This was actually a lot simpler. I placed the bra over the towel and fastened it around it, tugging the towel underneath it and rearranging as best I could without exposing myself. I looked up, proud of myself but noticed the anger in John’s clenched jaw. He yanked the towels from my body, causing an involuntary shriek from me. I frantically reached for my dress but John stood fully, clasping my wrists in his hands.
“Oh my God, Harper,” he breathed, extending my arms out. He took a good, long drinking, look at me. I tried to bring my arms to my chest but he just tightened his grip more. “You are breathtaking. Much more beautiful than the other girls.” I assumed he meant the innocent girls he took because of me and I wanted to vomit. My body shook as he trailed his hands up my arms. I brought my hands to my chest but he yanked them away. “Keep them here,” he said, bringing them to my side. He ran his rough hands over my shoulders to the back of my neck, trailing his fingers down my spine. He brought the palms of his hands over my sides, then down the flat of my stomach. “So soft,” he said quietly, eyeing me with a revolting hunger.
I pushed away from him, making him laugh and brought my dress to cover the front of my body.
“Get dressed,” he ordered. “We’ll have time for that later.”
With trembling hands, I pulled the dress over my head. I just stood there, grateful to be covered, fighting tears that begged to trail down my cheeks.
“Dry your hair. Can’t have you getting sick.”
Chapter Nineteen
Please Don't Go
Harper
Wearing the very outfit I wanted Callum to see me in first, John dragged me out the crap motel door and into the freezing cold.
“Where are we going?” I asked without thinking.
“I didn’t tell you you could talk, Harper,” he said, suddenly and inexplicably angry slamming me against the door after he shut and locked it, unexpectedly surprising me.
His eyes seethed as he stared into my face. I inhaled sharply as John cupped my right breast and squeezed hard, making me yelp in pain. His eyes softened slightly and he grabbed the back of my neck, bringing me close.
“Why do you make me do these things to you?” He asked grittily.
My mouth gaped slightly and I furrowed my brows slightly. “I haven’t made you do anything. As much as I loathe to admit it, you’re the one in control. Does it make you feel like a man forcing a woman to do things she doesn’t want to only because she can’t defend herself?”
This was a mistake. The second it started spilling from my lips, I knew it was a mistake and he showed me why by slapping me harshly across the face. I brought my hand up to ease the sting. Tears burned behind my lids.
“I’m sorry, Harper,” he said, removing my hand and rubbing his thumb across the red mark he only just placed on my cheek. I was revolted by him. He caressed the side of my face with a tenderness that made me uneasy. “You told me you would cooperate.”
“I-I...” I began to stammer but he cut me off by squeezing my jaw roughly, the direct antithesis to his previous gentleness, giving me emotional whiplash. “A promise is a promise, bitch.”
I nodded, convinced I wasn’t going to live out the evening.
“I want to show you something first,” he said, pinching my upper arm between his meaty hand and squeezing hard, practically dragging me toward a waiting taxi. “Get in,” he ordered, shoving me into the backseat.
“Twelve-twenty-seven First,” he told the driver, making my throat run instantly dry. Ames’ address. John leaned into my ear, his hot breath against my neck. “I think you need a little reminder.”
He nestled me closely to his side and I gagged from the proximity. The driver was eyeing us strangely through the rear view. John suddenly leaned forward, banging his hand against the Plexiglas separation.
“Get a good look at my wife, old man?” He bellowed, making the man jump.
The man only steered his eyes toward the road, not looking at us once for the remainder of the trip.
“Get out,” John said, when we pulled up to a beautiful old building near the pier. He paid the driver and the man peeled away, desperate to get away from us. Thanks, old man.
Ames’ home looked exactly like he had described it in his letters. A five story building of old architecture. It reminded me a lot of our own building back home. Ames’ flat was on the second floor, right above a coffee shop. I stupidly wondered if the noise was tolerable during the day but was abruptly brought back to reality when John’s body ran flush against my back.
I sprinted for the front door, losing a heel as I threw myself up the steps to the building’s main door. The door was locked. I quickly found Ames’ buzzer, which wasn’t difficult as there were only ten names available, and pressed repeatedly until John caught up with me, slamming me into the door behind me. I hit the corner of my head, the sensitive part right above the hairline, making me feel dizzy.
“You stupid, bitch! Fine! You want to play this game! You got it. You’ve just made the biggest mistake.” He slammed me again, hard, against the door.
“Hello?” Callum answered through the intercom. I sucked in a harsh breath.
I opened my mouth to warn him but John clamped his hand over my mouth. I bit down on his hand but it did no good, he didn’t budge, only tightened his grip, painfully straining my jaw. I thrashed around as he waited for Callum to give up. “Hello?” He asked again. “Kids,” he muttered before breaking off the connection.
John smiled disturbingly into my face and tightened his grip, making me gulp for air. “You’ve sealed your deal, princess.”
He dragged me down the steps by my throat. I lost my the other heel as each foot bounced against steps on the descend. At the bottom, he dropped my body and punched me in the stomach as hard as possible, sending vomit all over the pavement.
Tears began to flow and I folded myself into a fetal position to avoid anymore blows to my stomach. The pain was excruciating. A volatile mix of nausea and unbelievable agony pricked at my insides. A thick blanket of darkness approached, begging me to follow it. John repeatedly kicked me. I fought with myself against the black but it beckoned me with every blow from John’s boot. My hands protected my face from each swing of his foot at my head but my fingers suffered intolerably. I manage to scream out in pain once when he finally fractured two fingers on my right hand.
I was granted a ten second reprieve when he moved to the other side of my body but soon sharp needles of extreme torture came with each swift blast of his boot. I arched my back, writhing in agony, the pain was so intense, I couldn’t find my voice and just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, just when I thought death was imminent with the very next hit, he stopped.
Kneeling beside me, he cradled my body close to his and I was powerless to stop him, my body limp and I realized I could no longer feel my legs, my arms lay feebly around me.
“Why must you make me do these things to you, Harper?” He said, squeezing me tighter. I wanted to scream in pain but my throat wouldn’t allow it. “You make me do these things, Harper!” He yelled, searching my body wildly with his eyes. “Get up. We need to go.” But I couldn’t move, not a single muscle would obey. “Get up!” He bellowed as I could barely open my eyes. He shook me soundly, urging me to stand. “Get up right now, I said. It’s time to leave.” I just lay slack against him, praying that God would just take my soul. John’s eyes followed the length of my body, realizing what shape I was in and began to cry. “It’s okay,” he said, soothing the sides of my face with his hands, tears staining his disgusting face. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand but you left me no choice. You’ll recover from this though and we’ll live the way we were meant to.” He clutched my broken and bruised body closely to his and began to rock back and forth. “You’ll see,” he told me but it was more for himself than for me. “You’ll see. Everything will be just fine. Let’s get you back to the room and we’ll just start over.” Panic laced his voice. “Come on.” He picked me up and I screamed from the movement, positive he had broken my back. He tried to stand me up but my legs fell loosely beneath me.
John suddenly gripped me harder, cocking his head to the side. I strained to listen to what he heard. Laughing, I heard laughing and talking about a block from us, heading our direction. John became noticeably panicky, the indecision in his face. He began to run. Every jolt of his step sent inconceivable suffering up my back. With each ragged movement I yelled in torment until he cupped his hand over my mouth and hugged me closer, squeezing my body hard, with his right arm. I screamed at the top of my lungs but it was muffled by his hand. His breath was hot and harsh across my face in his desperation. “Quiet!” He gritted through teeth. “They’ll hear you!”
“Hey!” I heard one of the men from the approaching group yell. “Hey! Stop that! What are you doing to her!”
Hysteria painted John’s face and his own sense of self-preservation kicked in because he dropped me on the ground and ran toward the pier, disappearing into the darkness.
“Help me...” I barely spoke out.
“Oh my God!” A woman screamed and the last thing I remember were a cacophony of running feet coming to my rescue just as the darkness consumed me.
Callum
“Here, Ames, let me get that for you. It’s the least I can do after such an incredible dinner,” I told my uncle.
“No, no. You are a guest in my home and there is no way I’m letting you do this,” Ames countered, stopping my hands with his as I tried to pick up his empty plate.
“You at least need to let me help. Please, we can share the sink, get done in half the time and leave us enough time to watch some random Christmas flick.”
He smiled appreciatively. “Fine and stop begging. It makes you look pathetic.” I laughed.
Getting to know Ames was proving to be an almost perfect distraction from my broken heart. I say almost because it only slightly dulled the pain, which is more than I thought possible.
I liked Ames. He was funny as hell, generous, and laid back.
We stacked the dishes in the sink and I began to run the hot water just as the buzzer connected. Ames’ hands were already soaked so I ran, for the second time that night, to answer it, prepared to yell at the prankster kids this time.
“Yes?” I clipped shortly.
“Uh, yeah, we’re looking for a Mr. Callum Tate?”
Surprised, I answered. “Uh, this is he.”
“Mr. Tate, this is the Seattle P.D., we’d like to speak with you, if that’s alright?”
I couldn’t imagine why the Seattle Police Department would want with me near midnight on Christmas Eve. Suddenly, I began to worry, thinking that something had changed with the John Bell situation and the N.Y.P.D was looking to reach me.
“Of course, come right up,” I said, buzzing the door so they could enter.
Ames walked near to me, drying his hand on a towel. “What could this possibly be about.”
