Deceiving Lies

10

Rachel

MY EYES FLEW OPEN and I heard the sound of heavy breathing fill the small room. Trying to keep my breathing even so I wouldn’t give myself away, I barely turned my head from where it had been smashed in my arms to look over toward the door. Terrified of what I might see, and who might be there, I almost cried out in relief when I could make out Taylor’s form doing push-ups.

I stayed quiet as I watched him silently work out and wondered if he did this every night while I was sleeping. He had to be doing something, because his massive frame never seemed to change over the course of my time here in this room, and a part of me felt bad that he was resorting to this rather than using the equipment in his room.

“Go back to sleep,” he said roughly, never once stopping from the crunches he was now doing.

Instead of following his command, I let my earlier curiosity bubble out. “Do you do this every night?”

“Yep.”

“Why don’t you use the equipment in your room?” I bit my lip as I waited for his response, remembering how this conversation had gone over last time.

“I already told you.”

“But I could stay in there with you, and then when you’re done, we could come back here.” Did I sound as desperate as I felt to sleep on that bed?

He stopped suddenly and turned to look at me in the dark. “Are you trying to make something happen? Do you want to put yourself in more danger than you are already in? Unless we have to, we aren’t leaving this room,” he snapped, and I flinched.

“No,” I whispered and felt my cheeks burn at the tone in his voice.

“Shit”—he sighed and crawled toward the mattress—“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, but I don’t understand why you keep pushing the issue. I know you know the danger is real. I can see the fear in your eyes every damn day, so I don’t get why you keep bringing it up.”

“I feel bad that you’re making yourself so uncomfortable to make sure I’m safe. And I know that’s stupid, I shouldn’t feel bad because of what you did. But then when I think that, I can’t figure out for the life of me why, if you would steal me from my home and my life, would you suffer so much to make sure I’m safe?”

Taylor just stared at me, and when I thought he wouldn’t answer, I turned my head back into my crossed arms and shut my eyes.

“Because you didn’t do anything to warrant this, and you deserve to have someone protecting you in this fucked-up situation.”

My head snapped back up and I turned to look at him, my mouth open to ask him—again—what I was doing here, and why I was here; but I knew those were questions he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer.

“Just go back to sleep,” he pleaded, cutting me off and crawling back to his spot on the floor before starting up his crunches again.

What kidnapper says something like that? What kidnapper protects his captive for that matter? Everything that had happened so far was flashing through my mind, and none of it made sense. His presence alone was terrifying, but I wasn’t sure if that made me feel safer from the others, or if I still feared him. The way he’d been so quick to apologize when he’d yelled at me just added to the confusion and mystery that was Taylor.

I didn’t understand him, and at the time, I didn’t know if I ever would. But as I had been so many times in the week since he’d shown up with new clothes and other things for me, I was thankful for him.

PAIN THREATENED TO CRIPPLE ME as I impulsively struggled against the handcuffs. I screamed against the gag when Blake moved the blade from my left arm, and slowly ran the scalpel down the inside of my right. Tears were streaming down my cheeks as I watched him begin to methodically move the blade over my stomach, a smile on his deceptively handsome face the entire time.

“Not my Rachel,” he whispered. “You don’t deserve her beauty.”

I continued screaming, my body wanting nothing more than to escape the intrusion. But Blake’s weight on my hips, and the sickle curving around my throat, prevented any movements other than my arms, which were chained to the iron headboard.

Blood trickled steadily from my arms onto my shoulders and in my hair. I tried begging him to stop, but all that came out was wordless screams. My vision was darkening as I watched the deep red liquid pooling on my stomach. I needed to stay awake; I refused to let myself believe I would die like this. Kash would find me, I just had to keep repeating that to myself.

“Not my Rachel,” he repeated again.

His arm moved up, and I gave up on my futile attempt at shrinking back into the bed as he moved the scalpel from my hairline to my jaw, the blade staying close to my face, but never coming in contact.

“You could have been mine. You were always meant to be mine. Why couldn’t you be her?”

Another muffled scream tore through me when the blade pressed into my chest.

“Wake up! Stop—fuck! Wake up!”

“Stop, please! Get off me!” I screamed, and thrashed wildly. Another curse came from him when I connected with his face again.

“Wake up!”

My eyes flew open and blinked quickly against the blinding light in the room to find Taylor directly above me. He’d grabbed at my arms to pin my wrists down above my head, the other was pressing down on my hips to keep me from bucking against him.

“Get off me,” I pleaded hoarsely. Taylor’s form blurred as tears gathered in my eyes, and eventually fell.

When I could see him again, I noticed his dark eyes fixed on my chest, a look of horror on his face. Slowly, his eyes went up to where my arms were being held down. They widened marginally, and bounced back and forth a few times before coming down to rest on my face.

“Please let me go.”

His face morphed into an expression I didn’t understand as he released me and sat back on the ground. I quickly pulled at the large shirt I was wearing to cover my chest. The V-neck collar wasn’t deep and usually hid the scarred MINE; but I knew with it being stretched down, he’d seen it just then.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. “You were screaming this time, and I—I just . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“This time? W-what do you mean this time?”

“I hear you beg me to stop. Every. Night. The same words you screamed when I took you and kept you from escaping. I won’t hurt you,” he assured me. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I want to do is keep you safe.”

My body stilled for long moments, and I subconsciously rested my hands over the scars on my chest and stomach. I just stared at him for long moments, watching as indecision played over his features. It wasn’t hard to understand why being kidnapped had brought back continuous nightmares of Blake. I just hadn’t known I talked in my sleep. Kash had never said anything. But, then again, he was all about avoiding anything that had to do with Blake.

Taylor stood and walked over to the light switch on the wall, and my body began shaking. I needed the light right now. I needed to be able to see everything. And I needed to stay awake.

It took me three tries before I managed to blurt out, “Will you tell me something about you?”

Turning, he eyed me warily before walking back toward the mattress, and sitting in front of it. “If that’s really what you want to do to make you fall back to sleep. You know I won’t answer if I can’t, so don’t push those questions.”

I swallowed roughly and nodded my head. Taylor had only talked to me like this twice so far; but both times I’d started asking the wrong questions immediately, and he’d shut down. Right now I just needed my mind to get off Blake and what had happened almost a year ago, so I would do anything if it meant Taylor kept talking.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“How long have you lived in here?”

When he answered, his voice sounded worn out. “Eight years.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend? Or a wife . . . kids . . . anything?” When he didn’t respond, I asked hesitantly, “Is that a bad question?”

“No to all of the above,” he finally said. “No one should have to deal with my demons.”

“What demons?” I asked quickly, and cringed as I waited for him to shut down our conversation.

“They’re just something I’ve brought on myself throughout the years.”

I studied his face as I replayed his tortured words over and over again. “I don’t believe that,” I said later. “I don’t know why . . . and part of me can’t believe I’m about to say this . . . but I know you’re not a bad person.”

He scoffed, and when he spoke again, the tortured strain was gone from his voice. “If I’m not a bad person, then why are you here? Better yet, tell me why you’ve been having nightmares of me every night.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Exactly. Don’t ever let yourself believe that I’m not as bad as your nightmares are portraying me. I assure you, I’m worse.”

I watched Taylor stand again and quickly walk over to shut off the lights. Darkness engulfed us, and all I could hear was him settling down in his spot against the door.

“I don’t have nightmares about you,” I said softly. The phantom pain of Blake’s blades was making it hard to breathe. Each labored breath seemed shallower than the last.

“What?”

“The man who haunts my dreams was evil. You . . . you’re not a bad person.”

The sound of Taylor moving back toward the mattress filled the small room. “What do you mean? Who do you dream about?”

“Just . . . not you.”

“Those scars,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Where did you get them?” When I didn’t respond, he spoke again . . . his voice strained. “I’d seen your arms, but I . . . I thought it was something different.”

“You thought I’d done this to myself,” I guessed, and took his silence as acknowledgment.

“Who did that to you?”

I sat there for a long time without answering his question. Taylor didn’t have a right to know about my life, and yet, some part of me wanted to tell him. “A man that I’d grown up with and had trusted. Something changed in him though, he became obsessed . . . he was evil. And, to put it simply, he wasn’t accepting of the fact that I refused to be his.”

“Is he who you dream about?” he asked. The darkness in his tone caused me to shrink away from him.

“Nightmares,” I corrected him. “I have nightmares about him. I dream about Kash and my life before you entered it.”

It felt like all the air was sucked from the room at my attempt to hurt Taylor. It was ridiculous, but an apology was at the tip of my tongue. I hated that I felt bad for hurting him . . . but I knew my earlier assessment was correct. Taylor may have done bad things, but he was not a bad person.

With a heavy sigh, Taylor moved back across the room. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I, but I felt his eyes on me until I eventually fell asleep.

“WHAT COLOR DO YOU THINK I SHOULD USE?”

One of Taylor’s eyebrows shot straight up, and with his dark eyes, strong features, and large arms crossed over his chest, I suddenly felt stupid for asking him. But I was bored, I needed someone to talk to, and he was the only candidate. Candice would’ve helped me pick out a color, so this beast was about to help me pick out one now.

“Well?” I prompted and gestured toward the six nail polishes sitting on the bed.

“You’re serious?” Despite his deadpan expression and tone, I didn’t give up.

“Uh, yeah.” It’d been over a week since the night Taylor had woken me up from my Blake nightmare, and in that time, something had changed between us. I don’t know if it was telling him the smallest bit about Blake, or if it had to do with Taylor mentioning his personal demons. Whatever the reason, we talked more every day. While it made the days go by faster, I was also struggling to remember why I’d ever been afraid of him. That alone should worry me and shoot up red flags; but I could see the torture he struggled with internally, and I knew this whole situation was the last thing he wanted for either of us.

He huffed and uncrossed his legs before switching which one was on top. “Isn’t it enough that I buy you those, and braved buying you tampons last week?”

My cheeks flooded with heat, but I squared my shoulders and stared him down. “Well if I was home, you wouldn’t have had to worry about that! It’s not my fault you weren’t prepared for having a woman locked up for this long.”

His face dropped and turned an odd shade of white for his normally tan skin. “I’m sorry—”

“I know you are, and I know you don’t even have to do what you’ve been doing. So thank you, but could you just humor me, and help me pick out a color? Please?”

“Sure,” he said softly, and didn’t bother standing as he crawled over to the mattress. His brow drew together as he studied the different colors, and picked them up individually, before picking up two at a time and setting one aside.

I laughed softly and raised my hands in surrender when he glared at me.

“This one.” He dropped the electric blue polish in my lap and sat back but stayed close to the mattress. “You’re trying to turn me into a girl,” he grumbled and ran his hands through his shaggy hair.

“Um, not? You just have to put up with me because you signed up for the job of taking care of me. Lucky you.”

He grunted and watched as I started with my toes first, and then made my way to my fingernails.

“You having fun watching me?”

“I wouldn’t say fun is the right word, but it’s something to do. And your concentration face is cute.”

Rolling my eyes, I let the cute slide, even though I would have normally punched Mason’s or Kash’s arm if they had called anything I did cute. Not now, though. I’d take the cute title and wear it proudly if it meant being near them.

Funny how things like that change when you’re in these kinds of situations. Kash usually drove me crazy. He was so stubborn, and such a smart-ass, but I missed those annoying traits so much. I missed the way our personalities clashed and resulted in us fighting; I would give anything to fight with Kash again. The thought of having children with him used to terrify me, and now I was afraid I’d never get to have that opportunity. And I hated the nickname Sour Patch so damn much, but I would never complain about it again if it meant hearing Kash’s voice.

Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked quickly to keep them back. Taking a deep breath in to tamper down the emotions bubbling up, I concentrated on finishing the last nail and screwed the top on before looking up at Taylor. “Do you know my name?”

“I do.”

“Why don’t you ever use it?”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek and looked away from me as he thought about what to say. “I stole you away, I didn’t meet you. When you meet someone, if they want you to know their name, they give it to you. It’s like a privilege, and you didn’t give me that privilege.”

“I named you,” I admitted softly.

He jerked his head back to look at me again, and his brow scrunched together. “What?”

“Uh, well, I named you. I was always thinking of you as him or he, and I eventually got tired of it.”

When I didn’t offer anything more, he leaned forward and put a hand out, palm up. “Well . . . ? What’s the name you gave me?”

“Taylor.” In my head, it’d been easy to think of him as Taylor, but now that it was out there, a blush was creeping up my neck and over my cheeks.

He barked out a loud laugh and leaned back. “Oh God, not you too? That’s not the first time I’ve gotten that.”

I’d been stunned by his laugh, but then joined in with him at his admission. “Well! You look just like him!”

“Thanks . . . I guess?”

“It’s a compliment, trust me.”

His dark eyes met and held mine, and I looked away momentarily to break the connection. When I looked back at him, I cleared my throat and offered a small smile. “Um, my name’s Rachel.”

“I know,” he whispered roughly.

“And yours?”

He seemed to think for a few seconds before flashing me a sad smile. “You can call me Taylor.”

My first reaction was disappointment before I realized the danger for him in this situation. He was a criminal, and I could already give a very detailed description to an FBI sketch artist. Knowing his real name would just add to his likelihood of being caught when this was all over. If it was ever over.

Biting back the disappointment, I smiled and offered him a hand. He took it carefully, making sure not to touch my nails. “I would say it’s nice, but that probably isn’t the right word. It’s . . . very interesting to meet you, Taylor.”

“I’m glad you decided to ‘meet’ me, Rachel.”

“Me too.” And honestly, I was. If this were under normal circumstances, I knew Taylor and I would be friends. He was a mix of Candice’s brother, Eli, and Mase. But as it was, I didn’t know how to feel about him.

All I knew was that every day I was more positive than the last that he wasn’t only my way to safety, but he was also the key to my freedom. And I was going to cling to that safety net, because my life and freedom depended on it.