Page 3 of Reckoning

Madeline

When I woke up, my whole body hurt. The carpet I rested on was soft enough, but I could feel the marks left on my skin after lying in one position for so long. I didn’t have to try to remember what had happened to me because the events of the previous night were burned in my mind.

It was a tale as old as time—a young woman attacked when walking to her car alone at night by men who wished to do her harm. But these weren’t just any random assholes out for a good time with an unlucky girl. I was a specific target.

I had been working a dead-end job in my small town in Iowa after graduating college with my political science degree, wishing and hoping for something better. My new job at a human rights charity in New York seemed like a dream come true, but my mother begged me not to go.

“Do you remember the men who came to your sixteenth birthday party?” she asked, tears falling down her face despite her calm tone. “If you go to New York, you’ll be playing right into their hands. They’ll hurt you, Mads.”

I should have listened.

They didn’t hit me until I started fighting back, but once they did, they were ruthless. There had been no consideration for the fact that I was a woman who weighed a third as much as any one of the men who dragged me, kicking and screaming, into the back of a black van. They hit me relentlessly until the pain became so much, I stopped struggling. Even then, I didn’t want to let myself think about who could possibly have been behind my abduction. The reality was too terrifying to consider.

Meyer Schaf. I knew exactly what kind of man now held me, and I was fucking terrified. The car ride was a lesson in terror and suspense. His hands never left my body, finding every last bruise and cut inflicted upon me by his men. Straying closer than they should have to parts I would never willingly allow him access to. By the time we arrived at his house, I was exhausted from the pain and disgusted from being pressed so close against him for so long, his arousal obvious by the appendage pressing into my leg for the entire ride. The more I fought him, the harder he seemed to become. When he opened the car door, I tried to bolt only to be caught by his driver and deposited back into Meyer’s arms. I swore to myself that I would fight him with every last ounce of strength, but he simply carried me inside and dropped me unceremoniously on the floor in his bedroom. I could barely breathe past the pain in my chest.

“Go to sleep,” he’d said in a flat tone before turning off the lights and leaving me in the dark. And my body was so exhausted from the ordeal that I obeyed nearly instantly.

Trying to sit up, I found my hands still bound so close together I could barely move them. My fingers tingled as I tried my best to wiggle them and return blood flow to my starved capillaries. The moment my head left the floor, pain rushed forth like a wave, and I started to retch.

“If you vomit on this carpet, I’ll make you eat it.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin, then groaned at the pain triggered by the movement. Meyer’s voice alone was enough to make me sick on a normal day, and I had heard a lot of it since he seemed to be on TV constantly. Like it or not, I had to stay abreast of his movements and decisions, since everything he did impacted everything I was trying to do. That and my mother insisted on it. Though I’d never taken her seriously. Until now. I closed my eyes, which wasn’t difficult since the left side of my face felt swollen, and tried to get my stomach under control. When I felt more grounded, I finally looked up.

Meyer stood over me, shirtless in low-slung pajama pants, and I had to force myself to focus on his face. His body was gorgeous, but he didn’t need reminding. Golden hair fell forward over his face as he gazed down at me.

“This is the first day I’ve had off in almost ten years, and I don’t want to deal with your bodily fluids.” He snapped his fingers. “Get up.”

I was already planning to try to stand, but I didn’t want to give him the idea I was going to be taking orders from him. When I refused to move, he quickly kicked me over and pushed his foot down on my sternum, already bruised from the blows I had received the night before. I screamed without realizing I had decided to.

“Get the fuck up, or I’ll make last night seem like a walk in the park.”

I wanted to fight him. I didn’t really know Meyer, but I knew men like him. I knew if I gave an inch, he would take a mile, dragging me down the road behind a fast-moving car.

But I hurt so, so much already.

I stood, pausing a couple of times on the way up when screaming pain nearly brought me to tears. It was so intense, so widespread, I couldn’t even pinpoint where it emanated from. My whole body felt like one big bruise.

On my feet, I took a quick look at my surroundings. Red, of course. The color of blood. Crimson carpet complemented the black drapes. A deep mahogany bedframe with a scarlet top sheet falling off the mattress on one side. The magenta bruises on my body matched the décor. With further dismay, I saw that the same scratchy twine that bound my wrists now tethered me the bedframe. I suspected Meyer had purposely chosen the roughest material he could find.

Turning to look at him once more, I started when I realized he was approaching me with a knife. Before I could move, he slid the blade between my wrists and easily cut my bonds. My hands screamed as blood surged back to them, and I heard myself whimper.

Grabbing my face, he barely missed the most swollen flesh on my left when his fingers dug into my cheeks.

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

I shook my head because it was the truth or close enough to it. My mother had never told me why she feared this family so much, no matter how much I wheedled and begged. My father would get angry if I broached the subject with him; it was the only time he would raise his voice at me.

His hand cracked across my cheek, though not as hard as he could have. At least he avoided my left side.

“Don’t lie to me, Mads. This day has been marked on my calendar for years.”

I glared at him, pulled back into the present by the renewed pain radiating down my spine. “Don’t fucking call me that.” That was my parents’ name for me; he wasn’t allowed to use it.

He slapped me again, and this one had more force behind it. My teeth cut into my cheek. “I’ll call you what I want. You get no say in the matter or anything else ever again. Now tell me, do you know why you’re here?”

We stared at each other. I could barely see out of one eye, and he was immaculately handsome even with the hangover that must be plaguing him, judging by the lines on his forehead and around his eyes. His voice was scratchy, and I wondered if he’d thrown up. I had no power at all, and if I fought him, I’d have even less.

Relenting, I shook my head again. “I don’t know, Meyer. That’s the truth.”

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