The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 31

My body is temporarily shocked by the fear, and I can't move. His rough hands painfully and cruelly grope my breasts from behind as he keeps me pinned against the wall, immobile.

My mind races back to the desolate horror of my teenage assault and how he exerted power over me in Chicago. My body is trembling involuntarily, and my mind is constantly racing to the miracle inside me and my maternal need to protect it against all odds. This isn't just about me anymore; I need to find the strength to save my child from what I know is coming.

He will take what I denied him a few months ago and back when I was a teenager; payback for Jake for beating him. He will ravage my body sexually in ways that will devastate my mind emotionally, but I can't give in to this. I must search deep inside myself for safety with my baby, wrap my body around us, lock us both in, and let my mind detach. I can't fight someone like him, I could try, but I know he would beat my child from within me, and it matters more than the damage he could ever inflict on me.

"Remember me, darlin'? I didn't forget about you, my little whore. You and I have some catching up to do." He snarls against my ear, pushing a hard-erect lump into ass and roughs up against me, straining through his rough jeans. His rancid breath is heating my face and making my skin crawl in disgust. My heart pounds through my chest, and all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will Jake to know I'm not okay, for some sixth sense to make him feel my need for him, mentally calling for help, attempting to keep my body from unraveling at the panic building inside of me. All rational thought is fleeting away, and I know I am completely and helplessly about to be abused. Ray succeeding where previously he failed.

I know it's pointless trying to call for help telepathically. Jake flew to Manhattan. He's an hour by plane, four hours by car, and not due home until the morning. Mathews is on some goose chase for keys, which could be just as long. I am alone, but Ray knows he doesn't need long to inflict lasting damage on my soul. He only needs a few minutes to subdue me, even if Mathews is heading back. This will take me away from Jake, remove my ability to handle a man's touch, and inevitably take my life from me. I try to flex my body, to get some purchase but the biting grip and heavy pressure collapsing me into the door takes my breath away. If I fight against him, he will push me down with more aggression, and I can't let him hurt my child.

My baby girl! I know it! My little Mia, maybe … Mommy will protect you, my sweetheart. We'll hang on in here. Just listen to my voice; we're going to be okay.

She is the one thing I must protect no matter what he does to me.

"What do you want?" My voice is small and shaking as his hand uncovers my mouth while he changes his grip position, my palms are flattened to the cold door in front of me, and I'm trying my hardest to claw back some sense of calm to my fevered mind. I'm so terrified I can barely breathe, but strength is chanting through my fear-addled brain that my baby needs me to stay calm.

We're going to be okay, baby girl.

"Your rich prick boyfriend and I have some unfinished business, and man, I have been patient, waiting and watching. Did you feel me, Emma? In your house? Watching you from afar? Did you feel me near you and sense the way my cock hardened for you anytime you passed me?" The smell of his breath on my face makes me choke as his dirty mouth comes to my cheek. I try to recoil from him, but the biting grip on the back of my neck pushes my face hard against the door. His disgusting slimy tongue makes its way up my cheek, and his hot sour breath assaults my senses. I gag as a huge bolt of nausea lifts in my stomach, lurching repeatedly.

I gulp down my tears, fighting back the cold wave of terror. Then it clicks in my brain; he was the man watching me from the shadows, the one whose eyes I could sense on me occasionally! The one lingering around that I'd noticed the last couple of days. He'd been here, among the workmen, all along. He's probably the one they trusted to return the keys to me. My gut tried to warn me, tried to tell me that something was off about him. If only I'd voiced something to Jake at the time, Ray would've been found out.

Jake, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My baby … our baby. I'm sorry.

"If you hurt me, he'll kill you. He won't just come after you, Ray. He will fucking kill you, slowly and painfully, and enjoy every fucking second." I snarl between clenched teeth willing myself to sound braver than I feel. I am trying so hard to get my body to draw in some strength to stand stiffly instead of the mush of Jell-O I am right now. I know I shouldn't be antagonizing him, but my inner fight is finding her feet at the thought of those clear green eyes, his sexy natural smile, and our beautiful baby girl. My inner strength urging me to protect them both.

Mommy's got this, okay, baby girl? I've got this.

"Baby, I want him to know what I do, to see what I've done to you. I want to know the agony he's in when he's looking for you and knowing I have you, and I am fucking every part of you until you bleed." His raspy threat ends with a hard bite on my ear, sting, and warmth oozes instantly down my neck. I scream in pain impulsively. The sound muffled as his fingers bite back at my mouth, crushing me to silence again.

My inner rage kicks out, and I try to elbow him, my leg thrusting back in sheer defiant hate, only meeting with defensive blows. The pain, kick-starting that inner teen rage, lashing back to fight and to be free, never to be his victim again.

He laughs, grabbing the back of my skull and, with alarming force, pulls back my head, smashing me forward into the door with a bone-crushing thud to my forehead that draws instant nausea up my throat and blood into my mouth as my teeth pierce into my tongue, my nose collides with the door and heated liquid runs down over my mouth.

The sensation of darkness hits me before any real pain does, and I feel overwhelming dizziness as my body buckles in front of him. My bones melt instantly, and I have no idea what is happening to me. He's knocked me senseless but not completely out, and he slips me over his shoulder limply and effortlessly.

I'm fighting with my consciousness to wake up and failing. There's a dark haziness over me, I know what is happening, but I cannot do anything about it. My body temporarily paralyzed, and my willingness to fight locked inside my head. It feels like I'm dreaming, and all pain and fear have slipped aside. I can hear harsh whimpering mewls coming from somewhere and realize it's my own voice. My inability to fight back and the fear inside me blow up dramatically, but I have no strength or courage to do anything.

He is carrying me toward the stairs, effortlessly taking me from this house with an aura of satisfaction; my limbs are heavy, and I have a slow, tingling sensation coming into my fingertips. I'm sure I will throw up, the beginning of retches and jerks of a stomach getting ready to empty itself. I start tingling and aching in my legs as I realize my body is coming out of the shock that his assault placed it in. I'm slowly, so very painfully slowly, able to move my fingers, fighting the huge weight of my limbs to lift them.

I whimper and reach out, trying weakly to grope at the closest banister to me as we pass. Every jolt and nudge is painful in my abdomen as my body bounces on hard shoulders with every step downward. I'm trying to hold on, but my weak fingers slide with no grip, still not completely responsive. I slump and try to inhale slowly, trying to regain strength in my body as the mental fog in my brain starts to clear. My head aches heavily as it begins to come through.

His pace is slow and steady. He's enjoying the build-up to taking me from my home, getting a kick out of his dominance. His cruel, vindictive game of building my fear, knowing I'm helpless. He planned this, thought about every step, and now he's relishing every second. His body odor and sweat wake my senses up, gagging and retching. The undeniably strong stench of a man used to physical work and lack of hygiene.

"I've seen how weak pretty boy is over you. I'm going to enjoy sending him the videos of what I'm repeatedly doing to you. I'm going to enjoy this much more than you are, sweetheart! I have so many inventive ways to fuck you. I just hope you live long enough to torture him into insanity." He laughs again, almost to himself, his comments more of a smug self-assurance in an evil sadistic way than a confession of his plans for me. It makes me realize how deeply he has been fantasizing about this, thinking it through, every step planned for precision at how to get back at Jake and me, serving punishment on a man he's no match for and a girl who evaded his demands twice.

He's taking me somewhere … somewhere he's prepared with cameras and God knows what else. He intends to rape, torture, and probably beat me; violence has always been his turn-on, and he wants to inflict pain upon Jake in the most demonic way possible. He's seen Jake's love for me, and he will use it as a weapon knowing Jake can never physically touch him. He's a coward and a twisted son of a bitch, a man who can only dominate women that are no match for him.

Fight for God's sake! Get up and move, Emma!

That inner voice claws at me, a wave of fear running through my stomach for me and little tadpole. He'll kill us both for sure, and if he doesn't kill me, he'll kill the innocent life that grows inside me. She would never survive repeated rape and torture, and killing my baby will end me too. Even if I survive this, I know I would never survive the loss or the knowledge that I didn't protect her. I am her mother; I need to protect her always.

Emma, you are not your mother. You can and will protect your daughter from Ray. You can do this.

Baby girl, sweetheart, Mommy is here. I'm here.

A surge of anger and some deep unearthly protective rage rush from somewhere inside me. My arms strain out as my hands grasp the railings, desperately trying to latch on. My palms slide on the wooden surface, but I try again and grasp on, gripping hard onto my lifeline, tugging us to a sudden unexpected halt, mid-step. It earns me a massive searing smack across my legs and butt, and pain and burning sensations flash across my skin in agonizing pain. I yelp but grab out again, catching further down the banister in the hopes of doing it again, each time delaying him so that maybe Mathews has a chance of getting here in time.

We're almost halfway down the huge sweeping staircase, closer to the door, and probably a waiting car to take me, never to be found alive again. If I let him get me out there and take me from this place, all is hopeless. No one will know where to come and find me. I'll be his to do with as he pleases, and I can't let it happen.

Jake won't survive this. It'll kill him. It will destroy him. The beautiful soul that makes him who he is will be devastated and broken forever.

I try to picture him to give me strength and courage. His beautiful face and powerful body, that calm demeanor but passionate heart. He and our baby are my body, soul, and reason for breathing. They are my whole world, life, and future, and no one has the right to take that away from me or to take me away from them.

I close my eyes tight in determination, and with a slow, steadying breath, I grab at the smooth wooden rail, resolving to hold on to it with everything I am.

My hand connects with something loose on the smooth surface. It slides and rattles against the railings as I'm tugged onwards in our descent. It's cold and heavy, and my fingers have grasped it before I can contemplate what it is.

The lights are off down here, he must've killed them before following me upstairs, and I can make out the solid object I've caught in my palms. We're still moving, so he mustn't have noticed it. He's too engrossed in his thoughts of what he will do to me once he gets me into his car. My eyes dart open in surprise at the sudden weight I'm gripping onto …

What is this … Long and thin and heavy …

My breath catches in my chest as my scrambled brain makes sense of it, suddenly clicking my thoughts into place.

The crowbar … The crowbar!

I yank it up harshly, lifting it as high as I can above my head, positioning myself with my abdomen crushing against him, giving me balance and arching my back and head as high as possible. I stretch my arms to full length and extend the bar upwards for a fully heightened swing. I bring it down with the sheer force of hatred and self-preservation, teen Emma engaging my brain and taking control.

Take this fucker!

The crowbar connects with the base of his spine instantly with a magnificent self-satisfying crack, a body-vibrating shudder runs through him to me in a flash, and suddenly I'm flung backward at his shock of the connection. I am flying slowly down the stairs, disconnected from him, and surprisingly fearless. He cries out with a deep throaty gurgling scream of pain echoing around us in the dark space.

I hit the stairs sharply at an odd angle, tumbling backward as my ankles turn under me, the stomach-churning crunch and burning pain in my left foot lurches through me. I yelp loudly, gripping the bar as tight as possible because my life depends on it. I catch it across steps, trying to stop myself from sliding backward down the steps, my butt wedged over the edge and my head pressed to a wall from behind. I'm balancing crazily below where he is on the stairs, and my senses are finally coming to me, my body on high alert. This is my one chance at saving both of us, and he'll have to pry this bar from my cold dead fingers to get me to relinquish my weapon.

He's falling toward me in the dull light, brighter down here nearer the white marble hall because of the wide long windows and white reflective flooring. He trips down the steps trying to regain balance, attempting to catch the handrail with one hand while his other is on his back. He's moaning out loud, grappling and struggling to regain his equilibrium as I shuffle backward to get some purchase on the floor with my butt and legs, trying not to wince at the pain coursing through my body, pushing away the searing agony.

I am ready and waiting as soon as he stumbles close enough, sheer fury coursing through me, fear giving me strength; my body numbs out the pain as adrenaline spikes in my blood.

I swing as hard as I can with both hands grasping the bar at the base, right at his knee level, giving it all I have left.

The crushing, gnawing sound of crunching, snapping, and splintering bone echoes before his scream, and he crumbles over the top of me like a sack filled with deflated air. His heavy weight crashes down on me, winding me. His big arms and disgusting stale sweat entangle me in panic and jolt my body down with his. He's pulling me off balance and down the last few steps in a tumble as we roll the last distance in an entangled mass of limbs, grunts, and groans. His sheer smell and feel brought back nausea in my throat and the realization I am about to throw up …

My stomach is my only concern and my child within. I curl into a ball, holding tight with the bar in my arms against my breast, one hand protecting my baby, and fall into darkness with him at astounding speed. My eyes are closed, willing myself to hold on tight to what is most precious to me. The vision of Jake and our baby in my mind giving me the strength to keep going.

Our harsh marble floor landing is softened by his body at the base of the stairs, and we suddenly stop. I uncurl around him, realizing I'm on top and can get away if I shuffle backward on my butt. He's too focused on grappling at the floor, writhing in agony and whimpering pathetically. I'm empowered by the groans and moans coming from his hunched-up body and drag myself away from him, turning on my knees with only the thought of getting away, crawling to safety, and getting help. His vice-like grip comes out to catch my broken ankle, causing excruciating pain to course through me, resulting in a high-pitched scream. I bite out and catch my breath, trying to hold myself together, but I'm not stupid. I'm still holding the crowbar, clutching onto it with the fury of a woman unleashed. I know what I must do. I know he will keep coming for me, keep pursuing me unless I disable him properly. I bring the bar down with perfect precision and great clarity over his skull and the force of a desperate and terrified woman.

There's a deafening thud, an echoing and eerie silence as a breath escapes him, and then nothing. His body lies motionless, his hand on my ankle drops loose over my injury, and I hastily kick it away with my other foot.

I'm crouching at an odd angle, still gripping the bar so tightly that my nails have pierced my palms, breathing so hard it's painful and making me dizzy. I turn to stare at the bulky form in the dusky light, and something inside of me snaps. All fear and flight go out of me, and emotionless clarity and sense come over me; a dark sense of quiet, calming stillness, followed by a moment of completely detached pause, and I listen to the long slow, steady breaths from his almost lifeless body.

If I leave him this way to go and get help, he could get away, wake up and run, or catch me before I get anywhere. He will never stop coming for me if I always run from him.

I hold up the bar and contemplate hitting him again, but he doesn't appear to be conscious, and I know in my heart I don't have the stomach or the willpower to kill a man … Even him … Even if I could justify it to myself and the world, I could never look at myself in the mirror the same way again. Jake would never look at me the same way, and how could my child?

I scramble around on the floor, trying to find something to help me figure out what to do. The pain in my ankle is hot and burning through me intensely, but I push it down and claw my way across the space, dragging my leg behind me like an injured animal, slowly and surely. My head is a scrambling mess, my emotions all over the place, and a hard tension growing in my pelvis is making my body rigid. I can't begin to analyze how I feel; I'm just spurred on by the breathless anxiety of knowing that I am not out of danger yet. He could wake up at any second, and my body's pain is weakening me with every movement.

A sticky liquid blurs my vision on my face, and my mouth is full of the taste of blood. My head is pounding and swelling across my brow at an alarming rate, bringing back deep nausea and dizziness. My body is giving up on me, and I need to save myself before it does.

My eyes wander to the phone on the unit, and I crawl to it, yanking the cable right out of the wall like a crazed woman, biting into my hands and slicing my palm with the strength of my force. I pull it from the base of the phone stand and crawl back to him. I'm determined to do this, the overwhelming trembling of my body going into shock is slowly creeping up from my toes, so I need to be quick.

I've never restrained a person this way before, but sheer fear and adrenaline have me looping his hands behind his back and tying a multitude of complicated knots as tight as I can. I don't care if I cut off all circulation. The feel of his rough skin is making me recoil internally, and the stench of his musky body is choking me, but I keep tying the cord, hoping that this will be enough.

His breathing is shallow, so he's alive, and I can make out dark liquid oozing onto the floor by his head. I injured him in the way he hurt me, and somehow, it starts a tiny spark of strength deep inside me, a calm that sweeps up through me, giving me focus and determination.

I take a deep breath and sit back to look at my handiwork, calming my crazy body and reeling thoughts. He's strung up at the back, and I've run out of cords to do more. I hope it's enough, and his knee is too smashed to be able to use his legs should he want to come to get me.

I need Jake. I need help. I need the police. Get help, Emma … Go.

I realize my phone is in my bag upstairs, and I must've dropped it with his assault. There's no way I can muster the ability to get up that steep, winding staircase, and I've just disabled the only landline nearby.

Fuck's sake, Emma. Well done.

Stupid. Stupid. Okay, look around, Emma. Look! What can I find? What can I do? How can I get help?

I grab at my temples and knock on my head, trying to think. My eyes wandering around the room, desperately searching for something to help me get comfort.

Calm, Emma, be rational. Sylvana is right next door.

The street … Get to the street.

I try to get up, and my ankle gives out completely, another sharp agonizing pain, wooziness hitting me with ferocity and dampness now coursing down my chin as a fresh wave of blood pulses further down my face. I'm shivering. My body is shaking so badly that my hands are becoming unusable.

I trace the warmth of the liquid up to my forehead and realize he's cut my head open with the force of my collision into the door upstairs. My brow is swelling, and my hairline is crusting with blood.

"Jake is going to fuck you up!" I snarl at his motionless body, suddenly enraged at what he's done to me, what he intended to do to me! The anger I used to harbor kicks free and claims me with a fury I normally keep locked up, like some seething crazy past Emma.

This will not be over if the police take him away. He will bide his time and come back. He'll wait in the shadows again until we least expect it and lash out in a new, more horrendous way.

I look down at my stomach and recoil in sheer fear and terror.

He will come for our child … I know he will.

Something in me tells me he would, that his level of patience and craziness means he will be a threat forever, one that even Jake can't keep us safe from.

I need to get to Sylvana. She will know what to do. Mathews will come back, and he can do something with this piece of shit while Jake comes to me and figures out what to do. Jake always knows what to do.

With more determination, I try to stand again to walk out of this house, but my ankle bites at me in pain. I crumble in screaming agony; nausea washing through me so fast I can't contain it, and I throw up on the floor, finally giving up the contents that had been threatening to expel all along.

I lean back in disgust and grab at my swimming head, spitting blood and sick out of my mouth, and use my sleeve to wipe at it. I clutch at my stomach as a tremor of ache courses through my lower abdomen, a prickling of anxiety at the fear that my baby might be damaged somehow. That this physical encounter has hurt her. The ache hits again, low and winding, like a punch in the gut, and it strokes panic in me once more.

The sheer force of deep-rooted fear at the possible loss of her hits me, consuming everything but the need to get help for her … For my baby.

He will not take you from me. He cannot win.

The tears start pouring down my face, and I can't take much more of this pain soaring in my heart; every aching assault on my abdomen comes in waves and is like a piece of my heart being sliced away.

I lift my chin defiantly and drag myself onto my knees, moved by the power inside to get my child the help she needs to stay with me. My belly is aching and twisting inside of me, and tears flood my face, diluting the blood and mess and leaving a trail across my shirt and neck.

My arms are aching, and my body is shaking violently. I crawl purposefully, ignoring everything else but the need to save her, my beautiful little green-eyed girl. I want to see her smile back at me. I want to hold her in my arms and know the smell of my little one against my face. The feel of her delicate skin and soft breaths. I won't lose her now; I'll grip onto her harder than I'll ever grip onto anything in my life.

I crawl to the front door, trying to haul myself to my feet to reach the handles, crying with every single effort and calling out in pain. My eyes are screwed shut, and my fists are clenched to get my body to move upward.

I won't let him do this to me. I won't let him destroy any chance of happiness or take away our life in this way.

I reach up, hauling at the handle in one last desperate effort, trying to get enough purchase to open the door and shove myself up further against the screaming pain.

I connect with the handle and tug. The door opens enough to catch my fingers in the crack and sob out loud in relief, grappling manically and slumping back down onto my knees, somewhat relieving my ankle's excruciating pain.

I pull the door back as far as I can against me, shifting my weight out of the way to accommodate the door's opening. It is less than a second before the alarm engages at the disruption.

My home turns into some flashing beacon of lights and wailing sirens, overwhelming my senses in a terrifying assault. Crying for help in deafening proportions, I make out the blurred lights near the front door, blinking in time to the brain-fogging ringing around me. Knocking the last of my senses into oblivion.

I did it. I signaled for help, and now I want to lie down, curl around my child, and hold onto her for a little longer. My body is giving up on me while my brain tries to find the calm in the chaos around me.

Stay with me, sweetheart. Hold on for just a little longer. They're coming. Daddy will come. Please, baby …