Keep Me
Page 42
He may do other things to me, but I’m safe from sexual punishment for now.
That fact and my anger spur my reckless reply. “Actually, the real question is what are you going to do, Julian?” I say, my voice low and bitter. “Are you going to drag me kicking and screaming to get these trackers put in? Because that’s what you’ll have to do, you know—I’m not going to go along with this like some good little captive. I’m done playing that role.”
His smile disappears, replaced by a look of ruthless determination. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Nora,” he says harshly and rises to his feet, hauling me up with him.
I struggle, but it’s pointless; within a second, he has me lifted up in his arms, one of his hands restraining my wrists and the other arm tightly hooked under my knees, essentially immobilizing my legs. Incensed, I arch my spine, trying to break his grip, but he’s holding me too securely for that. All I succeed in doing is tiring myself out, and after a couple of minutes, I stop, panting in frustrated exhaustion as Julian begins walking back toward the house, carrying me like a helpless child.
“You can scream if you want,” he informs me as we approach the porch steps. His voice is calm and detached, and his face is empty of all emotion as he glances down at me. “It won’t change anything, but you’re welcome to try.”
I know he’s probably using reverse psychology on me, but I remain silent as he pushes open the front door with his back and enters the house. My earlier anger is fading, a kind of weary resignation taking its place. I’ve always known that fighting Julian is pointless, and what happened today only confirms that fact. I can resist all I want, but it will avail me nothing.
As Julian carries me into the foyer, I see Ana still standing there, staring at us in shock and fascination. She must’ve stayed to watch the conclusion of the chase through the window, and I can feel her gaze following us as Julian walks past her without a word.
Now that the immediate rush of adrenaline has passed, I am aware of a deep flush of embarrassment. It’s one thing for Ana to notice a few faint bruises on my thighs, but it’s another thing entirely for her to see us like this. I’m sure she’s seen worse—after all, she works for a crime lord—but I still can’t help feeling uncomfortably exposed. I don’t want people on the estate to know the truth about my relationship with Julian; I don’t want them to look at me with pity in their eyes. I had plenty of that back home in Oak Lawn, and I’m not eager to repeat the experience.
“Are you just going to shove the trackers in?” I ask Julian as he brings me into our bedroom. “With no anesthesia or anything?” My tone is deeply sarcastic, but I am genuinely wondering about that. I know my husband enjoys inflicting pain on me sometimes, so it’s not entirely out of the question that this will be some type of a sexual thing for him.
Julian’s jaw flexes as he lowers me to my feet. “No,” he says curtly, releasing me and stepping back. My eyes immediately stray to the door, but Julian is between me and the exit as he walks over to a small commode and rummages through the drawers. “I’ll make sure you don’t feel a thing.” And as I watch, he pulls out a small, very familiar-looking syringe.
My insides grow cold. I recognize that syringe—it’s the one he had in his pocket when he came back for me, the one he would’ve used on me if I hadn’t gone with him of my own volition.
“Is that how you drugged me when you stole me from the park?” My voice is even, betraying little of the fact that I’m crumbling inside. “What kind of drug is that?”
Julian sighs, looking inexplicably weary as he comes toward me. “It has a long, complicated name that I don’t remember off the top of my head—and yes, it’s what I used to bring you to the island. It’s one of the best drugs of its kind, with very few side effects.”
“Few side effects? How lovely.” Taking a step back, I cast a frantic glance around the room, looking for something I can use to defend myself. There’s nothing, though. Other than a jar of hand creme and a box of tissues on the bed stand, the room is immaculately neat, free of clutter. I keep backing away until my knees hit the bed, and then I know I have nowhere else to go.
I’m trapped.
“Nora . . .” Julian is less than a foot from me now, the syringe in his right hand. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Harder than it has to be? Is he fucking serious? A fresh spurt of fury gives me renewed strength. I throw myself on the bed and roll across it, hoping to make it to the other side so I can dash for the door. Before I get to the edge, however, Julian is on top of me, his muscular body pressing me into the mattress. With my face buried in the fluffy blanket, I can hardly breathe, but before I get a chance to panic, Julian shifts most of his weight off me, enabling me to turn my head to the side. As I suck in air, I feel him moving—he’s uncapping the syringe, I realize with an icy shudder—and I know I have only seconds before he drugs me again.
“Don’t do this, Julian.” The words come out in a desperate, broken plea. I know begging him is futile, but there is nothing else I can do at this point. My heart pounds heavily in my chest as I play my last card. “Please, if you care for me at all—if you love me—please don’t do this . . .”
I can hear his breath catching, and for a moment, I feel a spark of hope—a spark that’s immediately extinguished as he gently moves my tangled hair off my neck, exposing my skin. “It’s really not going to be that bad, baby,” he murmurs, and then I feel a sharp prick in the side of my neck.
That fact and my anger spur my reckless reply. “Actually, the real question is what are you going to do, Julian?” I say, my voice low and bitter. “Are you going to drag me kicking and screaming to get these trackers put in? Because that’s what you’ll have to do, you know—I’m not going to go along with this like some good little captive. I’m done playing that role.”
His smile disappears, replaced by a look of ruthless determination. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Nora,” he says harshly and rises to his feet, hauling me up with him.
I struggle, but it’s pointless; within a second, he has me lifted up in his arms, one of his hands restraining my wrists and the other arm tightly hooked under my knees, essentially immobilizing my legs. Incensed, I arch my spine, trying to break his grip, but he’s holding me too securely for that. All I succeed in doing is tiring myself out, and after a couple of minutes, I stop, panting in frustrated exhaustion as Julian begins walking back toward the house, carrying me like a helpless child.
“You can scream if you want,” he informs me as we approach the porch steps. His voice is calm and detached, and his face is empty of all emotion as he glances down at me. “It won’t change anything, but you’re welcome to try.”
I know he’s probably using reverse psychology on me, but I remain silent as he pushes open the front door with his back and enters the house. My earlier anger is fading, a kind of weary resignation taking its place. I’ve always known that fighting Julian is pointless, and what happened today only confirms that fact. I can resist all I want, but it will avail me nothing.
As Julian carries me into the foyer, I see Ana still standing there, staring at us in shock and fascination. She must’ve stayed to watch the conclusion of the chase through the window, and I can feel her gaze following us as Julian walks past her without a word.
Now that the immediate rush of adrenaline has passed, I am aware of a deep flush of embarrassment. It’s one thing for Ana to notice a few faint bruises on my thighs, but it’s another thing entirely for her to see us like this. I’m sure she’s seen worse—after all, she works for a crime lord—but I still can’t help feeling uncomfortably exposed. I don’t want people on the estate to know the truth about my relationship with Julian; I don’t want them to look at me with pity in their eyes. I had plenty of that back home in Oak Lawn, and I’m not eager to repeat the experience.
“Are you just going to shove the trackers in?” I ask Julian as he brings me into our bedroom. “With no anesthesia or anything?” My tone is deeply sarcastic, but I am genuinely wondering about that. I know my husband enjoys inflicting pain on me sometimes, so it’s not entirely out of the question that this will be some type of a sexual thing for him.
Julian’s jaw flexes as he lowers me to my feet. “No,” he says curtly, releasing me and stepping back. My eyes immediately stray to the door, but Julian is between me and the exit as he walks over to a small commode and rummages through the drawers. “I’ll make sure you don’t feel a thing.” And as I watch, he pulls out a small, very familiar-looking syringe.
My insides grow cold. I recognize that syringe—it’s the one he had in his pocket when he came back for me, the one he would’ve used on me if I hadn’t gone with him of my own volition.
“Is that how you drugged me when you stole me from the park?” My voice is even, betraying little of the fact that I’m crumbling inside. “What kind of drug is that?”
Julian sighs, looking inexplicably weary as he comes toward me. “It has a long, complicated name that I don’t remember off the top of my head—and yes, it’s what I used to bring you to the island. It’s one of the best drugs of its kind, with very few side effects.”
“Few side effects? How lovely.” Taking a step back, I cast a frantic glance around the room, looking for something I can use to defend myself. There’s nothing, though. Other than a jar of hand creme and a box of tissues on the bed stand, the room is immaculately neat, free of clutter. I keep backing away until my knees hit the bed, and then I know I have nowhere else to go.
I’m trapped.
“Nora . . .” Julian is less than a foot from me now, the syringe in his right hand. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Harder than it has to be? Is he fucking serious? A fresh spurt of fury gives me renewed strength. I throw myself on the bed and roll across it, hoping to make it to the other side so I can dash for the door. Before I get to the edge, however, Julian is on top of me, his muscular body pressing me into the mattress. With my face buried in the fluffy blanket, I can hardly breathe, but before I get a chance to panic, Julian shifts most of his weight off me, enabling me to turn my head to the side. As I suck in air, I feel him moving—he’s uncapping the syringe, I realize with an icy shudder—and I know I have only seconds before he drugs me again.
“Don’t do this, Julian.” The words come out in a desperate, broken plea. I know begging him is futile, but there is nothing else I can do at this point. My heart pounds heavily in my chest as I play my last card. “Please, if you care for me at all—if you love me—please don’t do this . . .”
I can hear his breath catching, and for a moment, I feel a spark of hope—a spark that’s immediately extinguished as he gently moves my tangled hair off my neck, exposing my skin. “It’s really not going to be that bad, baby,” he murmurs, and then I feel a sharp prick in the side of my neck.
