Light From The Dark: Protecting What's Theirs, page 1
Light From The Dark
PROTECTING WHAT’S THEIRS
R SULLINS
Copyright © 2022 by R Sullins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without explicit permission granted in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences only. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover by Temptation Creations
Edited by Book Witch Services
Contents
Foreword
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Six Months After That…
Ten Years After That…
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by R Sullins
Free Book
Foreword
Thank you for wanting to read LFTD. This is one of my favorite books I’ve written. It was also the quickest one I’ve ever written! The words just flew with this one.
As usual, you will find that my heroine has been through some shit and feels a little lost at the beginning. Don’t think she is weak, though! Give her a chance to recover from her ordeal before you judge her.
There are some themes in this story that could be triggering to some sensitive readers. A full list can be found on my website. Without a doubt though, you can expect violence. A lot of violence. We are dealing with serial killers after all.
Introduction
She escaped the cage of one serial killer, only to fall right into the arms of another…
She was everything they had been waiting for.
Brent and Ethan had been in a committed relationship since high school.
They were both dominant men and enjoyed testing each other’s limits,
But they each knew they longed to feel the softness of a woman.
But not any woman.
The perfect woman for them.
Casey had been running for so long, and so far,
she didn’t even know where she was anymore.
Literally, she had no idea where her bus dropped her off.
All she knew was that she was tired, deep down in her bones.
She knew the small town seemed nice, and the owners of the diner were good people.
She also knew that the men she had caught a glimpse of made her heart beat faster—and if the rings they wore were any indication, they were both taken.
Brent and Ethan needed to convince this frightened young woman to stay in town long enough to give them a chance.
They knew she was running from something, and to them, it didn’t matter what that was. They were ready to protect her from anything.
But how would Casey feel when she found out one of her men had even more blood on his hands than the killer she was running from?
Prologue
CASEY
I didn’t know how long I had been lying on the cold, damp basement floor. I’d been locked in a small cage that reminded me of a large metal dog kennel and only had room to sit with my knees bent. Or lay down on the freezing cement floor facing the wall, which is how I spent most of my time. Shivers wracked my body so hard it hurt and I wish I had become immune to the cold since I had been there so long. I wouldn’t see anything if I stayed facing the wall. Not that I opened my eyes often. Ignorance was bliss. If only I could just as easily turn off my hearing.
I didn’t know where I was, but I knew exactly who had taken me. Well, not his personal information. I just knew the name that the media had given him. I was in the basement of the infamous serial killer that had been terrorizing the ocean-side city of Castle Grove, California, for nearly six months. Unfortunately, just like many others, I walked around acting like being abducted by a serial killer could never happen to me.
The Castle Killer had captured everyone’s attention immediately with the way he would abduct young women in their early twenties and then hold them captive for several days. Their families would be frantic, of course, but there had never been any hope of finding the women. Not until their bodies were found naked after being tortured and with only an empty cavity where their hearts had been.
I listened to the whimpers of the girl strapped to the metal table in the center of the room and tightened my arms around my legs. Then I heard what had made her start crying and begging. The door to the room opened soundlessly. Unless he made a noise, I couldn’t hear when he entered. His footsteps, though. His steps were always slow and steady. They were heavy, as if he were wearing work boots instead of sneakers.
I stopped making any sounds after the first day I woke up inside my little prison. Screaming did absolutely nothing except make my throat raw and painful. I was sure, though, once it was my turn on that metal table, I would be making a lot of sounds. Just like the girl that had been strapped there since my arrival.
If I remember correctly, her name was Megan. Her face had been on the news a couple of days before I’d been taken. She was a beautiful girl, just graduated from college, engaged to be married and had looked so happy in the pictures they flashed on the news every hour of the day, along with the hotline to call if anyone had seen her or could give information. I imagine that my face is being shown on a continuous loop now, too.
He hadn’t taken two women before, not so close together. I thought of my mother and her love of true crime shows. She would have told me it was an escalation. If it were Sunday night, and I was over for family dinner and it wasn’t me that was here, instead of some other poor woman.
I had been either arrogant or just plain stupid. I didn’t think twice about walking home alone. It wasn’t late at night since the bookstore I worked at closed at eight and my apartment was only a few blocks down. Looking back, I think all it did was add to my thought that I was safe. No one would take me at eight in the evening. But here I was, proof that serial killers didn’t wait until darkness fell to find a victim.
“Please, please let me go.” It was the same thing Megan said every time the Castle Killer entered the basement. Her hoarse voice was raspy as she pleaded with him. I quickly covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could when I heard the first scream tear from her throat.
Unable to block out her painful screams of terror, I let my tears soak the cement beneath my face. Nor could I block out the wet sounds of her blood as it dripped off the metal table and plopped onto the ground, rolling slowly towards the drain in the middle of the floor under the table.
He never spoke a word. The only time I actually looked at him was right after I had been taken. I hadn’t seen much of his face. He always wore what looked like a painter’s overall set to cover his clothing and hair. All that could be seen was his nose and mouth, since he always wore goggles. After that first day, I decided I couldn’t watch him do what he did.
He seemed void of emotion as he walked over to a long table set against the opposite wall from me. I couldn’t see what was spread out there, but I didn’t need to see it to imagine all the different instruments he used in his torture methods.
As I lay there huddled into the smallest ball I could make myself. I could feel the never-ending tremors ravaging my body. It wasn’t just from the cold. When Megan’s cries of pain tapered off, and there was nothing but gurgling sounds coming from her, I lost any hope I had been trying to hold on to. I felt myself pee, soaking my legs and puddling around my hip. I sobbed quietly as I lay there, naked and shaking uncontrollably. I knew I had just heard a woman die. I also knew my time had come. He would be coming for me next.
I heard the door to my cage open, and I scrambled as close to the wall as I could, wiggling on my hip, which had long since gone numb. I felt him touch my dark blond hair softly, as if he were petting me, and I couldn’t even bring myself to fight him. I was trapped, and I knew I was going to die. There was no fighting this monster.
After stroking my dirty hair several times, I heard something drop next to me, and then my cage door was closed and locked again. I didn’t dare move or even breathe. I listened to the chains rattling on the table as he removed them from Megan’s body. There were other sounds I couldn’t quite place for a few minutes, and then a grunt as he lifted her. His footsteps took him to the door of the basement, and then it slammed shut behind him, leaving me in nothing but silence again. I lay there for a long time before I was finally able to bring my hands down from where they had been gripping my ears.
I felt something lying against my leg. With a whimper of pain from not moving my aching limbs for so long, I managed to twist my body enough to see what was against me. I had to blink several times to bring my bleary vision into focus. Once I realized it was a bottle of water, I struggled to sit up. I was so weak. It was the first thing he had given me since I had been tossed in the cage.
I debated for all of three seconds before I reached for the bottle with trembling fingers. I had to wrestle with the cap since I didn’t have enough strength to open it without a struggle. Once I finally got it open, I put it to my lips and took large gulps, letting it soothe my raw throat. It felt heavenly, but my stomach lurched violently after several large swallows. I pressed a hand to my mouth to hold back the vomit that was threatening.
Once the worst of the nausea settled, my eyes went toward the table against my will. There was blood covering what I could see, and it was still dripping slowly down the sides. I quickly looked away, not wanting to see more.
That’s when my eyes caught on the latch of the cage. The lock was in place at the top, but the latch at the bottom of the cage didn’t have a lock on it like the last time I had looked days ago. I reached out and carefully pulled the latch out of the hole and gasped when it twisted enough that I could slide it back. I didn’t question why he decided not to add the second lock. Maybe he thought I was too weak to escape. I didn’t care.
I pressed against the wire and saw it give about an inch. The metal wire was thick, but it was just a cage. With enough force, maybe it would bend. I desperately needed it to bend. I scooted around until my feet were in front of me, and while bracing my weight on my hands, I pushed with both feet as hard as I could. It bent out several inches. There was no way I would be able to fit through that opening, though.
For several more minutes, I pushed hard, willing the metal to bend more. I spread my feet wider apart and put pressure near the edge of the hinges as well as the bent opening. I gritted my teeth and shoved with all my might. When I had stopped, panting with effort, the bottom of the door was gaping open at a sharp angle.
I slid around until I was on my belly and stuck my head through the opening. For what seemed like hours, I twisted and squirmed as I did my best to squeeze through the hole I had created. I cried out as a sharp wire dug into my back and left a burning line as I continued to pull myself through.
Fueled by nothing more than pure desperation, I fought to get out. Once, when I got to my hips, I thought I was stuck, really stuck. I wasn’t a big girl; I was only five foot three, but I liked donuts with my morning coffee and had a few extra pounds around my hips and boobs. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed as I stifled my screams of frustration. Finally, with twists and yanks, I had my hips through and clawed my way forward on my hands as my legs slithered through.
I slipped, my elbow hitting the cement hard. I looked up to see I had reached Megan’s blood. It was thick and viscous, having cooled, and what hadn’t slid down the drain was beginning to coagulate into a puddle. Tears filled my eyes, and I immediately wiped my hand on the floor, leaving bloody fingerprints behind as I wiped as much of the blood off as I could.
I rolled over once my legs were finally free and sobbed up at the ceiling, taking shaky breaths and not quite sure I believed I had done it.
I could allow myself only a minute to be relieved, though. With my heart racing, I stood on my feet, bracing myself against the table, smearing more blood on my hands and chest. I tried to take a step toward the door, but my knees immediately buckled. Trying to catch myself on the metal table, my hands slid in the blood, making me nearly fall to the floor again before righting my body.
I tried walking again, moving slower while holding on to the table, using it as a crutch. Once I got to the end of it, I took a deep breath, inhaling the stench of blood and piss, and who knew what else. I let it out in a rush. I took one step and waited to see if my legs would hold me. I felt like a baby deer taking its first steps, but my legs carried me forward.
With my hands outstretched towards the door, I took several staggering steps until I collided with the heavy metal. Reaching for the knob, I twisted, and while I had expected it to be locked, I nearly screamed in rage and frustration when it wouldn’t open. Turning my back to the door, I leaned heavily against it and looked around for another way to escape. I hadn’t come this far, fighting for every inch, just to be trapped by a locked door.
I knew he was gone. He’d taken Megan’s body, intending to dump it in some abandoned lot somewhere. I tried to think of where the previous victim’s bodies had been found, I but couldn’t think. My brain felt fuzzy, and my head pounded like I had the worst hangover of my life. I tried thinking of how long I would have until he returned. I didn’t even know how long I had wrestled with the cage. It could have been hours for all I knew. I was on borrowed time.
My eyes darted around the basement frantically, until my gaze landed on his table of torture implements. There, amongst the various sharp and bloody tools, including blades, shears, and even pliers, was a solid, heavy-looking hammer. I didn’t even try to imagine what he used it for. I staggered over and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. Either that or the days I had spent here had stolen all my strength. I could barely lift it.
I carried it back over to the door and eyed the doorknob. The door was made out of heavy metal, but the knob, though sturdy, was just a regular doorknob with a keyhole. There was no deadbolt in the door. I worried there could be a latch with a padlock on the other side. Regardless, I was desperate enough to try breaking through the fucking thing.
I raised the hammer over my head and brought it down hard on the doorknob. It made a harsh sound that hurt my ears, and the vibration from the impact made my arms ache, but I didn’t care about anything but getting the fuck out. I swung again and again and again. It took several swings before it bent at an odd angle. I adjusted my hold, widened my stance, and swung at it from the side like I was swinging a bat at a ball.
Over and over, I swung the hammer. My arms were aching and felt like jelly. I wasn’t confident in how much force I was actually able to put into my swings, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t stop. Not until I heard the knob fall to the floor with a metallic crash and roll in an awkward wobble for several feet. I stared at the doorknob, bent and dented all to hell, in disbelief.
When I tore my eyes from the knob, I dropped my hand to my side; the weight of the hammer wrenching at my shoulder. I pushed at the door with my free hand. It didn’t move. Dropping the hammer, I threw my whole body at the door in desperation. I didn’t realize I was screaming and crying as I repeatedly flung my entire body, bruising my shoulder and hip, until I heard a clunk, and the door swung open. I fell onto the floor in a heap, landing hard on my hands and knees. Then I lifted my head and stared at the wooden stairs in front of me.
I began to crawl up the stairs as tears blurred my vision. I didn’t notice the scrapes, the bruises, or the new splinters digging into my fingers. All I saw was the ordinary, everyday door that was in every house I had ever been in. I pulled myself up once I got to the top, twisted the knob to the simple wooden door, and then pushed.
