The General's Daughter (Snow and Ash #1) (3 page)

I hear a grunt and then a
thud
, as though something large has fallen.

I turn back and spot Cpl. Roane on the ground with his eyes wide open, an arrow sticking out of his chest. My muscles freeze, and sweat prickles my underarms as I spot a man the size of Mt. Everest standing over Sgt. Garrett’s lifeless body.

My breath stutters in my chest, and I open my mouth to scream. That’s when a gloved hand claps over my mouth and an arm anchors me against a solid wall of muscle.

“Gotcha,” he whispers in my ear.

My lungs don’t work. That voice—I’d know it anywhere. It’s been four years, but I’d never forget him—the boy who changed my life forever.

I’m being kidnapped by Talon Heinseman.

I wake up, or at least I come close to it. Wind splinters across my face and whips hair into my eyes. We are moving fast, and the engine is loud. A snowmobile? I’m too out of it to feel anything like fear. We stop, someone presses that cloth over my face again, and everything fades. This happens several times.

A solid
thunk
awakens me. I’m lying on the floor in utter darkness, and at first I do nothing. Then memory slams me. I shrink backward—instinct, I suppose. I don’t get very far before something rigid digs into my ankle. I reach down and discover that one foot is cuffed.

Everything stills—my breath, my heart, my thoughts—and a chill settles in my chest. Oh God.

I try to remember what happened, how I got here, but my thoughts twist and writhe and it feels like my head is going to explode. Garrett. Is he dead?

My coat is gone. My shoes, too. I touch my hair, and I find it greasy and limp. It’s been several days, at least. A scream bubbles at the back of my throat, and it’s all I can do to keep it to a whimper.

Are they going to kill me? I squeeze my eyes shut and take in fluttering breaths. If they were planning to kill me, they’d have done that already. Wouldn’t they?

My shoulders relax ever so slightly as reason creeps back. I focus hard, and this makes my eyes hurt. I’m glaring into the darkness as though it holds the answers. Shit, I have to think.

Think.

Talon Heinseman. The old ache cramps my chest.

It was the ducks. How stupid could I be? There are no wild animals running around anymore. Not after three solid years of winter. Talon would know I’m a sucker for animals—the smaller, the cuter, the better.

Because of me, two men are dead. My hands tremble, and a sob escapes my throat. That’s when the door swings open.

The light of an LED lantern reveals that I am in a space the size of a walk-in closet, only there’s nothing in here but me, a bucket, a blanket, and a plywood-covered window. In less time than it takes to blink, I take in the wrecked remains of a tiny closet to my left. The doors are gone. The rest of the room is paneled. Then my captor raises the lantern, and I see his face. Talon smiles, but his eyes narrow as though he’s looking at something loathsome.

“He’ll find me,” I say. My core shakes, and I wrap my arms around my knees.

He raises his chin. “That’s the point.”

I wince. My dad has exactly one weak spot, and that’s me. That’s why I have bodyguards. That’s why I never leave the approved areas.

He leans over and sets down a plate. Then he steps back, closes the door, and I’m once again in the dark.

No-no-no-no-no!
I scramble forward, and my right hand lands in peanut butter. I feel around until I find the handle, but of course the knob doesn’t turn.

I am locked in a closet-sized room with nothing but a bucket and a peanut-butter-covered doorknob. Out there is the guy who’s hated me for years.

The reality of my situation punches me in the gut, and I collapse against the wall.

I lie on the floor for hours, ignoring the food, ignoring the muffled voices in the
out there
. How did I let this happen? Talon Heinseman, of all people.

I close my eyes and let the memories squeeze through the cracks.

He’d been several years ahead of me in school. I really didn’t know him that well, although apparently he’d known all about me. His family was trash. His mom was a waitress at the local diner, and his dad had been a coal miner until this big cave-in a few years back. After that his dad started cooking meth, and not very well if you judged by the fact that he still lived in a trailer.

Talon was never handsome in the traditional sense. He’d always worn this bitter, tough look, though, that made everyone a little afraid of him. I used to go tingly and confused at the sight of him. He’d graduated that past spring and was already helping his dad in the family business.

I knew his sister better. Misty was a grade behind me, a pretty enough girl but poorly dressed and always so shy. She was continually trying to kiss up to me, to join everything I joined, duplicate the clothes I wore. Creepy, I’d thought then. So freaking annoying, and a real threat to my social standing if anyone got it into their heads that we were friends. Right at the beginning of ninth grade, my friends and I came up with an idea of how to get rid of her for good. We pretended we were having a party and invited her. She was so excited. I cringe now, remembering the tragic shine in her eyes. At the time all I’d felt was an ego-feeding thrill of nastiness. When she’d showed up, we’d lured her to the basement, pelted her with eggs and mustard, and locked her there for the night. She’d cried. She’d begged. She hadn’t stopped until we’d shoved pillows in front of the door and turned the music up high.

The next morning, we’d told her to get lost and never bother us again. It was a Sunday.

Shit.

I knock my head back against the paneling.

Shit. Shit.

Just as school let out the following day, my friends and I were hanging outside by the flagpole waiting for our rides to show when Talon pulled up in a bright red Mustang. He killed the motor, slammed the car door, and stalked over, his stare glued on me. The look in his eyes. God.

That was my last day of high school.

I squeeze my eyes shut now and pull my knees to my chest. I want to sleep. Anything to drive the memories away.

I wake to an insistent pressure in my bladder. It takes a moment for me to remember that I am in a strange place with only a bucket to pee in. I don’t want the room to smell of piss—especially mine. Will someone come to carry it away, and if so, who? The thought humiliates me, so I turn to my side and try to will away the need.

The next time the door opens, Talon takes a look at the uneaten food and raises an eyebrow. “Not good enough for you?”

I sit up. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He grins. “See that bucket over there?”

I flick it a glance, frown, and look away.

“You’re not daddy’s little princess anymore.”

I cross my arms over my chest. I haven’t been daddy’s little princess in years. At least, not his willing princess. Our gazes lock, and the longer I stare, the more I see the anger, the determination, the power of him. I’m the first to look away.

Talon sets an old plastic bottle onto the floor and retrieves the plate.

The pressure on my bladder increases, and I wonder then if I’ve gone at all while I was unconscious, and if so, if I did it in my pants, or if someone… “Please, Talon. I need to pee.”

I wish I didn’t sound so pathetic.

His eyes flare, and I swear he’s enjoying this. He looks me up and down, and I am instantly reminded of how dirty I am, of how I must smell. He gives the bottle a nudge, sending it rolling out of the small circle of light.

This time when he leaves, I don’t chase after him. I know I’ll find the door locked, and anyway my ankle is bruised and aching where the cuff digs in.

I squeeze my legs together and try to remember a better time. I can’t. I am thirsty, really thirsty, but drinking anything is unthinkable. It’ll make the problem worse, and as the hours pass, the ache in my bladder gets so bad that I’m afraid to go to sleep. I might have that dream you get where you’re on the toilet peeing. I’m afraid I’ll wake and find it’s not a dream.

Does Dad know I’m gone yet? Did someone race out afterward and call him back to town, or did he do his duty and head off General Barry first? It’s a toss which one he’ll choose. The only thing Dad loves more than me is power. I try to imagine him recalling his troops, having them scour the countryside looking for me, but the truth is, I can’t. He’ll protect the mountain first.

Bluefield always comes first.

Every time I hear footsteps outside my door or the muffled voices of others, I jump to my feet. But no one comes for me.

It aches so bad now that every second feels like twenty. If I’m not holding my muscles, pee will shoot out. It is all I can think about.

When the door finally opens again, Talon takes one look at me, half bent, bracing myself against the wall with one hand. “What the fuck?”

He sweeps up the bottle of water and strides over.

“Please,” I say. “I’ll do anything you want. Just let me use the bathroom, okay?”

Talon dumps the lantern, unscrews the lid on the bottle, and fists the back of my hair.

When I gasp, he tilts the bottle and begins pouring water down my throat.

I choke.

I shove against him, I strain backward, but I can’t move, can’t go anywhere. When I squeeze my lips together and the water spills over my face, Talon stops.

“You will drink.” He backs me up against the wall, and I discover he is solid muscle. He lets go of my hair only to pinch my nose shut.

I shake my head back and forth, but it is useless. I think my lungs are going to burst like a balloon. Talon presses harder against me, and that’s when I fail. I open my mouth and wheeze in a deep breath. Instantly water pours down my throat.

And my bladder lets loose.

Talon backs up a fraction, enough so he won’t get wet himself. Only when I’ve chugged the entire bottle does he release me.

“I’m in charge,” he says. “Not you. You want to live? Eat what I give you, drink what I leave you, and do what I tell you. You have to piss? Use the bucket.”

When he flings me away from him, I am crying. I have just peed my pants for him.

As I lean against the wall, openly sobbing, he kicks the bucket so hard it cracks against the opposite wall. The door slams shut behind him.

By the time I have to go again, my throat is raw. I’ve been screaming for hours, beating my hands against the door, but no one comes. No one cares. My hands throb where I’ve broken the skin, and they’re bleeding. I smell worse than I ever imagined I could.

When I was little, Mom used to take me to church. The pastor would tell us we’d go to hell if we didn’t follow the Bible, if we didn’t accept Jesus Christ into our lives. I just thought it wouldn’t happen until after I died. The sad thing is, I’m pretty sure I deserve it.

Knowing it’s a fight I’ll never win, I right the bucket and use it. My pants and underwear are clammy against my skin, and I think for a minute about taking them off. But I don’t want to be any more naked and vulnerable than I already am when Talon returns.

When the door opens again, Talon merely dumps a new plate on the floor along with a bottle of water. He exchanges a new bucket for the old one.

I can’t look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me, calculating, assessing.

He leaves.

It’s hours before the door opens again, and in all that time I haven’t moved.

“I brought you some clothes.” Talon tosses a bundle, and it lands next to my feet. He sets down a bucket, and I hear something in it slosh against the side. “It stinks in here.”

“No kidding,” I tell him.

“You haven’t eaten.” His tone is neutral.

This gets my attention, and I move my head enough that I can see the untouched plate of food. “I forgot.”

It’s true. In fact, I haven’t eaten anything since the steak feast the night before my father left. Surprisingly enough, I’m not even hungry. I expect him to blow up at me, but he doesn’t. He merely retreats from the room.

My eyes seem to be adjusting. The pale streak of light that seeps under the door jamb is just enough to let me see the outline of the new bucket. The bundle of clothes remains where it landed, just against my right foot. I may be depressed, but I’ll do just about anything to get out of these clothes. I feel foul. Disgusting. I peel off my jeans and panties and discover that the pail is full of hot water, and atop the pile of clothes he brought is a towel.

This small kindness stings my eyes, and my throat pulses with unshed tears as I wet my old shirt and use it as a washcloth to scrub under my arms, then my crotch and down my legs. There is no underwear or bra in the pile, only a sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. I put them on, throw the dirty stuff in the water bucket, and set it by the door.

The door opens a few moments later, and my heart jumps. What now? I did what he asked.

Talon sets the dirty bucket just outside the door, then comes inside. The sheer size of him makes the room seem even smaller. I press myself tight against the wall, but that’s no hiding place.

“Sit.” He crosses his arms over his chest. The command in his voice is so strong that I feel a tug deep inside my belly. Not good. I sit, and Talon joins me.