Page 33 of Scarred in Silence
He hurries out of the room, and I follow him. It’s a house. A small bungalow that smells musky. I hate it.
I follow him out the front door, and his car awaits us. A dense forest surrounds us. There is a small area cleared for driving, but other than that, it’s secluded.
I would have gotten lost out here if I tried to run.
The air is warm. It reminds me of California. The scent of pine trees fills my senses as I inhale the fresh air. It reminds me of my childhood.
It’s almost as intoxicating as drugs, until those memories resurface. Then it is almost as intoxicating as death.
He opens the passenger door, and I slide in. Letting the buttery leather welcome my bare skin on my legs.
He closes his door behind him and starts driving. We only drive a minute or two before we arrive in front of a large, ranch-style home with a dark wooden door. Where the Hell are we?
“Welcome home, Mrs. Crowe.” He winks at me from the driver’s seat.
What the fuck? He sold his other house? What state are we even in again?
He gets out of the car, and I sit patiently waiting for him to let me out. He casually opens the door, helping me out of the car and into the daunting home. I can hear the house taunting me. Dangling my freedom in front of me like a blood-soaked carrot.
Warm colors decorate the inside. Rich brows, deep reds, and beige tones fill the space. The foyer is large, with a low-hanging chandelier, and opens directly into a living area. The sofa is a rich brown leather, accented with deep red leather chairs.
It’s… beautiful.
The living area has a large wet bar in the back corner and opens into the kitchen and dining room. All of which are larger than needed.
I roll my eyes. He really went overboard, didn’t he?
“Follow me,” he says.
I really want to run, but I know that would be the worst decision I could make. I follow him, knowing he probably built a prison for me here, too.
He escorts us down a long hallway with floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side. We stop at the last room on the right and enter the master suite. A wooden four-post bed frame stands against the wall, accompanied by a king-size mattress. There is a nightstand on either side of the bed, and a large mirror hangs above, on the ceiling.
Has he been sleeping with other women again? The thought makes me want to vomit. My stomach turns as I focus my attention back on him. He enters into an adjoining room, and I follow, like a fucking puppy.
The bathroom has dark green tiles and gold accents. It has a dark stone shower and a slate soaking tub—the warm hint of honey dances in the air around us. I wish I could speak right now.
He starts the tub and pours in some essential oils. The steam clings to the mirror. Blurring our reflections.
He pulls out a knife and stands before me. His blonde hair is messy, and his eyes are hungry. He radiates power and control.
“I know my little Siren loves the water,” he says in a low tone.
He fists my shirt and cuts through the fabric, exposing my chest to him. He cuts the sleeves as well, leaving me naked, zip-tied, and silenced. My pulse racing, sweat beads on my forehead. I always loved how my body reacts to him, but now it feels wrong. I feel like a prisoner. Like an afterthought.
He flips the knife away, tossing it to the floor beside him. He scoops me into his arms and begins walking me to the tub. I squirm in his grip, trying to get him to put me down, but I fail.
He’s going to fucking drown me. I should have known he would kill me one day.
I scream beneath the tape, and his eyes go wild.
“My silent little whore has something to say?” He mocks as he placed me into the water.
My body goes rigid, but he stops. He lets me sit in the water. My body relaxes as tears flow from my eyes. I thought he was going to kill me.
He rips the tape off my mouth, and the sting lingers.
“Speak,” he commands.
