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Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. Fate had illuminated the dark path known as my life and gave me the answer to a question I now wish I never asked.
My father, Travis, wanted me to visit him in jail. I never should have gone. I should have stayed as far away from Travis as humanly possible.
I never planned on him telling me why Aiden’s parents were murdered or that the man I saw when I was ten, the man who killed my mother and then walked away smiling was Aiden’s father.
I could feel the shards from my broken heart, tearing me apart inside. Aiden and I would never survive this. But there he was, waiting for me outside of the jail. He begged me not to let our fathers’ actions determine our future.
Could our love survive the pain of our pasts? Could we build a solid foundation and bury the past so deep it doesn’t shake the ground we walk on?
Yesterday, my thoughts were consumed with surviving through heartbreak.
Today, I’m just trying to survive.
I’ve danced with the devil.
I’ve made him bleed.
I’ve made him regret his sin—taking me.
For about two seconds.
“You will learn, mija, that you are not the boss here,” he says in a thick accent as he runs his hand down my face, almost affectionately. His touch makes my skin crawl. Bile threatens to rise as I jerk my face away.
I spit on his face. “Go to hell,” I seethe.
He tsks me. “You will soon learn that that is exactly where you are,” he roars as his hand strikes my face. I moan out in pain, spitting out blood. He split my lip. The metallic taste churns my stomach. “Your fight is impressive.”
“They’re going to kill you when they find me,” I say between clenched teeth. He steps forward, and he fists my hair, yanking my head back to look up at him. I grunt as I can feel pieces of hair being ripped from my scalp.
“When they finally find you, it’s not me who will be dead,” he whispers into my ear. I try and fight against his hold but it’s too tight. I can’t move my head.
Shut up, Addison. I berate myself for instigating his anger. Today is day three of my hell, and by now I should have learned to just shut the fuck up. My arms and legs are chained to a wall, leaving me only enough room to go from the toilet to my single bed. I’m stripped naked. Which is my fault, I’m sure.
When I awoke from my drug-induced kidnapping, I fought with everything I had. My body aches all over from fighting and being beaten. A bitter laugh escapes my dry, cracked, bleeding lips when I remember the look on his face when I kicked him in the head, taking him down. First it was surprise and then a flash of fear. My foot connected to his ribs, not once but twice. His groans fueled my adrenaline. His men had to rip me off of him. I focused on that look when they beat me repeatedly while he watched with glee. It was then I was stripped of my clothes. So, yes, it was probably my fault.
I watch him open my prison door, and he looks back at me. “It’s those eyes, mija. Those eyes are your hell.” His wicked laugh echoes through the walls, sending burning rage throughout my body. I scream and fight against the shackles holding me in place. Pure hatred runs through my veins. My bruised wrists don’t even hurt. At least not yet. That time will come soon enough, but right now I’m a caged animal trying to fight my way out.
I collapse into a ball on the filthy floor, willing myself to calm down. My chest hurts from my erratic breathing. I tap my head against the exposed cinder block wall.
Calm down, Addison.
I start counting back from a hundred. I figure ten isn’t going to give me enough time. Closing my eyes, I breathe in deep through my nose, blowing it out through my mouth. I always sucked at yoga, except at the end when we did breathing exercises to relax. I’d give anything to be lying on a mat on a wooden floor, focusing on just my breathing. But that doesn’t happen in Hell. In Hell, you only think about devils, saints, and angels. Why and how you got there. It’s hope. It’s torture. It’s my life.
I think about Aiden. How he’s probably going out of his mind right now. I just need to hang on for a little longer. Someone will find me.
Aiden will find me.
When I’m not fighting or being knocked unconscious, I listen. I try to figure out who took me and why. The man, his name is Rico. He speaks about my eyes and calls me daughter, so I’m assuming I’m here because of Travis. But who knows about me? Who knows I’m his daughter?
If it’s some sort of revenge on Travis … how long are they going to keep me here, keep me alive? Every time one of Rico’s men looks at me like I’m a fucking toy just for them, especially now that I’m naked, my heart stops beating.
Their fingers have groped me. They’ve rubbed their hard cocks against me when they’ve held me down and beat me. But it hasn’t gone any farther. I’ll take broken bones over a broken spirit.
I try to remember what happened when I was taken but it’s all a blur. The last thing I do remember is something was thrown over my head then I was shoved into the back of a van. Everything after that runs together. Screaming, gunshots, squealing tires. Not always in that order.
Tears start running down my face, involuntarily. I don’t want to cry. It shows weakness. Each night, I hold back the waterworks until I can’t anymore. My body is tired of fighting; it’s telling me I need to emotionally recharge because tomorrow is a new day where my brain will take over and I’ll end up with new bruises, new scars. I only hope that I’ll be found before those scars become irreversible.
Beep … beep … beep.
