Target This Read online

  My brow quirked over my eye and I turned to her with a quizzical expression most likely written across my face. “I’m sorry? Are you trying to tell me you wished I had?”

  She smiled shyly, turning her head away from me to once again look out the passenger side window. Her next words were spoken so faintly, that in order to hear her, I had to listen intently over the sweeping scales of the classical song that was playing in the car.

  “No. All that would have earned you was a black eye for the attempt.”

  A smile crept over my lips and I felt anxious for a split second. Her hatred of the house would ultimately be to my advantage. All I had to do was gain enough of her trust to get her there and isolate her from the world around her so that I could play the games I needed to play. Autumn was the perfect victim, a woman hidden so far within herself that any emotion I could elicit would not only surprise me, but also her. That combined with her curious nature would ultimately lead her directly into the situation I needed her to experience in order to draw those emotions to the surface.

  We pulled into her driveway and she sat quietly for a moment after I threw the car into park. Eventually, she turned to me, the shadows over her face disguising the question I knew existed behind her eyes.

  “So if the rumors are true, there is a torture chamber in that house? Chains and shackles and all of that?”

  I laughed at her continued focus on the history of the property I now owned. “The house was a mess, I can tell you that. But I don’t think it was intended for torture, as you would imagine it. But that’s how rumors work, I guess – always exaggerating the details. Regardless, this is your stop. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

  She grew quiet, looking between her house and me. After a few silent moments, she finally said, “I’d say this was pleasant, but I’d be lying if I did. So let’s just leave it at ‘this has been real’.”

  I had to fight the grin that threatened the corner of my lips. “I’m surprised you’re not inviting me inside. I could have sworn you were hitting on me earlier when you questioned me about my thirst. Maybe you should climb outside of that buttoned up shell of yours and find out what a man can do for you.”

  Her resultant laughter was harsh and disbelieving. “I don’t think so Lucas. We’ve had our dinner, I’ve accepted your book, but I can guarantee you it will be the last of yours that I read.”

  Turning off the engine, I pulled the key from the slot as she opened the door to exit the car. Following her towards her front porch, I allowed my eyes to trail along the silhouette of her body. Images began to flood my mind of the acts I wanted to commit against her; the heightened screams and moans I could elicit through longing and fear.

  The sound of her heels clicking against the steps of the porch contrasted sharply with the peaceful sound of the rain falling against the ground around us. Stepping up behind her, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and pulled it to check as she fished through her purse in search of her keys.

  When I glanced down at the phone, my eyes were met with an explicit photo of Mary Beth’s body with a message that warned that if I didn’t end my date and go to her house to talk to her, her next message would be sent to Autumn. I turned the phone off immediately when Autumn finally found her keys and turned to look at me. Her expression fell and I was concerned that she’d seen the photo before I had to opportunity to close it.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I pulled the glasses from my face and used the bottom hem of my jacket to wipe the rain from the lenses before slipping them into my interior suit pocket. Returning my attention to the beauty who stood before me, I lost my breath for a second when the light hit her eyes revealing a depth to the blue that was muddied with annoyance, anger and a twinge of fear. However, most apparent in those startled blues was the distinct look of rebellion. Or was it aggression? I wondered if being on her porch, her ‘turf’, had given her a sense of power that she’d not had in the other environments in which she’d been.

  “I was seeing you to your door. I apologize if you find that obtrusive, however my mother would roll over in her grave if I didn’t act the proper gentleman at the conclusion of our date.”

  A humorless laugh escaped her. “This wasn’t a date.”

  My patience was wearing thin and I found it unfortunate that I couldn’t stay long enough to continue playing out this battle of the wills that was glaringly apparent between us. Without speaking, I walked toward her and found it amusing that her newfound strength seemed to dissipate with every step she took backwards in an attempt to escape my approach. Within seconds, I had her cornered, shoved back between the door that would give her the escape she desired and the thick brick wall of her porch. The light at my back was unable to penetrate the shadow cast over her by my body and the rebellion I’d earlier noticed in her eyes quickly changed. I smiled to find that, despite her emotional distance, she was still easy to intimidate.

  Staring down at her, I held myself close enough that I could feel the heat of her body roll against my chest. I breathed her scent in slowly, closing my eyes at the slight fragrance of her perfume mixed with the heady anticipation that seeped from her skin. A caged animal could never have been as calm as the woman who, at this moment, stood at an unknown precipice, one in which she wanted to fight, to run, but also one who wanted to explore the dark corners of her own mind, regardless of her awareness of that desire. She stirred beneath me and it was almost as if I could hear the gears turning in her head; the fight or flight building inside her from the tension that was quickly ratcheted in intensity between us.

  When I opened my eyes again, her gaze burned into mine and she opened her mouth to speak, but I quickly silenced her by lightly placing my finger over the perfect pout of her lips.

  I whispered my next words, not wanting the full strength of my voice to ruin the energy that silence had somehow caused to manifest between us. We were connected at that moment, not physically, but in mind. Her fear was my satisfaction and my desire was her torment.

  “I regret that I do not have time tonight to say or do the things I would absolutely adore doing to you. Do not take it as a threat, but a promise, Autumn. You can openly detest me, hate me, spew your meaningless arguments and objections, but it won’t matter in the end.”

  Lifting my finger from her mouth, I allowed it to trail along her cheek, over her jaw, and down the length of her neck until it rested just above the high, buttoned collar of her shirt. I felt her throat move as she swallowed down whatever emotion it was that I was awakening in her. Leaning down, I allowed my mouth to brush against hers before pulling away and adding, “I have to go. There is an unfortunate annoyance I must resolve before I can take things further here. For now, read the book I gave you. Pay attention this time to what you read.”

  I didn’t give her the chance to answer, but stepped quickly away into the rain soaked evening. Once inside my car, I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed out a quick response to the nuisance that plagued the past few hours.

  I’m on my way…leave the front door open.

  Autumn

  The cement floor was cold against the backs of my legs and the palms of my hands. My hair hung lifeless and tangled down my back, large chunks of which were tattered and torn from where he’d held me down by the thick mahogany curtain I’d spent years growing out. My face was concealed behind it, the smell of sweat and terror replacing the strawberry scent of my shampoo.

  I was trapped within a vacuum and time had been stripped from me to a point where I no longer knew what day it was or what hour the sun announced in the sky. The sun could have disappeared altogether weeks ago and I wouldn’t have known or even cared. Trapped in a dark room, I scraped my fingers along the rough concrete, tearing my nails away on the uneven surface.

  One small square was visible ahead of me. Red like the blood that ran down my arms and legs, it shone out like a single bloodshot eye watching me in his absence. Sometimes it would flicker when
something moved past the bulb that hung behind it and I would flinch in fear that the sound of the door unlatching would follow. I blinked my eyes against its menace, often trying to remind myself that it was nothing more than a pane of glass stuck in the center of a wooden door; a window and little else.

  However, it was the only thing I was allowed to stare at, the only recognizable image that was visible in the cruel darkness of the room where he kept me caged.

  As I sat here on the frigid floor of my prison, I allowed my mind to wander to the day I fell in love with a monster…

  He was so charming at first, a man whose face could have been used as the exemplar of masculine perfection – a strong chiseled jaw that swept up into high cheekbones, broken apart by the most perfect and straight nose I’d ever seen. Beneath that lay full lips that would twist with a seductive grin that suggested wild nights and whispered nuances of the pleasure they could impart of the soft parts of a woman’s body. However, even those features were left dull and without merit when you looked into the gold-green eyes that would flicker with their own light when he stared at you.

  It was on the lush lawns of my college that I first caught sight of those mysterious orbs. His thick black hair blew out wildly in the wind that caused students to curse and bellow when their term papers were blown from their hands on that first spring day. Beneath his arm, walked a stunning blonde woman whose beauty would have made any man drool if it wasn’t overshadowed by the man who escorted her across campus. Her breasts peeked out from above the tight shirt she wore and her legs ran for what seemed like miles from beneath the white pleated skirt that hung down from her hips. In her hands, she carried sandals and I watched as her perfectly manicured feet became lost in the tall grass that had not yet been mowed since the winter season had ended.

  It was because of my fascination with the beautiful pair that I wasn’t paying attention to the papers I held in my own hand. When a particularly wild bolt of wind decided to rip the typewritten pages from my grip, I was instantly on my feet, grasping at whatever I could reach before the next gust blew across, pushing me farther out until finally and without realizing how far I’d run, I careened against the pair that had stolen my attention in the first place.

  The woman went down onto the ground with a loud thud, instantly screeching at me for being so stupid as to not watch where I was going at full speed. I ignored her complaints for the most part and, while making another desperate attempt to reach the last few pages that still attempted to escape, I tripped over her. We were both left sprawled out across the grass and the vile and reprehensible insults she volleyed at me should have been enough to make any strong person cry. Before I could apologize, a strong hand reached down to sweep me back up onto my feet and it was at that moment – THAT CURSED FUCKING MOMENT – when I looked into the eyes of the man who I would fall madly and completely in love with over the course of the following year.

  And now, here I am: a prisoner to the lunacy and madness that comes with intelligence, or love or lust. Anything really that is strong enough to turn the mind of an honest man into a monster.

  Everything had started out so normal. We both graduated college, spent weeks finding where we would live and then the next few years building our separate careers while we married and dreamed of the family we would one day begin. He worked as a securities trader while I helped manage a well-known art museum in town. As my career grew and as I climbed the ladder of success that came with my position, I was kept out of the home more often at night attending the galas and balls that were thrown in honor of the many artists and exhibits that toured through the city. He worked from home mainly and would at first escort me to the numerous affairs that I was obliged to attend. After so many nights of what he considered to be monotonous and boring routine – the same faces repeated over again - he stopped joining me and grew bitter with each passing night I didn’t spend secluded within the walls of our large and elaborate home.

  The fights began the fourth year into our marriage and eventually he laid a hand on me, leaving a mark so deep that it took several layers of makeup to cover the shame of the bruise. I should have left him then, but love is a strange thing. It has the ability to make you forgive grievances that should never be overlooked and it has the ability to form excuses in your mind for the person who hurts you. I loved my husband and it was that very part of me that blinded me when he eventually tore my life down bit by bit. He stripped me of my career, my friends, my family and my own identity after the subtle abuse turned into a mastery of manipulative tactics that left me stranded and alone, completely out of touch with any person that could convince me that what my husband had done was wrong. Once I’d been separated off and abandoned by the world outside of the walls of our home, I’d become his alone.

  That one red eye flickered suddenly, startling me from my thoughts of how I ended up in this cold, dark room. I heard the sickening click of metal against metal and the creak of the wood as the door opened inward. His body was backlit and shadowed, the broad expanse of his shoulders narrowing slightly at his chest, but then dipping even further to the hard line of his abdomen and hips. He was perfection and my hands and mouth remembered the intimate way I would explore every rigid and defined muscle hidden beneath the tanned and smooth surface of his skin. Even now that he’d become the obsessive and controlling beast that stood before me, I loved him, prayed that whatever sickness had destroyed his mind would dissipate like a passing storm and the man I once met on that windblown lawn would resurface.

  “Are you ready to come out now? Or do I need to remind you again what happens when you disobey me?”

  Shivers ran across my shoulders and goose bumps sped across my skin. My eyes were trained to the pink stain on the concrete beneath me. Sweat ran along my chin when I laughed at his question. I’d snapped several days before. It was the reason I was in here and it was the reason he’d beat me. I was sick of the control he demanded to hold over me. I was stuck in a cycle of despair for what had become of us. My heart ached for having lost what can only be described as the ‘pure love’ I once held – or still hold – for the man now leading me down a narrow hallway to a room he had built especially for me.

  “It’s time you learned to obey, Kristen. It’s time you realized that to disobey is to cause your own death. I want you to live.”

  He stopped suddenly, his hand on the knob of the door. “Don’t you want to live? Don’t you want to spend the rest of your life by my side? I’ll worship you like you deserve, but you have to be good, my love. You have to give me everything – ALL of yourself – so I know that you love me in return. Like it used to be between us. Before…” His eyes were trained to the floor before he raised them, his attention tracing along the blood and dirt that ran down my legs. “…before I had to show you what happens to wives who don’t serve their husbands as they should.”

  His wrist flicked and the metal click of the latch announced that the door into hell had been opened.

  …

  “Nope! Fuck that!” Slamming the book closed, I tossed it across the room, watching the pages flutter open and closed as it fell to the hardwood floor. My finger was pointed out in front of me as I cornered the cardboard and paper world. “There is no way in fucking hell that I’m going to read twenty-five fucking chapters of some poor woman being beaten within an inch of her life just for it to end with her dying. No fucking way. Na-uh.”

  I yelled at the book like it was an actual person.

  I yelled at the book like it was Lucas.

  It didn’t matter that it was nothing more than a book. In my mind, Lucas was standing there with my finger embedded into his chest as I made my point.

  “There is no reason that any person needs to be reading that garbage. Seriously, stuff like that shouldn’t even be allowed to be sold.”

  Stalking off towards my room, I flipped the switch off and padded my bare feet through the dark room, but then – THEN – I had to know. Does she die? Does he change his m
ind? Is there really just some psychological disorder that’s causing him to act like a complete douche and she’ll find the medication that helps him? What I need to know is: Is there redemption? Is there absolution or salvation? Something good? Something that says that even dark stories can have a happy ending? There has to be. Lucas couldn’t be so cruel as to not let the good side win.

  I don’t remember what happened except that, after turning my head back in the direction of that book, within seconds I’d somehow crossed the room, picked up the book, flipped on a lamp and was sitting comfortably in my Papasan chair with a fleece blanket thrown over my lap and my nose tucked tightly into those God awful pages.

  …

  I woke up late the next morning. After opening my eyes to find the bright morning sun shining in from between my navy blue curtains, my feet were on the ground and my body was in the shower. I didn’t have time to dry my hair so I braided it back and ran out the door barely remembering to grab my purse. Fortunately, I come from the opposite direction of the bus and was able to wave down the driver when I was 3 seconds late instead of having to run for it from behind.

  Once I arrived at the library I made my usual entrance through the door of the employee office and threw my purse in the drawer. I reached the reception and check out desk and the library appeared to be deserted. Looking at my watch, I noticed that I was three minutes late, however, nobody saw me. I recorded myself in on time.

  An hour later, after checking out a ton of books for Ms. Vickers, the 97 year old women who has read every single erotica book in this library, I was approached by Sue.

  “Autumn, how you are doing this morning?” Her smile seemed forced or stressed.

  I returned her greeting with a shy smile and answered, “I’m fine, Sue. Just finishing up with Ms. Vickers.”

  Sue laughed and turned to watch the old woman manage to carry 20 novels in bags secured to her walker. “There must be something about those books. She certainly does have a spring to her step on her book exchange day.” Turning back to me, she placed both her hands on the desk between us. She obviously wanted to say something, but she appeared nervous to bring it up.