Claiming Crusher (Savage Brothers MC #4)(5)

Melinda

Six Months Later

Six months…I have tried to get away for the last six months. I haven’t stopped trying since my rape. Every time…every damn time…he finds me. You would think in a city as big as Manhattan and in a state as populated as New York, I could find safety. It makes me feel stupid that I haven’t. The truth is, living with Michael and listening to him talk about me, I’ve not felt smart in a long time. I’ve not felt…able? I feel alone. I have no one, save Nicole and Ray who are friends left over from TOA days. It hasn’t been that long since I was at Three Oaks, but it feels like another lifetime. I’m not that person anymore. I will never be that person again. The name Melinda makes me physically sick. I hate her. She is weak. She is stupid.

Melinda is a failure. Melinda tried to run away again, got to Maine and…got caught. Michael owns the police. He owns….everyone. I know this for sure now, because he carted me back to New York and I’m currently locked in the basement of Michael’s house. It has never been our house, or my house. Everything belongs to Michael…even me. I’ve decided this after a week of being beaten, and having him show me over and over just exactly how stupid I was. Those were his words. Melinda is too stupid to know when she has it made. Melinda is too stupid to know when she has everything other women would kill for. Melinda is too stupid to live.

My bloody hands reach up to touch the leather dog collar around my neck and move it around just a little to get air on my neck.

If you’re going to act like a dumb animal Melinda, I shall chain you like one.

My hands are raw from trying to protect my body against Michael’s and Donald’s blows. My eyes are swollen shut and my lips are busted and cracked, from both the abuse and the fact that Michael hasn’t really been feeding me or giving me water regularly. I’m having trouble breathing and I’m pretty sure I’m running a fever.

I hear the door at the top of the stairs open and I know I must be really sick, because I can’t drum up the courage to care. The creaking noise of the wood can be heard with each heavy footstep. I can’t see, so I don’t bother raising my head off of the cold cement floor. I prepare myself for more abuse. That is all I can do. Because Michael is right, I am stupid. No smart person would be trapped like this—would be living in this hell.

“Oh honey! What has he done to you?”

I hear a woman’s voice from somewhere above my head. I know the voice. It’s Mrs. Marten’s voice, from next door. I don’t know her that well. She’s an odd bird in her fifties, with purple hair, who wears yoga pants and tank tops with in your face sayings like ‘Sucking Cock since 1959’. I have always liked her, Michael refused to talk to her. He would have forced her to move years ago, but she has more money than him.

I want to talk, but I can’t make my throat work. It’s so dry and sore…

“Don’t you worry honey, we’ll get you help. I knew when I hadn’t heard from you this past month that f*cker was up to something. Someone needs to cut off his balls and shove them down his throat. Yes, indeed…Hello? I need an ambulance and the police right away at 103 Pleasant Hill Drive. Yes! It is an emergency! If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have called!”

I want to warn her, to tell her to stop. The minute the police are contacted, they will let Michael know. I can’t manage it though. I hear some noise and I wish I could see, but the room is black to me. There’s so much pain and my head is too foggy to make anything out. Hell, maybe she’s not really here. Wouldn’t it suck if I am dying and my last dream is of Ms. Martens? Jesus, couldn’t I at least have Johnny Depp save me?

I don’t know how much time passes. I feel someone brushing my hair along the side of my face. I want to scream at them to stop, because even that faint touch…hurts. Eventually there are more footsteps and voices. I want to try and stay awake to find out what is happening. I can’t, no matter how much I fight it, darkness beckons.

*

It is days later when I wake up in the hospital. I don’t know how Michael explained things, but somehow he managed to. I know, because his face is the first I see when I come through. I look around the room for help, but it’s empty. I reach out for the nurse-call button and Michael grabs my hand, exerting so much pressure I feel like he may re-break the fingers which are already splinted.

“I wouldn’t do that, darling wife of mine.”

I lick my lips and try to speak. At this point, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve spoken, but obviously awhile, because my voice comes out dry and cracked.

“I didn’t Michael, I wouldn’t…”

He leans down closer to me, so that his lips are beside my ear. He’s wearing some expensive cologne, which might smell great on another man, but the scent is what I associate with Michael and it makes my stomach burn in revulsion.

“I must play nice while you’re in here my dear, but I thought you would need a reminder of why you shouldn’t try to upset me.”

“A reminder?” The fear is thick in my voice. I hate it.

“Oh yes, Melinda”

He holds his phone in front of me. I’m relieved, because I thought he was getting ready to beat me again. I honestly don’t think I can survive another beating. Then he pushes a button and a video plays on his phone.