Without Mercy, page 5
part #4 of Running with the Devil Series
Last night was an exception. He couldn’t stop thinking about the woman he’d grabbed yesterday, tied up, terrorized and put in a cage. She was tugging at his senses. She was stronger than he thought she would be, following his rules, asking for one of her own. Tentative, fearful, reticent. But still, she’d spoken up.
He had to admit he was sad about her rule. It wasn’t like him to respect a woman’s privacy, so to agree to her rule made him a little pissy. He didn’t have to agree but decided that in every long-term relationship there had a to be a little give and take. He’d let her have her rule. That’s all he was going to give.
He’d never lived with a woman, except his whore of a mother before she kicked him out of her hovel when he was sixteen. That was fine, he reflected. She was a drunk, a drug-user, a prostitute to support both habits. She told him that he was her curse to bear and she moaned and bitched about the burden from the day he was old enough to understand. She’d slapped him around when he was child, but as he reached his teenaged years, he grew taller and stronger. And she grew afraid of him. They’d had an argument the night she threw him out. About her bringing the men home, hour on the hour, every night. It disgusted him, she disgusted him. He hadn’t laid a hand on her, but he’d shouted at her, threatened her. She solicited two big Russian fuckers to do the job. They hauled him from his bed in the dead of night, gave him a good beating to teach him respect, then drove him through the streets of Moscow, dumping him in an alley. Warning him to not to go home or next time they’d break his legs.
It was not the worst thing that happened to him. That came later, after he lied about his age and joined the Russian military; it was a good stint until the end. Until he almost beat to death a superior officer who couldn’t keep his hands off fresh, young recruits. The asshole made a mistake with Anto, who had so much suppressed rage that the release of it was almost worth the court-martial and prison-sentence. Almost. Russian prisons were shit-holes; sadistic guards, brutal inmates, pecking orders and gangs.
His was not a pleasant stay. His size attracted attention and his fellow convicts continuously tried to cut him off at the knees. The gangs tried to recruit him as an enforcer, which he laughed at. He didn’t work for anyone, he wasn’t there be some thug to a bunch of assholes, he was there to serve his sentence and get the fuck out. But that fueled the fire, no one likes a loner, especially a big, ugly fuck without fear. They all wanted to be the one to break him. Even the guards played the game. He was beaten, tortured, and steadily harassed. It made him meaner, angrier, but also smarter and more patient. Made him pick his moments.
Solitary confinement was another kind of hell. For weeks at a time, he was forced to sit in a frigid windowless cell that barely had enough space for him to stand, let alone pace. Sometimes they took his clothes away and threw buckets of cold water at him. Fed him mealy potatoes in a grey gravy with some unidentified chunks of shit floating in it. Beat him for no reason, but also left him without contact for long stretches of time, nothing to pass time, nothing to exercise his mind. He did what he could to keep limber, created a careful routine that kept him somewhat bulked up but he was also careful to conserve energy.
Prison. That’s where he met Dean Copeland. After a brutal two-month stretch of solitary confinement, the guards beat him severely then threw him into a cell with the American. They thought the American would kill him because he was already serving a life-sentence for murder. He’d killed three men in a fight and came out barely bruised. You didn’t do that in Russia, even if the men deserved it. Dean had nothing to lose. Most of the other convicts were already terrified of him because he tolerated nothing from them. Even a wrong look and he’d tried to gut them. And the guards loved him even as they feared him. Every prison had a system, someone had to lead and keep order among the savages and Dean was exactly the right man to do it.
Anto was almost broken by then. When they pushed him into the cell, he was so weak he couldn’t catch himself and he thudded to the floor. The door banged shut on the guards’ laughter and he was left with the American lunatic. The first thing Dean did was savagely toe Anto with his shoe, in the ribs. The first thing Anto did was wrap his hand around Dean’s ankle and sweep his feet out from under him. Dean thudded to the floor next to Anto, stunned as his head banged against the concrete when he fell. They lay like that for a moment, side-by-side on the concrete floor, the simple exertion leaving Anto winded.
Then the laughter bubbled up in him, still not sure why. The situation was absurd. Two hardened criminals, killers, laying on the concrete floor, neither able to move. Anto knew that as soon as Dean got his senses back, Anto would be a dead man. He was in no position to defend himself. For some reason, he thought it funny, almost cruelly so, that he’d meet his end this way after enduring so much to get to this point. That he would be killed by an American. The laughter burst out of him, deep and booming, uncontrolled, echoing off the walls, slipping past the bars of the cell and floating down the halls. Then Dean started laughing too, maniacally. After that, everything changed.
Anto shook himself back to the present. He didn’t like to think about his prison days. He didn’t have to; the cruelty of men was etched onto his body. But he was nothing if not pragmatic. His path had led him here and here was pretty good for the bastard son of a prostitute.
He glanced at Marisol and wondered if she had similar thoughts. Wondered if she blamed the path of her life on her current situation. In a way, she was a bit to blame. He would have to talk to her about how her routine made her vulnerable. He didn’t think it would make a difference. She was a different kind of woman than the one’s he usually associated with. She was contained and reserved. She cried too easily and seemed too soft, except she was also a little bit bony, but not strong. He would have to talk to her about that too. The importance of balance, less running and more weights.
His face cracked into a derisive grin. What the fuck was he thinking.? That there would be talking? That she would forgive him for kidnapping her? That she would have an interest in an ugly fuck like him? He tugged at his beard to clear his thoughts. Since when did he care whether a woman found him attractive? Why was he even going down this road? Maybe because they had weeks of time together and there was no fucking allowed, no other women to keep him entertained.
He sighed.
Other than a warm, willing woman in his bed, he had what he needed to pass the time: his punching bag, his fishing rod, his running shoes, and a couple cases of vodka. The lodge had everything else including puzzles and books – ways to keep Marisol occupied. No TV – he’d removed the satellite, took the televisions up the stairs. He didn’t want her keeping up with current events. It was better she remained isolated. He didn’t want her to see her parents in front of mics and cameras, mother weeping, pleading for Marisol’s safe return. Didn’t want to have to convince Marisol that she would be safe and could one day go home, that her family would get her back.
Maybe because he couldn’t guarantee it.
This last thought grabbed at Anto’s chest, constricting the air. He felt his heart skip a beat. He needed to protect her, make sure she got home safe. For some reason that mattered to him. She was vulnerable, weak, afraid. Right now, the only thing standing between her and her death was him. Was he willing to die for her? He studied her lithe form, curled under the blanket, her face soft and open as she slept.
Maybe.
He rubbed at his eyes pushing back the thoughts crowding his mind, then stood up and walked to the cage door. As he unbolted it, Marisol jolted upright, clutching the blanket to her, looking wildly around. Then her eyes landed on Anto and they cleared for a second before fear clouded them.
“Time to get up,” he said, trying to make his words soft, but he could tell by the growl in his voice that he had not succeeded.
Marisol didn’t move a muscle. Funny, Anto thought as he observed her. Does she think her stillness will confuse him? Or maybe she’s so afraid she can’t move. He didn’t know. He didn’t enter the cage, her room. Thought maybe that would help. But he had to admit he was losing his patience with her. He paced away from the cage. “Get out here and use the bathroom. Shower if you want to. I’m not going to wait all day for you to make up your mind.”
She reacted with a shudder, then climbed off the bed and took tentative steps to the door of the cage. Keeping him in her sight, her back brushed the bars as she sidled towards the bathroom. He should be more patient, he thought as he tugged his shirt over his head and slid his running shoes on. Or she should have more courage.
Chapter Eight
Mari sat on the floor of her prison, her back against the wall because that was her only option other than the small twin mattress. The mattress could not be an option while Anto was awake and in the same room, because he exuded raw sexuality. It was on his mind, layered through his words, in his eyes as he scrutinised her. He hadn’t touched her though. One of his rules to reassure her, she guessed.
Yesterday was hell. She stayed behind bars as he came and went, paying her no mind. He left the cage open when he was inside the lodge, told her she should eat and drink something, that a hunger strike would not gain her sympathy. She came out only to use the bathroom and once, when he was distracted, she slipped from the cage and brought some water back with her. Her stomach had been cramping from hunger, but she thought that she would vomit if she tried to eat solids.
That was yesterday, Sunday. She needed water and food, stupidly refusing to take them from him last night when he offered. This morning he didn’t offer. Just let her out to pee and left her to it. He also offered her a change of clothes. She refused that too. He shrugged and said in that deep timbre of his voice brushed by an accent she couldn’t place, “Okay, until you start to smell, then I’ll have to hose you down.” He grinned at her, ferociously and made her start to shake again. That irritated him; he narrowed his eyes and frowned, then pushed her back into her cage, a little roughly, and slammed and locked the door.
Forty-eight hours missing and yet, she still wasn’t sure why he targeted her. He didn’t tell her why although yesterday he promised to, when she stopped shaking like a fucking rabbit and started eating. She knew he didn’t take her because he was obsessed with her or intended to kill her. Well, she didn’t know for sure, but he told her he wouldn’t kill her. It might be a lie, but for Mari, so that she didn’t lose her mind, she chose to make it a truth.
What was really distressing was the thought that her parents would know by now that she was missing. She imagined how Sunday night would have unfolded. When she didn’t show for dinner, they wouldn’t have immediately been worried. Her mother, Lillian, would be annoyed at Mari’s tardiness even though Mari was rarely late. Lillian would have tried to call Mari. When she got no answer, she’d wait, thinking Mari was on her way; thinking that Mari had disconnected the Bluetooth in her car again. Probably another 30 minutes would elapse before anyone tried again. When there wasn’t an answer, they’d start to worry.
One of her brothers, probably Rick, would offer to trace the route back to her condo, make sure she hadn’t gotten into an accident. Make sure she wasn’t at home, unable to answer her cell for some reason. Her dad would be on the phone too, calling the precinct, checking on accident reports. A soft reach-out, maybe passing along the make and model of her car, the plate number. They would call her friends, call her cell again. The chatter would start to die away as cold realization set in. Something was wrong.
Then the call would come from the cops who found her car, either in the supermarket lot or towed by now. Empty, locked up, and her groceries in the back seat. Their world would start to unravel as they frantically tried to find her. They would all be asking why? How? They would be setting up an ops centre, waiting for the phone call that would explain everything. Media would be all over this, standing outside the cordoned off area where she’d been kidnapped. Forensics would be sifting for evidence. Her father and her brothers would be tearing the city apart. This would take top priority over all other cases. After all, she was the Chief’s daughter.
A lump grew in her throat and she bit down on her lip to keep the tears at bay. The cops would try to trace her cell phone or her car key, it had a tracker. She wondered if they were in her purse. She wondered where her purse was. She couldn’t remember when she dropped it. If it was here, if her keys were here or her cell phone, maybe they could find her. This sparked a little hope, but it was dampened by thoughts of how she was kidnapped. Anto was far too organized to let a detail like a tracker slip him up. He would have turned off her phone, destroyed it, gotten rid of her keys. She couldn’t remember if he did that, but her brain wasn’t really processing anything in those first few hours.
Now it was Monday and while Mari was still unsettled, her hunger was winning over her fear. And her fear was ebbing a little. He stayed true to his words, to his rules. He didn’t do any of the things she imagined an obsessed stalker or serial killer would do. He treated her indifferently for the most part, went about his routines, not often deliberately engaging with her. She knew she’d have to face him today, she needed to eat to keep up her strength. It was time anyway. She wanted answers, to why, to who and to what was next.
But not yet, just a little more time to feel safe.
She tried to make herself small, tried to disappear, folding her legs up and tucking her arms around them, head turned away from him, cheek resting on her knees. She could hear him out there, see him if she wanted to. Anto. Her kidnapper. Punching a bag strung from the ceiling, grunting loudly and breathing hard as he beat the bag so brutally it shook the house. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, her face away from him. She didn’t want to see him. He was too big, too intense, too everything. She didn’t have to anyway. He was burned into her mind. Every inch of him as he seemed to have few inhibitions.
He had to be at least 6’4. Usually men that tall were also lean, but he wasn’t. He was a solid mass of muscle, a granite sculpture. Bearded, not a neat goatee, but a long scraggly bush that he neglected other than to wipe his hand across it as he drank and ate. Hair colour was light brown, the hair shaggy and long enough to be tied back but she doubted he did that. He didn’t seem like he was one to bother with frivolous grooming routines.
His eyes were a pale blue, almost grey, and she could see his intelligence in their depths as he watched her, studied her. He liked to play the fool, the brute, the clown, but anyone who looked into his eyes would know it was a façade. He had scars too, some deep, in his shoulder, along one thigh, one on his cheek, peeking out from his beard. She thought he used his beard to obscure it. Wondered how deep it was, how long. How it happened. The light scars that covered his back and his stomach were less visible as they were hidden by his many tattoos – on his chest, his back, his arms, legs, fingers. Vivid and intricate, they told a story and crazy as it was, she was curious about it.
She flexed her fingers and stretched her back. Her ass was starting to go numb and she knew she needed to stand before her legs cramped up.
She placed her palms against the wall and used them as leverage as she started inching her body upwards. Courage, Mari, be strong. You can get through this. He’s bigger than you, stronger than you, but not smarter – well maybe smarter. But not as agile. How could he be with all that bulk? Don’t let him make you a victim. Find a way to turn the tables on him. Find his vulnerabilities. The bigger they are the harder they fall. David and Goliath. Men think with their penises. She froze at that thought and wondered if that was true of Anto. He certainly was not shy about his sexuality. Perhaps she could use that against him. Find a way to seduce him so he would lower his guard.
She almost laughed out loud, her ass propped against the wall, her body still slightly bent, her calves protesting her slow ascent. There were so many problems with that idea she didn’t know where to start. Mari was not a flirt. She was just too shy and socially awkward, and besides, she had little practical experience at seduction. With a father for a cop, an overprotective one at that, she hardly dated in high school, and the few boys brave enough to hang out with her didn’t dare cross any lines. She’d barely been kissed by the time she entered college. Unlike her older brothers, unlike Amanda, her 16-year-old sister.
Her brothers were as overbearing as her father where she was concerned, especially once they made law enforcement their careers. Amanda got away with the hijinks because she was the youngest, because her parents had already cut their teeth on Mari, and because there was no one around to keep her in line. She was six years younger than Mari, a little surprise package for her parents and as crazy and uninhibited as Mari was stable and shy.
Besides, Anto made it a rule. No touching. She thought he made it rule so that she would understand he wasn’t going to rape her, so it might be okay with him if she broke it. She shuddered at the insanity as she eyed him. Even if she tried to seduce him and succeeded, she would never be able to gain control of him. He would dominate her. It was layered through his movements, his words, his regard for her. He would master her, and she would lose.
She finally made it up the wall and put her weight on her feet. The punches stopped and her attention was drawn to the source of the silence as Anto stepped out from behind the bag. He was wearing running shoes and loose grey shorts that knotted in the front, but hung low on his hips, resting just above his pelvis. His knuckles were banded with padded guards. Sweat glistened across his torso, droplets caught in the hair on his chest. He grinned widely as he stripped the guards off his hands and dropped them carelessly on the floor.
“It’s hard to look away, I know. I’ve seen me in a mirror.”
Mari felt warmth suffuse her face and she dropped her eyes. Yep Mari. Good seduction technique. He’d know the minute you touched him how little experience you’ve had. A few gropes and a bit of petting, an unexciting tussle or two in the dorms with randy boys. Nothing that would fool this guy. Besides, as she peeked up at him through the curve of her lashes, she might not be able to hide her fear of him long enough to get as far as screwing up the seduction.
