Black and Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. Series Book 3)

  Black and Blue

  Chubby Chasers Inc. Series

  Book 3

  by

  Angie M. Brashears

  For my very own Chubby Chaser, the love of my life, and very best friend.

  Nothing has value without you, Jimmy.

  Black and Blue

  Copyright © 2016 by Angie M. Brashears

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Book Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Jessica Hildreth

  www.jessicahildrethdesigns.com

  Editing by the amazing Eagle F. @ Aquila Editing

  www.aquilaediting.com

  Welcome back, readers, to Blue’s world. If you’ve travelled with us before, then you know Blue had a very important decision to make. You were able to make the choice for her in the book.

  In the end? The only choice that mattered was the one Blue herself would make.

  She’s made her bed, now it’s time to lay in it.

  With the loss of her freedom comes the slip of the frayed edge of control she’s been trying so desperately to hold on to.

  Whether it’s by whips or waffles, we can all be controlled.

  I just happen to like syrup-covered carbs a whole hell of a lot better than fists. One of my many choices.

  In her former life, Sara with no H could have very easily gone missing. And no one would have been the wiser. As she said, her cat wouldn’t have been able to put an APB out on her.

  As Blue, she’s got people falling all over themselves to find her. Dreaming about her, missing her, loving her, forgetting her.

  They’re human, these searchers, with faults of their own. No one can cast the first stone.

  But they are searching…

  Please hurry.

  Blue

  I am fucked.

  “Javi.” Barely a whisper.

  It’s no use, but still I wait. I hear the Jeep start and the engine fade into the darkness. It’s black, but not pitch. There’s moonlight. No romance.

  I’m well and truly caught. A fly, stuck to a web, wings beating futilely, no way out. Ensnared.

  I’ve felt like prey before, but I won’t let myself think about that. Wrong time, wrong place. I’ve got the more pressing matter of survival to deal with. I shut down those nauseating memories, seeking order over my thoughts, control over my situation. But I’m helpless to find any here. I’ve been robbed. I’m not in charge.

  Any semblance of authority, which I thought I had, was stripped away, piece by piece, with each click of my four point restraints. Gone. If it was ever there at all.

  It does no good for me to plead my case, extoll my many benefits, sing my own praises.

  For that you need an audience. Any pull or sway I had…left with him.

  What was I to him? Then I realize, I’m thinking of myself in the past tense. Like I’m already gone—just waiting for someone to come pick up the body. I rephrase, careful of my tense this time, and address the court.

  “What am I to him?” His wife? But the word’s flimsy, one dimensional. In my current situation, I feel ridiculous even using it.

  I might as well have said, I’m his spoon. An inanimate object abandoned in a drawer. Only thought of when he needs to eat soup. Does that spoon feel lonely? Forgotten?

  I rein it in. These are not the happy thoughts of a newlywed. Is that what I am?

  Unless…I’ve already been replaced. Unless this isn’t real. I’m not real.

  An involuntary shiver runs down my spine at the casual way his words roll through my psyche. I’m starting to sound like him.

  Maybe he stopped taking his meds. I think back to the flight, the drive, the wedding, and I don’t remember him taking one pill. Once he starts taking them, he’ll be sure to remember his Bonita, won’t he? Please take your pills, Javi!

  Hope spreads through my chest like wildfire. I lift my head and use my shoulder to push, trying to burst off the bed. I go nowhere, but the idea of him coming back overwhelms my thoughts.

  He just forgot. It happens.

  It will only be a matter of time till he’s back, feeding me.

  I blow out the breath of air I’ve been holding, and something disguised as relief tries to take over. Yes, that’s it. He forgot. Maybe he had a mental breakdown. It was too much on him. Just getting out of the hospital, all the stimulation, it was too much. He cracked. That’s all.

  He’ll be back. I’m sure of it.

  Whether he remembers himself, or my friends remind him, he’ll be back. Right?

  It’s so quiet in here. All that I hear are my struggles, my respirations. Nothing else. I settle in and close my eyes. Praying for sleep. I need it.

  No one knows where I am. The realization is like a slap in the face.

  My heart, in the midst of relaxing to a steady beat, starts to stutter.

  I didn’t tell a soul.

  No one besides Javi knows where I’m at. And if he’s telling the truth about being able to forget me…I can’t even.

  I think back and see myself napping on the way up. Easy prey, for sure. Would it have been that fucking hard to text someone? Sasha and Gretchen for a brag about my wedding. And an, Oh by the way, we’re going to Javi’s secret cabin in Big Bear. If you don’t hear from me in a few days, send Dominos.

  Brad, Frankie, Dr. Timlan, anyone?

  It wouldn’t have been that hard to send a text. Javi was occupied with Favors, checking items off of his damn lists, and what was I doing? Resting my head on the backrest while he planned the perfect crime.

  Rest? I’ve got all the time in the world for that now.

  I look around the room. The corners are dim and full of sinister shadows, I can’t look for long. Afraid of what I might see looking back at me.

  It’s a sterile room. No personal items that I can see. No pictures on the walls, no clothes on the floor, no purses or wallets. Nothing.

  Wait…what is that? Next to the bed, on the floor. Is that lump moving? I pull my body as far away from the edge as I can, all the while keeping my eyes on it. A crumpled stump, no, maybe, is someone crouching over there? I turn my eyes to the ceiling, not wanting to see any more. My heart beats in my chest. Air tears in and out of me.

  Then it hits me. The stale air I blow out sounds like a death rattle. It’s the bedspread. Settle down.

  No monster, no ghoul, no oversized toad. Just crushed blue velvet, crumpled in the corner. It belongs on this bed, my death shroud.

  A massive bed made of dark oak. Solid dark oak, meant to withstand time…and keep errant girls in their place.

  I knock on the board and bruise my knuckles. There’s no way I’m breaking this wood.

  I steal a glance around again, starting at the balled coverlet. I don’t know how I thought that was a person before. Clearly, it’s just a blanket. But everything else?

  Neat, in its place. It looks like a nondescript room in a discarded dollhouse. One that a child’s grown tired of. Now it rests, gathering dust, stuck up under the eaves in an anonymous garage.

  There’s nothing here that anyone would make a trip for. No phones, no electronics, nothing of the outside world, the world of bustling activity.

  Or it could be a motel room. I look at the closed door. Just needs a set of rules tacked to the back of it, with a red map, pointing out the neares
t exits. Please show me the easiest escape path!

  My legs feel heavy, weighted down. I want more than anything to be able to pull my knees up and hug them. Comfort myself. Instinctively, my knees try to bend. But a pressure, like someone’s swam up underneath me and is yanking my legs down, won’t let me.

  Still, I fight against it. Trying with all that I’m worth, I bend my elbows the few inches I’m allowed and yank, dammit.

  My legs jerk but have nowhere to go.

  It’s the leather cuffs, locked to each ankle by a long, tan belt. There’s no slack. The tail ends feed out, taut as tightropes, before it’s wrapped twice around each bedpost. Looped? In the darkness they look like coiled snakes holding on to a tree trunk. Their rattler connected to my cuffs.

  Okay, the pulling did nothing. I’m not ready to give up just yet. There has to be a way!

  I raise each leg and try to make some slack. Knock that snake off of its perch. No matter which way I turn in my limited stretches, nothing happens. The tightly wound snake doesn’t budge.

  My ankles still hang suspended, identical to puppet strings. No change.

  I move my toes, just so I know I can still do that.

  No modesty here, my legs are spread in a V and I’m on full birthday suit display. Thank God I got a wax which is no help at all, but that’s what I think.

  I have a matching set on my wrists. Official-looking, escape-proof. Oh, Javi, you shouldn’t have!

  On each side there’s a square, a silver buckle that glints in the moonlight. If I could just get my teeth on it.

  That’s the new plan, gnaw my way out.

  Determined, I bend my left elbow and push with my right arm. Giving it everything I’ve got, I strain my head over, teeth bared. Pushing and pulling, I stretch way past the point of productivity. It’s no use. My mouth doesn’t even make it to my elbow. That snake standing guard on the post makes sure of that.

  Each of the long belt ends are? I strain to see, are they tied?

  I fall back against the sturdy headboard.

  That fucker didn’t give me any leeway at all. He wrapped the slack twice around each post before locking it. He wasn’t messing around. I yank my wrists as hard as I can, feeling sweat coat my upper lip. But it feels like I’m trying to bench-press a truck. No give.

  A forlorn sigh escapes me.

  Just stop trying so hard. He’s coming back.

  Once he gets home, the Wonder Twins will figure this out. Talk him out of all this, send him back. Or come get me themselves.

  What if it is Javi who comes back? What if this is my ‘basement’? I wonder if I’ll get a nurse. At the very least, a pillow would be nice. Somehow the thought of ending up like his mother doesn’t horrify me. At least I’d be watered and fed.

  Right now, I’d take him over being alone. Helpless. I know I could get through to him if only he were here!

  My dark mood lightens with the possibility. If he would only come back. I say a silent prayer for Javi’s safe return.

  I’m sure I could talk my way out of this. No theatrics, just a rational conversation between a condemned woman and her jailer.

  I raise my head off the bed, which takes work. Muscles I haven’t used before the feeding last night scream in protest. But I have to see. I thought I saw something other there in the far corner…twinkling?

  Something that could help me? I don’t know. It was there and now gone, hidden in the shadows. I open my eyes slowly and stare into the darkness. Willing myself to see…him. I picture him standing at the foot of the bed, looking down on me. Blue eyes flashing, brilliant in the darkness. He’s waiting to hear me beg.

  I peer at the end of the bed. He’s not here. Remember, you heard his truck leave?

  That’s right, but my eyes don’t listen and continue to search the room.

  There’s a chair in the gloom. A dark wooden chair perched in the corner. No help there. I peer into the other corner, trying to make something out in the shadows. It’s like looking through smoke, filmy and murky.

  I stare, really trying to see. What is that? Blinking in the corner? I wish I could prop myself up on my elbows to see. It’s really bugging me.

  A moon ray falls across the room. Dim, but enough to see by. I squint.

  Blue eyes.

  I drop my head back down on the mattress so hard it bounces.

  Is he watching?

  My breathing sounds like a steaming locomotive chugging up a mountain. Yet I can’t get my lungs to work.

  I try to raise my head, reassure myself, but my neck cramps. My body won’t let me. Don’t look!

  The terrorized breaths I manage to get in are too shotgun-fast to be effective. Slow it down! Is he here? Watching me?

  My hands tingle. I’m hyperventilating.

  I wish for a brown paper bag to blow into and realize just how silly that sounds. To waste a wish on a piece of friggin’ paper? Hell, if wishes are being granted here, I need a fucking phone.

  My ribs feel like a trash compactor, squeezing and compacting my lungs. I try for a deeper breath, but my lungs will not cooperate. My diaphragm jumps in the mosh pit and body slams my crushed lungs. My body’s working against me as I gulp nothing. I can’t get a deep breath. I take sips of air, and my heart takes the rest of the space.

  Pounding out a panic beat in my chest.

  Taking precious air and space. Blue eyes?

  I breathe in as deep as I can.

  He’s watching me.

  This is the chance, the one you’ve been praying for. He’s here. Sway him, dammit!

  I give myself a pep talk. Get yourself under control before he walks out.

  The thought of him striding across the room again forces me to relax.

  I release a sigh and try for a smile, which makes me want to scream. But I can’t look, not yet.

  “Javi.” I speak in a nonjudgmental voice. Like the doctors on my shows. “Are you there?”

  No response. “This is not right, and you know it. I don’t know why you felt like you needed to do this. Maybe it was me. Did I do something to make you feel like you were losing me? Is that why you tied me up? Thank you for coming back for me. Thank you so much.” My gratitude trails off in tears. No active participation, he just observes.

  I gulp, trying again. My voice wavers. “Please untie me so we can talk.”

  I wait, listening to my heart and letting the tears fall. Apprehension spreads through me, the panic is growing, and I jitter with anxiety.

  I have to look. Just a peek.

  He’s there. But he says nothing. “Javi?”

  I hate how young my voice sounds.

  The shadow with the piercing blue eyes is silent. “Javi?”

  No movement, doesn’t blink. Just stares from across the room.

  “Javi, please, help me.” I jangle my wrists. “Release just one. I’ll do anything if you release one. I’ll do anything, be anything, please!”

  My breathing sounds erratic as I continue to beg. Words jumping all over each other, spilling out of my mouth.

  It’s coming, I can’t stop it. “Javi!” I shout. “Let me the fuck up!”

  Hysteria runs rampant in this room. Unleashed, it consumes me. “Let me up!” I shriek.

  I lose myself. Repeatedly banging my head against the bed, the headboard, till I feel lightheaded. I lose track of time as I flail my legs and arms.

  As I wail, I feel…fingers tiptoeing up my legs.

  All movement and sound ceases. My legs won’t work for me anymore.

  “No, please. Not again,” I moan.

  My mind has had enough, and splinters. I keep telling myself that I’m not feeling hands spreading my thighs even wider. I’m splayed open, but someone wants me filleted.

  I’m powerless.

  An inspection is starting.

  I don’t know why I’m naked. Where I am. What’s happening. What’s happened to my jammies, my ruffled panties?

  I freeze as I feel hot puffs of air on my inner thighs, pr
obing fingers.

  It’s ago then.

  It does no good to scream. No one will help. Just stand by and watch, they are no Good Samaritans under that roof. The ago roof from my childhood.

  Fighting doesn’t work. It just makes him take longer.

  So I lie still and pretend none of this is happening. I pretend to be asleep. It will be done quicker. Kicking and screaming only makes the Preacher breathe faster, poke harder, pinch more.

  I submit. Even though it’s not right. Sally Thomas said so. I believe her. She’s got cable.

  I snap back, reeling as if shot from a cannon, wet with a cold sweat.

  “A dream,” I reassure myself. Brought on by the nakedness, my situation.

  Still, I feel uneasy. I haven’t thought of that time of my life since I left home. Don’t you mean ran away?

  Same difference. I try to escape back into a nap.

  But we’ve only started, echoes in my overtaxed brain.

  I take deep breaths and try to get my mind back as my body does its own thing. Out of control, my hair flying everywhere, pulling, tugging, kicking, cursing. At some point, the tantrum stops.

  I don’t know how long I lie there, staring at the moonlight across the ceiling. I don’t look into the corner again. I’ve learned my lesson.

  Not even a glance. When my mind tries to tell me nothing’s happened to me, I’m fine. I felt it, his fingers tiptoeing up my legs, touching me! Hurting me!

  No, that didn’t happen. But it did!

  Nobody’s here with me. I’m locked in a room by myself. My eyes want to roam, to see those blue eyes one more time. He never inspected me. Javi only fed me. Nourished me. He wouldn’t inspect me, would he?

  But someone else did!

  I’m not going to think about that. That was a long time ago. It’s over. But that only makes me examine every detail even closer.

  No sense locking the barn door now. “The horse is already loose,” I mumble to the ceiling.

  As the first rays of light brighten my prison, I can’t help it.

  My eyes find his corner where he peeks from.

  By the light of day, I can see how he wouldn’t fit there. No room.

  There’s an oversized seven-drawer chest. A vase stuffed with fresh onyx roses sits on the top. Casually tossed on either side of the vase, blue sapphire earrings. Where those for me? Dinner wear?