The Pleasure Series: Complete Box Set (26 page)

“I-I don't know what to say.” That seemed like the safest thing to say. It was the truth because there weren't any words to describe what I was feeling at this moment.

“Take it out.”

I reached into the bag, hoping he couldn't see my hands shaking. I didn't want to touch it. One of the reasons I wore the clothes I wore, chose those specific styles and fabrics, was because there were certain things that had been such a part of my childhood that the feel of them sent me right back there. Before I picked it up, I knew that it was made of that filmy sheer shit that made up little girls' princess costumes, except I knew this would be like the other dresses I'd worn. There wouldn't be any of the solid material under the sheer.

I pulled it out and saw that I was right. The one thing I hadn't expected was for it to be not just similar to those dresses, but for it to be identical. Christophe had managed to find an adult-sized version of the main dress I'd worn in the Snow White movies.

“I had it specially made.”

Well, that explained one thing.

“I wanted our first time together to be perfect. Magical. Just like it always should have been.”

And that confirmed what I was the most afraid of. He didn't just want to have sex with me. Him forcing himself on me would be bad enough, but I could get through it. I'd done it before. That wasn't what he wanted though. He wanted me to be that girl. To be Snow White again. And he was going to make me relive my darkest moments. I didn't doubt for one moment that it would end there. He wouldn't only make me re-enact one of the movies. He would do each one. It wouldn't take him long to realize that, as possessive as he sounded, that he wanted to see other men use me, and that would be when all of the repeats would begin. Including... that night. The one that had made me feel like I had no other option but suicide. I'd come a long way since then and I was older now, but if I had to go through that again, I wasn't sure I could survive.

Or if I'd want to.

“Put it on.”

I looked up at Christophe, my face a blank mask. “Here?”

He shook his head. “In there.” He pointed back toward my bedroom. “Here's what's going to happen. We're both going to walk back there, nice and slow. I'm going to pick up your phone and make sure no one interrupts us.” He smiled at me. “I've been waiting too long for this.”

I put the bag back on the floor.

“There's something else in there.”

I reached into the bag, flinching when I felt something strange against my fingers. I didn't let it stop me though. I pulled it out... and wished I hadn't.

It was a wig. Shoulder length and ebony black. It was the closest I'd ever seen to my natural color.

“I wish you hadn't dyed your hair.” He reached out as if to touch me, then stopped. “It took me days to recognize you. You'll have to take out those piercings too. I want it to be perfect.”

“So we go back to my room and I dress up?”

He nodded. “Just like in the movie. You'll be the princess again and this time, when your prince kisses you, you'll wake up and we'll get to live happily ever after.”

I stared at him. How the hell did this man function in normal society? How had he managed to keep all of this crazy from seeping out all over the place?

His smile widened.

“It's so nice to finally be able to talk to you. I've had friends over the years who could understand to a point. They shared my love of you, but I knew none of them were your soul mate.”

Great. He already had a group of men who liked me. I was probably too old for them now, but there could be ways to make me look even younger. Not a child, but definitely younger.

“Now, it's time.” He motioned for me to stand. “I'll take your phone and then I'll step out so you can prepare.”

I stood.

“Once you're dressed, lie down on the bed and go to sleep. Then I'll come in and we'll finally get to be together.”

The two of us started down the hall. My mind raced as I walked as slowly as I dared. Moving from the living room to the bedroom changed things. Getting out would be harder now, but maybe I could find a way to get someone's attention, let them know that I needed help.

I had a window in my bedroom, but the air conditioner was in it, sealed in. I couldn't get it open without making way too much noise. I could try to lock the bedroom door and then block it with my dresser, like I'd thought about doing when I'd first woken up. That might give me the time I needed to get the air conditioner out. After that, I just needed to get down the fire escape.

Unfortunately, once Christophe took my phone and stuck it in his pocket, he stepped into the hallway and left the door partway open.

“If you need any help, let me know,” he said. “I'll be able to hear you quite clearly.”

I heard the unspoken warning in his words. Don't try to lock him out or try anything funny.

The best I could do was stall as much as possible and hope that something happened. Worst case scenario, I let Christophe do what he wanted and then wait for him to fall asleep. He'd been up for a long time and looking forward to this even longer. The more I dragged it out, the quicker that part would take if it came to it.

I took off my pajamas, hesitated, then pulled the dress over my head. The feel of the fabric made my skin crawl. The hem hit me mid-thigh and the chest was tight, making me feel like I was trying to fit into something from my childhood. That didn't help things.

“Are you dressed?” Christophe called from the hallway.

“I'm taking out the piercings now,” I said. I removed each one automatically as I looked around my room. There had to be something here I could use. A weapon of some kind. What was it my self-defense instructor had said? That if my attacker was bigger than me, leverage was my greatest weapon.

An idea formed. It wasn't one I liked too well, but it was better than waiting for him to fall asleep. I set the last of my jewelry on my dresser and picked up the wig. I didn't want to wear it, but I couldn't implement my plan unless I got Christophe in here, and I knew he wouldn't come in unless I was wearing the wig.

I pulled it on and tucked my hair underneath it. It was itchy, but I pushed that aside. Mild discomfort was nothing.

“I'm dressed,” I said. I was surprised that my voice wasn't shaking.

“Get onto the bed and go to sleep.”

As I climbed onto the bed, I felt the memories circling, bringing the darkness with them. I knew if I let them through, if I gave in to the past, I'd be lost. If I hyperventilated here and passed out, I wouldn't wake up, safe. There wouldn't be strong arms holding me and protecting me. There would be no soothing voice and kind words. I knew if I was unconscious, I would wake up to Christophe on top of me, acting out his adolescent fantasy.

If I wanted to survive this, I needed to save myself. Lily wasn't here this time. Rylan wasn't here, and if I wanted to see him again, I had to use the strength that Lily had always said she saw in me. I allowed myself just one moment to think of Rylan, of how he made me feel. Safe. Real. I could do this.

I laid down the way I'd always been told to, half on my side, half on my back. But I didn't close my eyes all the way. Through slitted lids, I saw Christophe come in. My heart pounded in my chest as he took off his clothes, never letting the gun waver. Only when he was fully undressed did he set the gun aside. I felt a surge of wild hope. That was exactly what I'd hoped he'd do.

He came toward me and I tensed, but for the first time, it wasn't fear. I was getting ready.

“My princess,” he whispered as he climbed onto the bed.

I forced myself to stay still, to wait until he was close enough to touch. As he leaned down to kiss me, I made my move. My knee came up even as I grabbed for him, nails slashing at his face. The second I felt something hard against my knee, I knew I'd misjudged. I hit his hip and my nails caught his neck rather than his face. I didn't have time to be scared though because he was grabbing my wrists with one hand and the other struck me across the face. Pain exploded in my cheek. The second blow dazed me.

I waited for the assault even as my brain scrambled to try to get my body working. Instead, Christophe climbed off of the bed and went for his pants. I stared stupidly for a moment, then tried to push myself up, but my arms weren't obeying. I heard Christophe muttering, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. The tone, however, was clear. He was pissed. All I'd managed to do was make him mad.

When he stood up, he had a knife in his hand. It was a pocketknife, blade only a couple of inches long, but it looked sharp. He walked over to my window and cut the curtain ties, then turned toward me.

Fear spiked, even more than it had when I saw the knife. He was going to tie me down. My head was still throbbing, but fear was a great motivator if channeled correctly. I let it course through me, wake me up. Fight or flight was mankind's most basic instinct and I was counting on that to save me.

He took another step toward me and I bolted. My legs were unsteady and I stumbled, but I'd caught him off guard enough that my mistake didn't cost me. I made it through the door before he started to come after me. I heard him curse at me as I ran down the hall. I knew now that he would've locked the door behind him, so a quick exit wasn't possible that way. The best I could hope for was to get to the kitchen for a knife and keep him at bay while I screamed for help.

I'd just stepped into the living room when he grabbed at my hair. A few of my own strands came out as he ripped off the wig, but I didn't let it stop me. The second time he managed to get ahold of me, however, it was my own hair and he got enough of it to jerk me to a sudden and painful halt.

“Why?!” he screamed the word in my ear and I winced as much from that as I did from the pain in my scalp. “Why did you do that?!”

He threw me to the ground and I barely got my hands out in time to stop me from hitting the floor face-first. He was still yelling at me even as I rolled onto my back.

“We were supposed to be together! It would've been perfect!” His face was red as he dropped down onto me, a knee on either side of my waist.

I struck out at him and saw him wince as one of my fists hit him in the chest. He wasn't skinny, but he was far from muscular. Unfortunately for me, his arms were longer and as soon as he caught my wrists, I was done.

I wasn't going without a fight though. Someone had to have heard him yelling and there was no way the people in this building would let that go without being concerned. I twisted and bucked, knowing that if I screamed, he'd hit me and I wasn't sure I could take another blow without blacking out. I could, however, make sure this wasn't easy for him. He swore at me, but was too busy trying to pin my legs down to get free enough to hit me. He switched my wrists to one hand and that's when I saw that it was over.

He'd picked up his knife again.

“Don't move or I'll cut you.”

I immediately stopped moving. I didn't know if he had the guts to cut me, but I didn't want to find out. I needed to take a moment and re-assess the situation.

“Now,” he said. “You're going to be a good little girl and I'm finally going to get to fuck you.”

He shifted his weight, pushing my legs apart even as his free hand fumbled with my dress. His fingers grazed the edge of my panties.

And then someone knocked on the door.

“Jenna, babe, it's me.”

Chapter 20

When I was a teenager and heard all of the other girls talking about whoever the latest celebrity or fictional Prince Charming was, I used to think how foolish and silly they were. It wasn't just that there was no white knight coming to save the damsel in distress. There weren't any men as good as the ones they thought were real. They didn't understand that the celebrities were played up by their agents and PR people. They didn’t get that those guys weren't as cute, sweet or sexy as the media made them out to be. As for the fictional guys, they were just that. Stories. Make-believe. I liked to read, but I never confused fantasy for reality. Just like I knew there weren't any unicorns, werewolves, vampires or hobbits, I knew that there was no such thing as true love, a man worth dying for or a man who could be completely trusted and make me feel safe.

I'd recently come to realize that last bit wasn't necessarily the truth. There was one voice that I would immediately respond to, one voice that made me feel safer than any lock or weapon could.

The moment I heard Rylan say my name, the surge of relief that went through me was so intense that I stopped fighting against Christophe for a full second. Fortunately, he was just as distracted by someone at the door and calling for me. He froze. My paralysis didn't last as long and I yanked one hand free and punched him as hard as I could.

Pain flared through my knuckles and up my arm, but it was worth it to see him knocked off balance.

Less than ten seconds had passed since Rylan had knocked on the door.

“Rylan!” I yelled as I pushed against Christophe, trying to use his surprise to my advantage.

Christophe backhanded me and I tasted blood.

“Jenna?” Rylan's voice was more urgent and I heard the doorknob try to turn. “Are you okay?”

“Stupid bitch!” Christophe snarled as he grabbed my hair and twisted.

I cried out in pain as my neck was forced into an awkward angle.

A loud bang from the hallway told me that Rylan wasn't going to wait for me to ask him to come in.

Christophe slammed my head against the side of the couch and I was suddenly glad I didn't have a coffee-table. It hurt, but not half as bad as I knew hard wood would've. Hot pain flared across my cheek and I felt blood spill as Christophe's knife cut me.

“How many scars you think I can add to that body of yours before the boss gets in here?” His breath was hot against the side of my face.

He pushed against me, trying to force my nose and mouth against the fabric. I pushed back, ignoring the rug burns on my knees and legs as I fought for every inch.

Another second bang, followed by a loud cracking sound, and then Christophe was being pulled away from me. He held onto my hair, yanking me backwards. I hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.