Secrets and Tears: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (Fatal Hearts Book 2) Page 2

  Chapter Two

  The room was all white, with a nine-foot-wide backdrop, furniture and equipment fit for a professional studio: studio lights, bright standing lamps, cameras, and several computers. A king-size bed with buttoned upholstery and soft curves stood in the middle of the room, with a matching boudoir couch next to it. He must have been on the yacht several times in the past few months while claiming to be away on business trips… or had he tasked Jim with setting everything up? And then he’d come home, lain next to me, knowing full well he would murder me?

  He sat me down on the couch, which was a good thing. Fear had knocked the strength out of my legs.

  “Let me explain what’s going to happen here.” He rubbed his hands together. “This studio is a special place for you and me.”

  I blinked. I wanted him to speak faster, to get to the point—to tell me why I was inside the studio so I could find a way to get out of it. “What are you planning to do to me?”

  He held up a hand to silence me. “Patience. I am getting to that.” He stepped closer to the couch and touched a strand of my hair. I recoiled, and he pulled away again as if an electric current had charged through my hair and electrocuted him. He fixed me with a glare that made me shrivel. “From this moment on, for the rest of your life, you are going to be humiliated, instead of being the one to humiliate other people.”

  My body went cold. Knowing I was about to die was bad enough. But torture? I’d hoped, foolishly, that he’d make my death quick.

  “You’ve ruined a lot of lives, not just mine. In this room, you are going to make things right. At least as right as they can be.” He pointed to the studio equipment and then looked back at me. “I’m going to lay you bare, Kelly. You’re going to perform for an online porn site, and then at the end of it, I’ll make sure every single person you’ve ever come into contact with knows who you are and what you did. I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure that your humiliation is broadcast wide and far. I have a satellite Internet feed, this studio, and even a private island. That’s where I later plan to kill you.”

  My blood pressure rose, and hot-white anger and hatred burst through me. “Go to hell.” I shot to my feet, and shaking my head vigorously, dashed for the door. My head howled and my heart slammed against my chest as I reached for the doorknob, twisting it. My body stiffened in shock.

  “You think I’m stupid?” He laughed, and I whirled around to meet his lethal eyes. He didn’t look surprised by my feeble attempt to escape. Instead he looked relaxed and not at all in a hurry, trusting in the traps he had already set for me.

  “I…”

  “I suggest you get used to the fact that you’re not going anywhere. You’re going to be on this yacht for the long haul. Sit.” His razorblade voice sliced into my heart. “Don’t make me come and get you.”

  “Please, Miles.” I caught myself. “Alvin,” I begged as I walked back to the couch, “don’t do this.” Lowering myself onto the couch, I brought my palms together, pleading.

  “Stop begging. It disgusts me.” He walked over to one of the computers, switched it on, and glanced at the screen for a while as it came alive. Even though his attention was fixed on the computer screen, I felt him watching me like a hawk from the corner of his eye. He would not let me out of his sight.

  “There was one person who might have been able to stop me from torturing you. That person was my mother. But she’s dead. And who is to blame? You.” His voice wobbled momentarily as he pressed some keys on the keyboard. “Now you’re all alone with me, with no one to help you. Begging won’t get you anywhere. It makes you look even more pathetic than you already do. Conserve your energy for when I fuck you on camera and share it with the world.”

  Chapter Three

  My thoughts splintered when in a swift motion, Alvin reached me, forming a fist around my hair, turning my face to the bed. “You can’t run from me. You can’t outrun your destiny.”

  My stomach lurched with disgust as I registered what was spread out on the bed: whips, handcuffs, masks, and several other items I had never seen before.

  I pulled away, but he held on tighter, one arm around my middle, pressing me hard against his body. His other hand was still in my hair, his fist around my ponytail, yanking it back. Pins of fire exploded across my scalp and sank into my brain. The tears came again, dripping down my neck and sinking into the robe. Some of them landed on his hand.

  He pushed his head closer to mine, pressed his lips to my ear. The heat of his breath seared my earlobe. My skin crawled.

  “Stop fucking with me, Kelly. The penalty for being a bitch is death. If I were you, I’d stop fighting. Unless, of course, you have a death wish.” His whisper was hot and rough against my skin. “In that case, I’d be happy to oblige. Ultimately, a one-way ticket to the grave is what’s waiting for you at the end of the road. At this point you have two choices—obey and die in a few days, or disobey and die sooner. Tell me, which road do you want to take?”

  Many women wished they were me. They wanted my career, they wanted my man. If they only knew my life would end up being a living hell, that the man of their dreams was a monster. Just goes to show that the grass is not always greener on the other side.

  My mother, my employees, my investors—everyone I’d ever met, plus millions of people I didn’t know—were going to see disgusting videos of me online. What would they think? What kind of life would I return to if I made it out alive? I’d have nothing left but the ashes of my once glamorous life.

  Even though I wanted to fight, to hold on to the promise I had made to myself, my hopes were crumbling. The man in front of me was out for blood. He had planned my demise for thirteen years—there was no way he would let me out of his clutches.

  His satisfaction would come from my humiliation.

  Chapter Four

  He spun me around and pulled at the belt of the bathrobe. It unraveled, the soft material sliding down the length of my body, pooling at my feet. Even though I still had on my panties, I felt exposed, as though the robe had been my shelter. Now I knew why he wouldn’t let me get dressed earlier.

  I trembled as he pushed me an arm’s length away from him, pointing at my panties. “I want those off.”

  I turned to look at one of the cameras and blinked, blinded by the lights from the studio lamps behind it. My eyes adjusted, and I detected a tiny red light blinking in the upper corner of the camera, in rhythm with my thudding heart. He was already recording. But his back was turned away from the lens. I was the focal point.

  “No,” I said in a tiny voice. Maybe he was bluffing and the cameras weren’t really on. There was a possibility he only wanted to frighten me. “You can’t—”

  “I can and I will. I’ll put your pussy on display for all to see.” The sick bastard’s eyes didn’t lie.

  “I won’t let you.” I lifted my chin in defiance, and placed my hands over my breasts to cover them.

  “I don’t recall asking for your permission.” A vein throbbed at the right side of his neck as he stepped toward me, flung me onto the bed, grabbed my hands, and pinned them above my head while yanking off my panties. I fought him all the way.

  Cursing under his breath, he pulled a silk scarf from under the pillow and bound my wrists together.

  Now that he had me under his control, he unzipped his pants. I turned my head to look away.

  “I don’t understand the fuss,” he said, a trace of humor in his voice. “I’ve fucked you dozens of times.”

  Why would he talk like that if he wanted to remain anonymous? People who knew him would recognize his voice. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Alvin’s voice was several darker shades than Miles’s.

  “You’re not Miles,” I said, still looking away, my focus was on trying to free my hands and feet. Then I’d find something to hit him with.

  “That’s right, darling. But Miles borrowed my dick.”

  Fully naked now, he reached down beside me and picked up something brown. I wasn’t su
re at first what it was—not until he put it on. A hideous leather mask covered his face with holes only for his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  He wouldn’t put on a mask if the cameras were off. He meant business. He was going to film and post my disgrace online for all to see. Once something was online, it existed forever. Every time someone watched the video, every time they clicked a link to it, my dignity would take a hit.

  The humiliation would remain with me. Exactly as he wanted.

  He climbed on top of me. I tried to move away again, knowing full well it would infuriate him. His grip on my thighs, my hips, and stomach was strong and rough. With bound hands, I had no chance of escape.

  I met his gaze. No anger there anymore, just sparks of dangerous desire and satisfaction at the sight of my pain. He was taking a peek into my bruised soul, my crumbling ego, my broken heart.

  “Look at the camera.” He slid his hands beneath my butt, his fingers digging into my skin as he drew me closer.

  My loud cry was so sudden and raw, it almost threw him off. At the same time, I tried one more time to push him away, to shift from beneath him, but his weight pinned me down, pressing me into the mattress.

  In a flash, he struck my cheek with a palm. My skin screamed.

  “Looks like you enjoy pain, you little slut.” His voice was low, rough, and dark.

  “If you do this, you’ll lose everything. Your business—”

  “You mean Miles’s business? What has that got to do with me?”

  I drew in a sharp breath and turned my face away, preventing his lips from touching mine. Nothing was more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose. Even as Miles, there was no way he could return to the life he’d had before. If he murdered me, the handcuffs would be waiting for him on the other side. I would make sure of it. I just had to find a way to get the word out to the cops.

  Now that Alvin was alive and I was cleared of murder, cops no longer scared me. Even if he didn’t kill me, he’d be arrested for kidnapping and rape, and the murders of my two friends. Hearing about Jane’s death had made me angry, empowered me to fight. I would not suffer or die silently. I’d leave enough clues on this yacht to help nail him.

  He pulled my legs apart.

  “No.” Teeth gritted, I swung both my arms from above me. My elbows connected with his cheekbone.

  “Fuck.” Howling and shutting the eye on the injured side of his face, he released me. He placed a hand on his cheek, his eyes boiling pools of fire.

  Taking advantage of his momentary weakness, I drew up my legs, bent them at the knees, and slammed my feet hard into his groin. The growl he let out this time was like that of a wild animal. The impact knocked him off balance, and he fell onto his side, his hands between his legs, his jaw tight, both eyes squeezed shut now.

  I pushed myself away from him, and slid off the bed, knocking over two camera stands. Hopefully I had destroyed whatever material he had acquired in the short filming session.

  The thought of running crossed my mind, but I remembered the door was locked and I still had not seen a key anywhere. I whirled around to face him. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, his face dark with rage.

  “You’ll pay for this.” He stood up slowly and walked toward me. As he got close, I backed away, trying to stop him from touching me. He didn’t rush. Why should he? There was nowhere for me to run.

  Not ready to quit, I pressed my naked back to the wall and walked along it. My plan was to reach a thin standing lamp, grab it with both hands, and hit him with it.

  He must have read my mind, because his gaze moved to the lamps, then back to me. Understanding flickered in his eyes and he moved faster. A few strides and he had reached me.

  “You want pain?” he asked. He restrained my shoulders, and yanked me from the wall. “Let me show you what real pain feels like.” His forehead collided with mine.

  Stars exploded in front of my eyes. I sank to the ground. Before I reached it, he grabbed me by the hair, pulled me up again, then sent me crashing with a thud at his feet. A wave of shock and pain shot through me and I gave a low, tortured gasp.

  Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the clink of his belt buckle as he got dressed. Relief washed over me. It seemed he had given up on taping me today.

  He returned to where I lay and hauled me from the floor. Gripping me by the shoulders, he brought me close to his face. “I should kill you now. But I have to admit that seeing you in pain is a turn on. This was just a taste.”

  “What…” I started, but didn’t finish the sentence. My tongue felt too thick for my mouth. Was it swollen? Had I bitten myself? What now? Was he going to finish me off?

  “Shut up,” he growled, “you ask too many questions.” He picked me from the floor, and walked through the studio door with my naked body cradled in his arms.

  My sore eyes were open, but I couldn’t see much through the blurriness. My head pounded with every step. I wished for stillness, to get a grip on the pain, but his steps were hurried and heavy.

  Before long, I lay on the bare floor of my prison cell. My vision cleared, and I gazed up at him with pleading eyes. His dark expression told me I wasn’t done paying for my disobedience. I had not only messed with his plans, I had caused him pain. I had taken the power from his hands, even if only for a moment.

  I tried to slide away from him when he started unbuckling his belt again. He pulled it out of the loops completely, and panic welled up in my throat.

  The first time the hard leather belt touched me, I thought for an instant that I had imagined the fire on my skin. But not even my imagination was that good.

  Alvin struck my naked stomach, my chest, my breasts, my legs. I begged for him to stop, but he didn’t say a word. Instead he laughed, the cackling growing louder each time the belt walloped my skin.

  In my agony I prayed Jim would hear, that he would come and stop Alvin, call the cops. He didn’t show up, however, and Alvin didn’t stop.

  Through the pauses in my screams, Alvin whistled. The sound became a silver rod that plunged into my gut, deep, deeper, and deeper still, until it hit bone… a dead end.

  As old and new pain merged into one, nausea and dizziness slammed into me. My eyes started to dim. Soon I’d slip into the dark hole of unconsciousness. I forced my body to hold on, to fight. I feared what he would do to me if I passed out. Would he continue the filming session? Would he wait until I came to?

  My resistance crumbled. He had beaten the fight out of me. I groaned with pain that prevented me from even raising my hands to cover my face. I wanted him to leave something behind, something to remind me of how I’d looked in an unbroken state. A single piece of undamaged skin. But he would leave nothing for me to hold on to.

  My sobs died inside my raw throat. After what felt like forever in hell, the whipping stopped.

  In a few days, the physical soreness would fade, but my body had memorized every blow. If I somehow walked off the Vendetta alive, I would exist here forever in my mind.

  Why couldn’t memories be destroyed? Why couldn’t I reach into my brain and cut out the part that stored my fears, my pain?

  I was still whimpering on the floor when he unbound my wrists, giving me a false sense of freedom.

  As the real binds came away, invisible strands of barbed wire wrapped themselves around my heart. With each heartbeat, the muscle slammed into the spikes. I couldn’t stop the bleeding.

  He walked back over to me and tipped my chin, wanting to witness the results of his handiwork. “Your disobedience will be your early death. Don’t make me remind you again.”

  Chapter Five

  I’d thought it was over for a while, that I could catch my breath. How wrong I was. Not much of a surprise there. My life was a series of wrongs—wrong turns, wrong actions, wrong decisions. If I had known my life would come to this, I would have paused more often to live it. Now it was too late, and all I had left were regrets.

  He returned just as I was beginning to adjust to
my new reality. This time he carried large buckets of water, which he filled the tub with, leaving and returning several times until the bath was full.

  “Get in,” he ordered, his voice cold and exact.

  Though the thought of warm water on my bruised body made me want to cry with longing, as I imagined it staving off the pain. I stayed put, too crushed and weak to even pull myself to a sitting position. The mere thought of standing made me want to puke.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Have you lost your hearing?” Grumbling his annoyance, he came to help me to my feet, but when he let go, I crumpled. “Pull yourself together.” He held out his hands to steady me, sliding them under my arms before I hit the ground, his grip rough and impatient on my body. He swept me off my feet and strode to the bath.

  Instead of lowering me into the tub, he dropped me into it. I landed hard in the ice-cold bath, shrieking as the frozen liquid touched my skin. The water felt as though it were made of needles that dug into my skin from all sides. I tried to get up, to push myself out of the tub, but I slipped and fell back into the water. I coughed it out, gulped it down, tasting salt on my tongue.

  This was the second part of his torture. He was whipping me again, only this time without the belt. The sea salt soaked into the bruises and cuts his belt buckle had created, biting me with invisible teeth. I heard his laughter when I scrunched up my face and gritted my teeth, trying to contain my agony. He was having a good time at my expense yet again.

  After a few more attempts to climb out, his hand landed on the back of my head. He dunked my head under the water, my face slicing through the surface so suddenly that liquid splashed up on all sides, spilling over the edge. I squeezed my eyes and mouth shut as I went under.

  He jerked my head out of the water for a moment. I gasped as air rushed sharply into my lungs, but before I could breathe fully, I was under the water again.