hell reminds a scary murderer that he intended to cut your heart out? Me, only me. About now I’m beginning to think I might deserve to have my heart cut out.

On a soft laugh he grumbles again. “Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” After which he nips the skin behind my ear, sucking it deep into his mouth. So deep I know he’s marked me. It turns my stomach. He wants Beau to know he’s had his mouth on me.

A low sob breaks from my throat.

With a brief arm squeeze, he releases me. “Sleep.”

What choice do I have? It’s been a long, exhausting day and until he decides to end me, I’m still growing a child, so I force my mind as blank as my mind can go,

And I sleep.

---