Page 43 of Power Term

A slow, cruel smile spreads across my cheeks as his voice filters through.

He’s here, which means she’s here.

I’ve found her.

Time to play, motherfucker.

Chapter Thirteen

Randi

Ashout, or maybe a string of shouted words, breaks through the peaceful darkness I’d slipped into. Nothing hurts here. No fear, no pain, no… anything. Just the calmness only the deepest shadows of my mind can offer, protecting me from what waits for me out in reality. I should remember this dark corner for the next deficit budget meeting.

Reality creeps closer as the shouting intensifies, shattering my little unconscious haven. Shawn’s raised voice and quick curses assault my ears, almost like he’s yelling directly beside my head. I cringe as he continues, demanding me to get up. A whimper escapes at a hard jostle of my shoulder, shaking my entire broken and bruised body and sending agony shooting along every bone, joint, and muscle.

“Get up,” Shawn demands with a swift kick to my hip. I roll with the impact only to flop back to the floor.

I can’t move. From the fact that every inch of my body is in pain, I know I’m awake and able to feel, but for some reason, my attempts to lift myself off this floor fail. Maybe I’m broken, too far gone inside my own mind, or perhaps my broken body has finally given up completely, leaving me defenseless to what’s to come.

The conversation from earlier blares to the forefront of my mind, reminding me of what my unresponsive body has left me vulnerable to. A trickle of fear slithers through my veins and weighs in my gut like a lead ball, but still all I can do is stare unseeing at the far wall, my body limp.

A shudder racks through my weak body at another incentivizing nudge against my side. My body moves with the motion, rolling halfway only to flop back to the floor like a limp rag doll.

A distant part of my mind screams at me to wake the hell up and fight, to not give in this easily. I’ve put up a good fight; would it be that terrible to give in to the pain and fear, let it suck me under, never to breach the surface again?

But the sadness of the truth holds back that fight. The truth that my whole life, everything I’ve done and worked for, no longer matters. I’ll never see Trey again. Never hold my grandbaby or hug my beautiful daughter again.

Even with the end looming, I focus on the good memories. I’ve lived a good life with lots of love, struggles, and successes. The best part of my life started with that positive pregnancy test all those years ago and ended with Trey asking me to marry him.

Grief’s claws shred my heart knowing we’ll never get our happily ever after. Never have lazy Sundays on the couch binge-watching Netflix or consecutive mornings waking up next to one another. Grieving the life I’ll never have but always wanted hurts and offers more physical pain than the injuries I’ve sustained so far. I have to accept the end of Randi Sawyer is near. No one will find me in time and save me from this terrible fate. Because even though it hurts to accept that we won’t be together until we’re old and gray, it hurts worse clinging to a false hope that all this will be over soon.

If they get their way and take my body against my will, I won’t recover. Not from that. I’m not strong enough like other women who’ve been assaulted and come back from the dark wells of despair and self-loathing as a survivor instead of a victim. I’m strong in a lot of ways, or I was, but that… that will wreck me beyond recovery.

A blurred face appears above me.

“Get up now, you worthless cunt.” The words are hollow, like they’ve traveled through an empty barrel from far away to reach me. More words are spoken, a few shouted, but they’re too fast, too loud to understand in this state of teetering oblivion.

The blurry form shifts closer, now hovering mere inches away.

The inflexible plastic bindings tighten around my wrists before loosening, the sharp edges peeling away from my damaged skin until I can’t feel the zip tie at all. The brief feel of freedom breathes renewed strength into my soul, encouraging me to not give up, not yet. The back of my head rolls along the concrete as I shift to get a better view of the man now bending toward my ankles still secured to the chair.

Several fast blinks clear the lingering glaze from my eyes. Shawn slices through the zip tie around my left ankle before moving to the next. Both legs immediately slip, falling to the floor and leaving me somewhat spread eagle around the chair’s legs.

My frantic gaze flicks from the clearly tense Shawn to where my legs lie spread open. I still have shorts on, but I sure as hell don’t want to be in this position, even with clothes covering my lady bits. Hissing through the pain, I wiggle back enough to seal my thighs and knees together.

His perfectly plump lips press together in a thin line.

“Good, you’re not comatose. Now get the fuck up. It’s time to leave.”

The quiet crunch of leaves or debris beneath my hair sounds as I shake my head along the cement floor.

“That wasn’t a question,” he bites out. “The others will be here soon, and we need to be ready to haul out of here.”

“I won’t break, Shawn.” Speaking burns, each word torture. “Leave me. And if I were you—” Connecting our gaze, I wait a moment, ensuring I have his full attention. “—I’d run. Run, because he will find you, and he will kill you for what you’ve done.”

“I’m not afraid of that clown you call an agent.”

“You should be.” Love and conviction strengthen my voice. “You really fucking should be. And maybe this makes me a bad person, but I hope he takes his time, like you’ve done with me. Reenacts exactly what you’ve done, what you’re planning to do, on you. But it will be worse for you, because you’ll know.”

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