Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(68)

So I fight.

I bite Eric’s hand, hard, and he jerks it away from my mouth. “Little bitch,” he barks.

While he’s distracted, I wiggle and twist around, my pinned-up hair tumbling to my shoulders. Seconds later I am facing Eric. With everything I’ve got, I wind my arm back and punch him in the face.

Bad idea. Eric hits me back, three times and three times as hard. My only saving grace is that they are open-hand hits. Punches would have knocked me out. He obviously wants me conscious for whatever he has planned.

With my head ringing, and still seeing stars, I start to crumple to the cement floor. But Eric is having none of that. He yanks me back up and hisses in my ear, “I should have gotten rid of you back in Pennsylvania.”

My head lolls to the side, and I can feel there’s a nasty lump forming on my throbbing cheek. Still, I gather the strength to whisper, “Let me go, you sick f*ck.”

My back is pressed to Eric’s chest. He snickers and trails his free hand down to my breasts. Through my tee and bra, he pinches one of my nipples. I wince but try to remain stoic. When he continues to squeeze and twist, however, I can’t hold back. It hurts like hell, and I cry out.

He lets go, laughing. My nipple is left sore and burning. Eric says in my ear, “I’ll let you go, little Essa Brant. But before this day is over just know I plan to break you.”

A tear runs down my cheek. I don’t want to show any weakness to this cruel man—that’s what he wants—but I can’t stop myself. “Please,” I cry. “I don’t have anything you want.”

“On the contrary, you have everything I need. You’re the perfect bait.”

Bait for what? Or rather, who? Is he here to recapture Haven? Does he know Rick is with her? Or—and I suspect this is the accurate presumption—is Eric planning on using me to hurt Farren? If so, he must know Farren is after him. Sneaky f*cker, he’s doubled back. That’s why Farren is returning. Eric is the reason Rick gave me and Haven guns. Farren and Rick are onto Eric. But, still, he has somehow eluded them and arrived earlier than they anticipated.

Eric drags me to the center of the basement. Some light streams in from a single high-set window that is at ground level outside. Looking around, I see there’s not much in the basement, some wooden folding chairs stacked against a cement-block wall, a washer and dryer in a corner nook, and a water heater. Oh, and the fuse box Eric obviously tampered with to lure me down here.

“Don’t move,” Eric says.

He leaves me alone for three seconds, just long enough to grab one of the folding chairs. Not long enough for me to run.

He pushes me down on the chair and binds me with rope he has tucked under the stairs. He gags me with a piece of cloth he finds on the floor. He takes a small roll of duct tape from his pants pocket. With his teeth, he rips off a long strip and presses it to my lips.

“There,” he says, patting my sore cheek. “I think we’ve heard enough out of you for one day.”

My breaths come faster and faster. I can barely breathe. The heat, the fear, it’s all consuming. Sweat beads on my forehead, but Eric, no surprise, ignores my distress. He’s too preoccupied with pacing the cement floor, waiting. Haven and Rick are still out in the back. I hear the discharge of the guns in the distance as the shooting lesson continues.

Eric hears the noise, too. “Haven learning to shoot,” he scoffs. “That’s some funny shit.”

Okay, he knows Haven is here. I’m sure he’s aware, as well, that Rick is out there with her. I mentally kick myself again for leaving my gun up on the kitchen table. I should have never set it down, not even for a minute. Now look where I am. No weapons are visible on Eric—he has on dark pants and a thin gray pullover—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a gun hidden somewhere on his tall body.

Eric suddenly stops pacing. He grabs up another wooden folding chair, opens it, and places it in front of me. He sits down, scoots closer, and stares at me. “You don’t even know what kind of mess you’re caught up in, do you?”

I can’t answer besides a single shake of my head, so he continues. “Do you even know who Farren Shaw is? Do you know why his sister was taken?”

I shake my head again. Even if my mouth wasn’t taped, I wouldn’t tell him what I know—that Dawson thought Farren was releasing girls so they could work for him. I wouldn’t tell him about the whole phony “rogue” story. Maybe he knows, though, and that’s what he thinks he’s going to enlighten me with.

But Eric makes me think differently when he says, “Do you know who Quinton Barnes really is?”

I know he’s a successful businessman who hired Farren to avenge his daughter’s death, I think as I stare Eric down.

“You have no idea,” he snarls. Leaning back, he places his ankle up on his knee and smirks. “Don’t worry. I didn’t know either. That is, I didn’t know until recently. Farren is one smart motherf*cker. I’ll give him that. He played our organization from the beginning, even duped that sick scumbag Dawson.” He snickers and adds, “Rogue, my ass. It was a good story, though, a clever diversion from the truth.”

Truth? What is he talking about? Eric clearly knows Dawson. And he’s fully aware that the Farren-gone-rogue story is bogus. He has to be onto Barnes, since he mentioned his name. But something in his too-smug expression tells me there’s far more to this complicated mess than a wealthy man seeking justice for his daughter.