“You have problems with orders, Red," he says, repositioning my limbs. My arms are now held high above my head, and my legs spread open, kicked apart by his boots. “There. Now you’re submitted like I need you to be.”
I’m not sure how I manage to stay upright and in position, but I do. Every moan through parted lips spells out my agony and speaks of the horror I’m experiencing at the wolf's hands, which are now roaming my body ... frisking me. All he needs to say is, ‘You’re under arrest because you’ve been a really bad girl,’ for his actions to make sense. The only time I’ve ever been in this position was on my hen’s night with the stripper Linda hired for the event. I saw a glimpse of the stripper as he arrived, and heard the squeals of the horny women who surrounded him instantly like they were raving in a mosh pit. I had no idea he was coming towards me before my breasts pressed hard against the wall and I was held there, his hot breath on my neck. I smelt the distinct bubble gum flavouring escaping his lips.
Bubble gum. Holy shit. He’s the wolf. Cullum Williams is the wolf.
I picture him as he ground against me at my hen’s party and cheers filled the room. The cheers of my friends. He spoke. Every alarm rang loud, telling me to run. Goosebumps covered my entire body as I twisted myself out of his grip. My eyes found his. I gasped as the ghost from my past towered over me. I fled to the safety of the amenities.
Cullum Williams was the same fit, muscular prick who also attended my high school with me when I was younger? The same man who once pinned me painfully against a wall in the girl’s bathroom at school and ran his hand up my thigh, continuing to trace his fingers under the hem of my skirt until he had me spilling tears. Cullum Williams from Williams Entertainment and Escort Services. I’ve never allowed myself to forget his name, or the feeling of his callused hands scratching at my skin, or the smell of his bubble gum breath coating my lips, or even the look of delight dancing in his large green eyes when fear shot through me like a cannon, lit and fired.
Holy shit! It’s him.
“I’m not sure what you’re up to, but I know you well enough to know you’re up to something.” His hot bubble gum breath rushes across my cheek.
I know who the wolf is.
“Get off me,” I scream bucking my head.
“Sleep tight, Red.”
I’m dazed and confused. My head bobs from side to side, smacking against something taut, yet not restrictive. Digging my fingers in to gauge what I’m up against doesn’t help, so I slap wildly in the hope I can at least figure out what’s happening. Why am I moving? I try to open my eyes, but they part only halfway. Everything is dark. I can’t see. Raising my hands to my face, I feel the strip of thick material where my eyes should be. What’s happening? Where am I? I drop my hands and realise they fall above my head and not down by my sides like they should. I’m upside down. I slap wildly once more.
An eerie whistle dances around me as I continue my wild assault. “Help! Help me!” I whine.
The sound of booming laughter halts the whistling. “Just in time, Red. Welcome back. You know what? I'm getting so accurate with the measurement of these drugs I keep giving you, I even impress myself.”
I hear flesh being slapped before I feel the sting racing up my spine.
“Oh fuck,” I gripe.
“If your arse wasn’t already sore enough, that’ll get you there. Now, shut the fuck up, will you, and quit slapping my legs. Put it this way—if you don’t hit me, I won’t hit you back.” His tone is dry.
His legs?
My pulse beats in my head like a drum’s solo performance, and it’s hitting so loud and fast it’s almost deafening. “Stop the noise,” I plead.
Suddenly, there’s no more bobbing or bouncing. There’s only a constant pulse darting between my ears.
“We’re here," he proclaims.
Dizziness overcomes me to the point where I believe I’ve lost my bearings. I’ve no idea if I’m flipping, falling or being flung around in circles. All I know is I’m out of control.
“How’s the blood flowing to that brain of yours?” I hear him sniff. “You’ve been upside down a while, I bet your spinning around now you’re the right way up.” He’s holding me in an embrace. His chest is pressed to mine. His bubble gum breath skims my lips. His hands are on my back.
“Let me go.” Panic.
“Sure.” He snickers when I fall flat on my arse. “Always so fucking stubborn, Morgan. Maybe you should have worked on this stubbornness of yours over the years.”
“You don’t know me.” I cringe, trying to focus my vision on something that doesn’t look black.
“Yeah, I do. Now, up you come.”
My arms feel as if they’re ripping from their sockets. “Stop, you’re hurting me.” Silence. “Why? Why are you doing this to me?”
“I told you, it’s because you deserve it. Think, Morgan. What could you have done to deserve such treatment?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a frustrated cry. I don’t know what I ever did to Cullum to cause him to bully me as he did back at school, or now. Cullum did many unforgivable things to me, things I never spoke of to a single person, not even Linda, due to the embarrassment it caused.
“You better hold on to this tightly.” Something runs up both my arms before I experience three hard pats against my chest. “If you lose the backpack, it’s because you didn’t hold on tight enough.”
“What?” I yell as I feel my body shift in a half circle before I’m nudged from my lower back.
I fall. I’m falling. I’m weightless as I kick my legs. I’m frightened as I wrap my arms around my chest.
I scream out for my life.
Reid
Hours have passed, yet it’s still dark outside. I don’t think this night will ever end, just as much as I don’t believe this nightmare I’m living will conclude with the outcome I'm praying for—Morgan home safe and unhurt.
West tries to discuss the phone tracing situation with me, but I’m not interested. Nothing he says will be able to explain the department’s incompetence. I bet I could locate a hacker who could do the job faster than these dipshits who call themselves ‘men of the law’. Maybe this is what I need to do—enlist a criminal to help me find a criminal … a psychopathic one at that. Where would I even start looking? Do I know anyone?
My phone chimes in my hand, snapping me from my thoughts.
John: Hey boy, how're things going over there? Is there any updated news on Morgan?
I wish I could tell John what's happening. But I can’t. I don't know how to tell him that the wife-thieving bastard has rung again, and how after taking his call I’ve come to think Morgan's abductor has eyes on everything we’re doing inside this house. I need proof. I wish I could tell John that I was starting to put together my theory, a theory which leads me to believe someone working this case is behind Morgan’s abduction, somehow … even someone as high up as West. I can’t share any of this with John, because what if I’m wrong? I need proof. Could it be West, though? Or his partner Gleaton? Maybe they’re both in on this together. Where’s that prick Gleaton anyway? Why isn’t he here?
I rub my face with my free hand, trying to make sense of my thoughts. Morgan is missing; this is a fact. But where is she? Who has her? Maybe I need a whiteboard where I can pin pictures of those I suspect on display to help wrap my mind around each possibility. I could perform a process of elimination like they do on those cop shows to find her captor. I bet West has a board, and I’ll put my equity, hell, my entire livelihood on the fact that my face is pinned as their number-one suspect.
My phone chimes.
Turning my eyes downward, I’m surprised to see a message from Linda. I was expecting it to be another from John.
Linda: Reid, I have information. Are they tracking your incoming and outcoming calls? Your text messages?
Information? What information?
Me: What information?
Linda: Can they see these messages or not? The cops?