Midnight Storm (Amour Toxique Book 2) Read online

  I yank the drawer open, my breath lodged in my throat. I pull out a single sheet of paper and my eyes take in everything at once. The words “marriage certificate” spring out at me, letter by letter. My name and date of birth are there in black and white, along with my signature. My signature? My teeth sink into my lip as I read the name of the man I married without knowing it.

  “Damien Steel.” The words push themselves past my lips.

  “That’s right,” he says. “Judson Devereux doesn’t exist. It’s best you forget him.”

  “So you lied. You’re not a professor.” My blurred eyes are still glued to the certificate.

  “No, I’m not. But my career isn’t important right now. What matters is that you’re holding the proof of our union in your hands.”

  “You’re a fake—a complete lie.” The marriage certificate slips from my grip and flutters onto the sheets.

  “That’s not true. Judson is the lie. I’m real. And so is our marriage.”

  Time stands still as I force myself to stop trembling. The one thought that calms me is the realization that what he tells me doesn’t have to be the truth. He’s lied to me before. Who says he isn’t lying now? How can I believe anything that comes out of his mouth?

  So he says we’re married, and there’s proof. The marriage certificate could still be a fake, and even if it isn’t—even if I did marry him last night—it happened under the influence of drugs. Either way, whatever marriage he thinks we have is a sham. It will be over as soon as I find a way to free myself from him.

  Chapter Four

  I stand at the window, my palms flat against the cold glass. The drapes have been pulled aside, and I watch fluffy snowflakes swirling in the air on the other side of the thick glass. Some are sticking to the window pane. My heavy, swollen eyes peer through the flurries with longing. From here, there is nothing but an endless sea of snow-covered trees. It seems Judson’s—or rather, Damien’s—house is isolated.

  I swallow a sob as my memories take me back to Oaklow, the day I rode my bike through the rain from Millie’s Book Corner. I remember being desperate to get out of the rain. Now, stripped of my freedom, I would give anything to be out in the rain again.

  I step away from the window and return to the bed, where I perch on the edge, my head on my knees. My deep breaths do nothing to calm the storm within me.

  I barely slept all night, thinking of ways to escape and hitting a brick wall over and over. The windows are barred, the door is locked, and I’m bound to a psychopath by marriage vows I can’t recall saying. Whichever way I look at it, I’m trapped.

  But I refuse to give up my freedom. I’m not his possession. My life is my own. By letting this man into my life, I got myself into this mess. And I’m determined to find a way out before he breaks me.

  As the sun’s rays push their way through the cloudy sky and make the snow sparkle, I make a decision. I will play along, for now.

  He wants me to trust him, so I’ll have to fake it. I’ll say I did some thinking and am ready to be his wife. He’d be a fool to believe me, but I have to try. I’m his weakness—perhaps by being what he wants, I’ll be able to find my strength.

  I lift my head and gaze at the table. The plates from yesterday are still there, but every morsel of food is gone. He hasn’t brought me anything else to eat. If I don’t want to die of hunger, I better do something soon. Too bad it isn’t so easy handing myself over to a psychopath, even in pretense.

  I push a hand through my tangled hair and gaze into a random corner of the room. “If you want to talk, I’m listening.”

  I count the seconds in my head, waiting for him to respond. By the time I hit sixty, sweat is trickling down my spine and my stomach has tensed to the point of pain. He doesn’t trust me. What if he keeps me locked up for days without food? Thanks to the bathroom faucet, I won’t die of thirst, but how long can a person go without eating?

  I keep my eyes fixed on the far corner of the room, my face expressionless. He doesn’t need to know what’s going on inside me. I won’t give him more power than he has already stolen from me. I won’t beg.

  I wait for about an hour before speaking again, to a different corner of the room this time. I wish I knew where the damn cameras were hidden. Then I wouldn’t feel as though I’m talking to myself. I imagine him on the other side, watching me, waiting for me to surrender to him.

  “You want an apology? Is that it? Okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my behavior yesterday. I was in shock, okay? I was angry. That shouldn’t surprise you.” I bite my lip and close my eyes briefly. “I’m fine now. You can come in and talk to me.”

  Another hour passes, and he still hasn’t responded to me. I curl up under the covers, trying not to hyperventilate.

  Finally, after an interminable amount of time, I hear footsteps outside, faint at first and then louder. Then I hear nothing but my heartbeat. I know he’s standing in front of the door.

  I push back the covers, holding my breath. A surge of adrenaline shoots through my veins. I can’t do it. I can’t pretend I want to be here, that I want to be his wife. If he opens that door, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop myself from trying to escape.

  I have to get the hell out of here. I don’t know how I’ll get off the property, but I won’t let him lock me inside this room again. Next time it could be days before he returns. My determination to escape gets me out of bed and pushes me across the room just as he pushes a key into the lock.

  On my way to the door, I grab a wrought iron floor lamp and stand on one side of the door, back pressed hard against the wall. He doesn’t barge in, however. Perhaps he’s hesitant to enter.

  The doorknob creaks as it turns. Drawing in a deep, silent breath, I tighten my slippery fingers on the stem of the lamp.

  When he pushes the door open, my fear is replaced by blinding white rage, which injects me with the strength to swing the lamp as hard as I can.

  My stomach drops when he ducks at the last second. But I don’t quit. A groan escapes my lips as I take another swing at him.

  In a fluid movement, he grabs the lamp below the shade. He yanks it toward him, along with me, and his free hand grips the back of my neck, squeezing tight. I whimper. The lamp crashes to the floor. He draws me closer, so close I smell a hint of whiskey on his breath.

  “Wrong move,” he hisses into my ear. “You shouldn’t have done that.” His forehead is pressed to mine, his eyes closed. When he opens them, I notice faint specks of gold glinting in his irises. I never noticed them before.

  He yanks my head back by my hair, and I grit my teeth against the pain.

  “You’re the one making a mistake. You can’t keep me here,” I manage to speak through my constricted throat. A tear trickles down my cheek. “You can’t.”

  “Want to bet?” He gives me a sour grin that makes my stomach turn. “I thought being locked up would teach you a lesson. I came back ready to treat you well. I wanted to be a loving husband to you, but you had to do something stupid, didn’t you? Looks like you need another lesson.”

  “What are you planning to do to me?” My voice cracks along with my serenity.

  “What’s the fun in telling you all my plans?” He tips his head to the side and draws in a breath through his teeth, like a snake hissing. “Allow me to show you.”

  As he drags me through the dim corridors of the house, I try to free myself, thrashing and kicking and trying to bite him. Eventually I’m too out of breath and exhausted to continue. We arrive at a door to what looks to be the basement, and without another word, he shoves me inside.

  As I scramble to my feet, the door slams shut. He’s gone, leaving me inside the dark room. The darkness is so thick I can almost touch it.

  Back on my feet, I’m panting and shaking uncontrollably, unable to hold myself upright. I feel around for something stable to lean on and find a cool, smooth surface—too smooth to be a wall. It feels more like glass. Whatever it is, I slump against it and wait for t
he wave of dizziness to recede.

  Then the room is abruptly flooded with light. At first I’m blinded, but when my vision clears, I see the mirrors all around me. Even the door is mirrored. The blood drains from my face. I push myself away from the mirrored wall I’m leaning on and move to the center of the room. My head is spinning as I turn around, taking in my bright surroundings. The room is bare, not a piece of furniture in sight.

  Dread punches me in the gut as the reality of what I’ve done hits me. I fold my body forward, hands on my trembling knees. I got what I wanted: I escaped the room he kept me in for days, only to end up in a proper prison cell.

  I’m unable to stop the bile as it churns in the pit of my stomach and shoots up my throat.

  Chapter Five

  The acidic smell of my vomit permeates the air in the small, cold room. Filling my lungs with it brings on more nausea. A few times I give in, until nothing more is left inside my stomach. Still retching, I lunge for the place the door should be. My palms hit the cold glass, and my screams bounce off the mirrored surfaces.

  “Let me out, you sick bastard,” I shout.

  Time passes. The only things I get are a sore throat and red, aching palms.

  After a while my voice gives out, and my screams fade to whimpers.

  This room has cameras too. I don’t see them, but I know he’s watching me from a distance as I take on a fight I can’t win.

  Beaten for the moment, I sink to the floor and draw my knees to my chest. The best thing would be to conserve whatever energy I have left instead of burning it up in vain. Who knows when I’ll get something to eat or drink?

  I have no choice but to wait and find out what awaits me. The way I see it, there are only two ways out of this horror show. He’ll either leave me here to die, or let me out to kill me himself.

  “You might find this hard to believe,” he says, his voice coming out of nowhere, “but seeing you suffer kills me.”

  My gaze races across the mirrors. His presence is powerful, filling every corner of the room.

  “I can switch off your pain in an instant. All you have to do is accept our marriage. We could have something beautiful.”

  My chin drops to my knees, and I fix my gaze into space. I imagine I’m seeing the tiny rotten particles that make up the heavy, stinky air filling the room. The air that swirls around my body, a suffocating blanket that wraps itself around my frame, sucking the clean air from my lungs, smothering me. I curl a hand around my neck and part my lips to breathe.

  “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to talk. Let’s do that. I can hear you fine from up here. After the stunt you pulled earlier, you can’t expect me to open the door.”

  A tense moment passes where he says nothing. I don’t fill the silence either, though my thoughts are flying all over the place. I have no experience reasoning with monsters.

  “Very well.” His voice is thick with disapproval. “If you’re not in the mood to talk, let me show you a little something. A little entertainment, if you will. You must be bored out of your mind down there.”

  I tighten my arms around my knees and bite my tongue. Hurling insults at him would do more harm than good. Who knows what else he has lined up for me?

  Within my despair, something baffles and disturbs me. How could a man so experienced with prison himself put another person in that position?

  The silence is replaced by momentary darkness, but then one of the walls lights up and a screen comes down over the mirror. In an instant, I remember the night Chelsea forced me to go watch a movie with her and Neil at the dorms. That was the night I heard about Judson’s crimes, the news that should have sent me running in the opposite direction. It feels like years ago.

  I blink to help my eyes adjust. What could he possibly want to show me? What kind of weapon does he have to torture me with?

  The screen flickers, and then images appear. My mind is so muddled it takes a few seconds to recognize the familiar face. The woman on the screen is me. Damien, or Judson, or whatever he calls himself is showing me a slideshow, my life in pictures.

  I shudder as each photo melts into the next. So my privacy was invaded without my knowledge. I’d suspected he’d been watching me from his prison cell, but I never thought he’d been looking so closely.

  A slice of my life plays out in front of my eyes. Me, walking on and off campus, sitting in lectures, having a meal at the snack bar, sorting books at Millie’s Book Corner, even sleeping.

  This man was a part of every second of my life in Oaklow, even when I thought he was locked away.

  My eyes blur when Chelsea appears on the screen. There are the two of us at yoga, then sharing a milkshake at Milky Lake. I long to be with her, to talk to her, hug her.

  There are also several images of me and my mother from the day she showed up to see me in Oaklow. In spite of her imperfections, the mistakes she made in raising me, she’s still my mom. In this moment of loneliness and frustration, I long for her arms around me. I’d do anything for a little comfort from home.

  The last few photos are of me and Chelsea at her engagement party. I’m sipping champagne, swimming in the ocean, talking to Milton. I had agreed to go on a date with him—a date that never happened.

  I feel as though I’m seeing snapshots from someone else’s life, someone I once knew. Someone stupid and naïve.

  “Stop. Switch it off.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “You had no right. You had no right to stalk me.” It hurts to digest the fact that he had stolen my life long before kidnapping me.

  “You sure that’s what you want?” The smile in his voice is evident. He’s enjoying my misery, despite what he says. “I have so much more to show you.”

  My fury brings me to my feet, and my hands hit the screen. “I said switch it off.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” He chuckles. “I’m the one calling the shots around here. I’ll stop when I’m done.”

  I sink to the ground again, shutting my eyes and putting my hands over my ears. My hands prove useless when the room fills with loud moaning sounds, which slip right through my fingers. Shadows are moving beyond my eyelids. I know what’s on the screen before I open my eyes.

  My hands move from my ears to my mouth. Hypnotized, I watch the video clip. I’m lying beneath the person I believed to be Judson Devereux, eyes closed, as he slams into me. Like a fool, I take everything he’s giving me, suck the poison from his lips.

  There I was, thinking I had been waiting for the right guy to have sex with, and I ended up losing my virginity to a psychopath. It disgusts me even more that I enjoyed any part of it.

  Like a child, I press my hands over my ears again, but my eyes refuse to close. In the moment I’m about to climax, the screen goes blank and slides back up. The mirror reappears.

  He’s talking to me again. I don’t want to listen, but what choice do I have? I can rage all I want, but the truth remains that the only way out of this situation is by giving the monster what he wants. I drop my hands and lean my head back.

  “I hope you enjoyed that.” His voice oozes satisfaction and confidence. “Am I right in thinking your first time was unforgettable? Not many women can say that, you know.” He clears his throat. “One day soon we’ll finish what we started. I still owe you an orgasm. But first you have to accept me as your husband.”

  “Fuck you.” My anguish shatters any shred of my control.

  “Oh, you will...eventually. But when I do fuck you again, I want you to want it as much as you did the first time.” He pauses. “I don’t want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you, my wife.”

  Chapter Six

  I hear a sound—a door closing, maybe? I open my eyes but see or hear nothing more.

  The darkness both comforts and terrifies me. In its cloak, he can’t see the tears trickling down my cheeks. And I won’t see my face in the mirrors. When I gaze into my own eyes, I see the person who failed me. The person who ignored the warnings and walked into the arms
of danger; the person who opened the door to the monster who stole my freedom.

  But the darkness also hides the terrible unknown.

  My body protests when I drag myself to a sitting position, muscles cramping, head thumping. The room still reeks of my vomit, but my nose has grown accustomed to it.

  On hands and knees, I drag myself across the floor. The stubborn cold makes my bones ache. Will I ever be warm again? My arms and legs feel as though they’re about to break. How I managed to fall asleep is beyond me.

  Before falling asleep, I’d positioned myself so my feet pointed toward the place the door should be. Now, I crawl in that direction.

  Instead of sitting or lying in one place, embracing my helplessness, I have to check. I have to see if he unlocked it.

  I reach the mirrored wall and fumble around, pushing against it. What am I thinking? Of course he wouldn’t have left it open for me. But when you’re desperate, you clutch onto the thinnest strand of hope, even if it’s imaginary. Groaning, I pick myself up off the ground to a standing position, but my knees give way. Unable to find strength, my body melts back to the cold floor.

  My tongue slicks my parched lips with saliva. The dryness in my mouth worsens.

  Feeling like a branch snapped in half, I bury my head in my hands. Hot tears warm my face and palms. I don’t want to cry, but my body will do whatever it can to find relief from my predicament.

  Is this it? Will I never get my life back? Will I end up a statistic, like so many other women before me? You never think something so horrible could happen to you, until it does.

  What are his plans for me? Does he believe I’ll forget myself and be his wife, or is this some sick mind game? I so wish I could see inside his head. But this darkness is all I have.

  By the time I’m done crying, the area around my eyes is puffy to the touch. I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand and bury my hands in my tangled hair, rocking back and forth, alone with my heartbeat.