Predator - A Stand Alone Suspense Romance Read online

  His fingers shove the flimsy cotton to the side. “No!” I scream as I feel his dick ram against my entrance, but all my struggling and protesting only seems to excite him more. He keeps ramming against me as he struggles to get his dick in while holding me down. I try to clench my legs together but his knees jar my attempts.

  He enters me violently on a grunt and I can’t hold back the inconsolable and horrified screams.

  “No.” It’s the only word my brain can come up with in this moment of absolute depravity. Sharp burns tear through me.

  “Don’t worry, babe,” he grunts breathlessly. “I’ll be quick. You won’t remember this for long.” He keeps thrusting into me, each thrust a scorching stab. I feel exposed and debased. “Tomorrow, Henry gets to shoot your brains out,” he grunts again as his body jerks faster against me. He comes hard, his body shuddering against mine, as if my impending death is the biggest turn on for him. “You didn’t think you were going to live, did you?” I feel his clammy breath on my ear and then he whispers, “But first we all get to have a bit of fun with you. You’ll be begging Henry to put a bullet right between your eyes by the time we’ve fucked you raw.”

  He grabs a chunk of my hair and yanks me from the floor as he gets ups. I feel the stickiness of his cum dribble down the insides of my thighs, and somehow that makes it all so much worse. I feel filthy and empty, like a piece of discarded trash.

  He shoves me closer to the camera and then talks directly to the blinding light. “There’s nothing left of her, Tom. You should have given us the money when we asked.”

  He shoves me to the side and I fall hard to my knees. I don’t even bother getting up but instead curl into a fetal position.

  I don’t notice him leaving. I don’t notice anything but the wetness between my legs that makes me sick to the pit of my stomach.

  Emptiness stretches and grows inside of me, consuming every part that makes me human.

  My mind is quiet for the first time, as if it’s switched off.

  I’m not thinking of ways to escape.

  I’m not thinking of ways to hurt them back.

  I’m just not thinking.

  What’s the use of thinking? I’m already dead.

  They killed my will to live.

  Cara~

  “Girlie!” The whisper comes from the old man. He’s standing right outside the door. It’s too early for him to bring me food.

  Maybe it’s my last meal.

  A humorless chuckle bubbles over my lips. Hah! Like I’ll be able to keep anything down.

  “Get ready to run,” he whispers.

  The door creaks open and my head snaps up, but he’s already gone. I’m not sure I heard him right. Did he say run?

  The door stands wide open and sunlight streams in. I can’t move a muscle. I’m scared out of my mind.

  I hear gravel crunching under a heavy footfall. A dark figure appears in the doorway and I cower back.

  “Please,” I whimper. Yes, I’m begging for my worthless life.

  I don’t know how many times I’ve said that word in the last few hours. They’ve degraded me until all that’s left is a beggar, pleading for the crumbs of my life that’s scattered around me.

  The man stalks toward me and I whimper, recoiling back like the coward I am. When he kneels down next to me, I anticipate a blow, but instead he shrugs out of his jacket. I press harder into the walls. I can’t take being raped again. They should rather just kill me.

  Repulsion and hatred wells up inside me as flashes of the night tortures me. The true nightmare is the memories you have to face when you’re awake. Every time it feels like you’re able to take a breath, they just drag you down deeper, suffocating you more.

  “Move forward,” the man snaps icily. He doesn’t wait for me to move. When he takes hold of my shoulders, his hands are firm. I recoil from his touch, but he pulls me up onto unsteady legs and forces my arms into the sleeves. I hear the zip go up and then I feel his fingers close around mine, taking hold of my hand in a really tight grip.

  My first thought is to wonder what kind of rapist dresses his victim.

  My second thought is that he’s not going to rape me, but kill me, and I’m not sure how I feel about dying.

  There were times during the night that I wished they would just kill me. I’m not scared of dying, but rather where I’ll end up afterwards. I’m not sure where I’ll go and that makes fear bleed into my soul until I’m a shaking, sobbing mess.

  “Stay behind me at all times. Do not scream. Do not get in front of me.” His voice is hard. It takes a split second for the meaning of his words to sink into my terrified mind. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I don’t have time to ponder his words because he’s already moving and pulling at my arm.

  I give my first unsteady step forward and then I have my third clear thought – could he actually be helping me? Dare I hope that he’s here to save me?

  The second step hurts, and with every movement the stickiness and raw ache between my legs reminds me of the vile things they did to me.

  When we reach the door, my breaths are desperate gasps as I try to swallow down the pain and harrowing memories.

  “I’ll set the room on fire, Predator. You do your job,” the old man says to the man holding my hand.

  What the hell kind of name is Predator?

  He pulls me in behind him and my chest closes up when he lets go of my hand.

  Shit, this is it!

  Oh, my God. I’m not ready to die.

  My heart pounds in my ears and I’m well aware of the fact that each of those heartbeats might be my last.

  But then he reaches for me with his left hand and I grab for it desperately.

  I don’t care what his name is as long as he’s here to help me.

  ‘Please let him be here to help.’

  “I need my right hand free,” he whispers darkly. My eyes dart to his face and I’m filled with horror all over again. This man is easily the scariest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  Every line on his face is pronounced as he pulls a gun from behind his back. I didn’t even see it where it was tucked into the back of his pants. My throat and mouth dry right up and I can’t swallow the thick spit that’s coating the inside of my mouth. He nudges me a little, until I’m right behind him, and then I remember what he said - I have to stay behind him.

  I cling to his hand and arm with both my hands. We walk towards a simple looking house. Heat flares up behind me and I glance over my shoulder. The old man has set a shipping container alight.

  Then reality dawns on me. I was held in a shipping container. How easy it would’ve been to dispose of my body.

  Fuckers!

  “We’re going to walk in. We’re going to kill them and we’re going to leave. You do not touch anything. We don’t leave any traces that can lead back to us.” The man is so focused I can feel the intensity of the moment rippling off him in waves.

  “We?” The word pops from my mouth.

  “Glad to see you’re still thinking straight enough to hear what I’m saying,” he says gruffly. The corner of his mouth twitches. “No screaming and no fainting. Oh, and definitely no puking.”

  I take a step back from him, humiliated that he can smell the nauseating smell of vomit on me.

  He moves first and I only move so I can keep up with him. We don’t run. Everything inside of me is screaming at me to make a run for it, but I stay behind him like a pathetic puppet trailing after her master.

  He tightens his grip on my hand when we near the house and I see a muscle jumping in his jaw, which only makes me more nervous.

  As we climb the four stairs to the porch, my vision tunnels on the front door.

  Why the fuck aren’t I running in the opposite direction?

  Why am I just letting him pull me along?

  I should be fighting, kicking and screaming!

  My mind races from absolute panic to that void filled with emptiness.

 
I see him lift his arm but nothing can prepare me for the loud bang as he shoots a hole where the lock is. The front door shudders, squeaking at the hinges. And then it all happens in flashes.

  Flashes and loud bangs.

  Screams and blood.

  Men lunge for Predator, but he lets go of my hand, moving fast and with precision, as if he’s done this a million times.

  All I can do is stand rooted, my eyes wide with shock and my heart racing like a wild horse trapped in a burning barn.

  The world slows down around me yet everything races inside of me.

  Every shot he takes hits a target, red blossoms, exactly like you’d see in the movies. Only this isn’t a movie. These are real bodies dropping to the ground, real blood, real screams of terror and for a change I’m not the one screaming.

  “Stay there,” he growls. I stand frozen as I watch him shove open a heavy looking door to my right. I hear cursing. “Fuck!” someone yells and then there are more shots.

  Any normal person would run screaming from this nightmare, but I stand frozen as I watch them die. I imagined a lot of ways for them all to die, but not this, not such easy deaths. I wish they were burning, just like the container outside.

  Predator comes back into the living room. His face looks grim, his eyes constantly searching for a target.

  He looks like a predator. Now I understand his name.

  His eyes settle on me, and just a look from him makes my heart leap to my throat. He lifts the gun a few inches higher and it points directly at my head. The second it takes for his finger to squeeze the trigger, I look into his eyes. They are cold and calculating. There are no emotions, only a loud bang, louder than all the others and I can’t make myself duck for cover. I don’t even flinch as I feel a slight burn on my cheek, and then I hear something heavy drop behind me. I exhale a trembling breath as terror makes my blood race hot through my veins.

  Shit, he could’ve shot me! I can’t even bring myself to curse him.

  “Good girl,” he breathes darkly. He takes my hand and he pulls me toward the front door. I do my best not to look at the bodies but my eyes are drawn to them, soaking them in with a crazy sense of relief.

  We’re almost to the door when I spot the camera. I pull at his arm to get his attention. “Wait, it’s the camera.” It’s lying on the coffee table with the tripod and a small stack of memory cards next to it.

  “And?” he snaps. Obviously he doesn’t know about it.

  “They made recordings of me for-” I stop but I don’t have to say more because he catches on.

  “We need a bag. Touch nothing but the bag.” He’s starting to sound really tense. I don’t like that he’s tense. So far he’s been the calm one between the two of us. We can’t both lose our sanity and it’s clear I’ve totally lost my mind already.

  We find a paper bag in the kitchen. As we rush towards the living room, my foot slams into something hard and I almost trip. I’ve been trying not to look at the dead faces and blood that’s all around me, but my eyes dart down. I see blood, fuck there’s so much! Then recognition sinks hard to the pit of my stomach. It’s Steven! I recoil back with revulsion.

  “Don’t start that shit now. We need to get out of here,” Predator snaps at me. He nudges me forward and with shaking hands I help him shove the camera and memory cards into the bag.

  He grabs my hand again and pulls me out the front door. I look straight ahead of me and then I see grass. I yank free and rush forward as if I’ve finally been set free. Once I’m off the porch, I run as fast as my trembling legs can move.

  I don’t get far before my legs give way and I eat gravel, not grass. I didn’t even make it that far.

  I’m too scared to move.

  I’m too petrified to look back at what’s coming.

  I hear the gravel crunch behind me and my heart sinks. My insides drop and I start to cry. I sob because not even God will help me.

  “Cara.” My head snaps up at the sound of my name. It’s the way he says it, as if he actually cares. It sounds comforting. “It’s time to go. You’re safe now.”

  When he crouches next to me, I get my first good look at him. His dark brown hair is short and neat, shaved at the sides. His face is grim and hard, with a beard that only makes him look grisly and dark. He looks like he’s made of stone. Then I see his eyes, gray eyes. Ferocious eyes.

  I drop my eyes from his. He definitely has eyes that see everything, just like the walls I was trapped between saw everything.

  For a moment emotions threaten to bubble up, to drown me in the horror of what has been done to me, but I close my eyes and focus on the emptiness that’s blackening my soul. I’d rather take the empty feelings over the memories of the nightmare I’ve been living through.

  “We’re going to leave now. Can you walk?’ he asks, ripping me from my dark thoughts. I try to get up but what adrenaline I had is gone now. “Okay, no walking then,” he says. His arms slip under me and he lifts me. I feel small in his arms. He’s so much bigger than me, but I feel small because there’s nothing left of the person I once was.

  He walks and I don’t even care where, as long as it’s far from the container.

  It feels like I’m shutting down, my mind, my body, my soul – every piece of me is tired of fighting.

  “You’re safe. I have you now,” are the last words I hear.

  Damian~

  I watch as she slowly comes to. I’ve done this so many times, it should be second nature by now – but it never gets easier.

  Most of the people I’m sent to extract from shit holes, like the one I found Cara in, lose their shit instantly. They cry, they rage, they puke. Fuck, they puke a lot, but you can’t blame them. It’s their body’s way of dealing with the shock.

  I usually only stay with them for a day, before I hand them over to the person who sent me in to get them. But not this one – I have to keep her for a while, make sure she’s safe. Her uncle sent me and I’ll have to twist the truth a little so she never finds out why.

  I have to teach her how to be a ghost so she won’t get caught again. That should be the hardest part if everything goes according to plan.

  Her eyes flutter open and they look foggy with confusion. She has ginger hair that’s dirty and all over the place. Her eyes are green and the red of her hair only makes the color stand out more. But it’s that face that makes her easy to spot. I can see she’s a real beauty, even under all the bruising. She has a fragile kind of beauty, the kind that wants to make you protect her, but still they beat the shit out of her.

  It’s easy for me to kill, I just point and shoot. It’s either them or me, but I’d never be able to hit a woman, especially one who looks like Cara. I feel a wave of satisfaction, almost like I’m on a high for killing those fuckers.

  I used to get the high every time I saved someone, with every bullet I fired, and with every dead body that dropped to the ground. But after doing this for years the high went away and a coldness took over. It became a clinical thing to do. Go in and get the target … and leave no witnesses alive.

  Sometimes, I have to call on Jeff to help. He’s old and looks harmless, but that man can still hold his own in a fight since he’s been retired from the FBI. He loves to get his hands dirty, to dig his way right into the heart of the hell hole. He checks things out; like how many men, the layout, how hard it will be to extract the target. When he has all the info, he gets it to me and then I go in for the kill.

  I only trust Jeff because he was the one who gave me my first job. We’ve been working together for twelve years. Fuck, it feels like a life time.

  She clears her throat, grabbing my attention. They did a real number on her. Her face is busted, swollen jaw, black eyes. I cringe when I see the burn on her cheek. That bullet was way too close. I take solace in the fact that she’s alive, and that the fucker who was coming up behind her is dead. The burn will heal.

  “You’re awake. Good,” I say. I keep my voice neutral as always. I can’t g
ive the target a sliver of emotion to latch onto. It’s one thing if I only have them for a day, then I usually prepare them for when whoever hired me comes to claim them. But if they have to stay with me for longer than a day, which is rare, I keep things neutral. It’s easier for everyone if there are no emotions involved.

  Her eyes dart around the room. There’s nothing but two beds and a table. The motel looks like shit, but the worse it looks, the better for us. It’s easier to hide that way.

  “You’re the man…” She clears her throat again. “You helped me?” She frowns and it looks like she’s in a world of pain. I don’t know the extent of her injuries yet. I wanted to let her rest, but now that she’s up, we’ll have to look at her wounds and get them cleaned properly. “Predator?

  Oh yeah, the nickname I’ve been given. I don’t use my real name anymore. She’s going to be with me for a year and I can’t have her calling me Predator while she’s staying with me.

  “Damian,” I say the name I’ve been using for the past few years. I watch a look of confusion flash over her bruised face. “My name is Damian Weston.” I watch her closely and then understanding crosses her features.

  “Damian,” she whispers, testing the name on her dry and bruised lips.

  “Great, you’re talking today. That’s very good.” I slap my hands on my thighs and then get up from the chair I’ve been occupying in the corner for the past fourteen hours. “It’s time to get you clean.”

  I move into the bathroom to open the faucets. When I walk back into the room, she’s struggling to sit up. It’s important for her to do most of this herself, no matter how hard. I can’t have her becoming dependent on me.

  Women especially are like wounded birds. You have to let them heal on their own, or they will never leave. They won’t be able to fend for themselves if you baby them. They tend see you as the hero in their nightmare, and then they want you to keep fixing them. Once you let that happen it’s over, emotions get involved, and hearts get broken.

  She whimpers and slumps back to the bed, closing her eyes.