Page 3 of Wicked Games

Racing forward, I dropped both my palms on the warm hood, carelessly scratching the paint with the rock still clutched in my right hand.

“Please! Please help me,” I cried as I threw my body on the car to prevent it from leaving.

I heard the steady beeping of the car’s warning system as the driver opened the door, leaving the engine running.

“What the fuck?”

He was young, probably around my age. Dressed in jeans and some kind of brewery T-shirt, he circled around the open driver’s side door and started to approach me.

There was no doubt in my mind I looked as crazy as I felt. With my stained nightgown, bare feet, and wild, tangled hair, I wouldn’t blame this guy if he got back into his car and drove fast in the other direction. I couldn’t let that happen.

Using all my strength, I pushed myself off the hood of the car and reached for him. Fisting my hands into his T-shirt, I searched his face for some sign of concern or compassion. The headlights shining from below gave his features a shadowed, macabre look. I couldn’t tell if his lips were twisted into a smirk or open in shock.

“Please—” I repeated desperately, my voice breaking. “I need help.”

Gripping my shoulders, the driver steadied my swaying form. It felt strange and almost wrong to have another man’s hands on me. I mentally shook away the feelings of shame and guilt. That is just what he wants you to think. What he has conditioned you to feel.

It’s not real.

“Calm down. Everything is going to be okay,” the man assured me as he started to gently guide me around to the passenger side door. “I’m going to take care of you.”

I closed my eyes and swayed slightly, brushing my forehead against the soft fabric of his sleeve, desperately wanting to believe his words of comfort. Leaning heavily on his arm, I allowed myself to be led to the other side of the car. Reaching around me, he lifted the handle and opened the door.

As I prepared to enter, he said, “I’m going to take you back to where you belong. Don’t you worry.”

His words broke into my exhausted reverie. Raising my head, I once more stared at his face.

Does he look familiar?

I didn’t know. There were so many blurry, silent faces these past few months. Something about his words, his placating tone, warned me. I took a step back, slowly shaking my head.

“My lady, please. You’re hurt. Step into the carriage. Let me get you some help,” he offered, as he took a slow step toward me, his hands outstretched as if he were trying to cage in a wild animal.

“You’re one of them,” I whispered in horror as I took another step back.

“Let’s get into the carriage and sort this all out,” he responded in a soft, dulcet tone.

“It’s not a carriage,” I screamed. “It’s a car. A car!”

His eyes shifted to stare at something over my shoulder, just as I heard the clopping of approaching horse hooves.

Turning too fast, my head spun as I tried to focus on the large form looming over the both of us.

“I caught her trying to escape, Your Grace,” explained the driver.

I shook my head. “No,” I whimpered as I stared up into a pair of dark, piercing eyes.

All was lost. He had found me. He would always find me and bring me back; I knew that now.

I tried to back away but the driver’s arm closed across my shoulders, holding me tight. I began to kick and scream as I struggled to be free. “No!” I screeched. “It’s not real! It’s not real! You lied! It was all lies!”

It was no use. All he did was stare down at me in that darkly controlled manner of his, with the arrogance of someone who knew, no matter what, he would always get what he wanted… always.

Knowing the crushing feeling of hopeless defeat, I collapsed onto the road. Bile rose in my throat. I was lost. Just as I prayed for the oblivion of madness to finally come and take me for good, to make me forget completely all I knew in my heart to be true, one last spark of fight rose in my belly.

As I laid there, a crumpled heap in the middle of the road, I remembered the rock still clutched in my hand. Using the jagged edge, I pierced the delicate skin of my right palm, relishing the surge of clarity that often came from the sharp bite of pain. One slash, then a second one.

As I felt the arms of my tormentor close around my bruised and chilled body, the rock slipped from my grasp. Barely noticing as the carriage pulled up, my head lolled to the side, taking unwelcomed solace from his warmth and strength. I breathed in deeply his familiar spicy scent and the feel of his lips against my cheek.

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