Bred in the Bone (Widow's Island #4)(21)

“I know, but I’d hoped you’d do it anyway. His change in plans bothered me a little bit, but I was flattered that he was excited to see me. He kissed me again, and I no longer cared where he took me.” Her knuckles grew white as her grip on her cup tightened. “We hiked through the apple trees. He was funny and full of adventure, and I loved the way he looked at me. We got to the pump house—I knew other kids had partied there, but I’d never been—and a friend of his was waiting.”

“Brad Gill?”

“Yeah. I didn’t like him. He looked at me weird, but I felt safe with Travis. Brad brought beer, and the three of us smoked pot and drank.” She made a sour face. “The beer was nasty. I pretended to like it so they wouldn’t think I was a little kid.”

“You were a kid,” Cate said softly.

Sam sighed, and her shoulders deflated. “Yeah.” For a long moment, she pressed her lips together before continuing. “I think there was something in the beer. I don’t remember much after that. I know I woke up in the pump house the next morning and felt horrible. They were gone, and the door was chained. I screamed and pounded and searched for a way out. Eventually I sat in the corner and cried. I figured someone had to visit the pump house eventually, but I was petrified that I’d die from thirst first.” She hadn’t looked away from the fireplace. “Later I wished a million times that I had died in there.”

Cate couldn’t speak, her limbs heavy with sorrow.

“He came back with a bottle of water, but I had to swallow some pills before he’d share the water. I was so thirsty, I did it.” Guilt flashed.

You weren’t kidnapped because you accepted a pill. Cate bit her tongue; Sam had already heard her point.

“I remember he made me climb into his trunk. I was tired, and it was hot in there. I tried to fight, but I could barely move my arms. I don’t remember the ferry ride. When I woke again, he was helping me out of the trunk and into the back seat. The next time I woke, I was tied up in . . . that place.” Her chin quivered. “At first he used rope. Later he installed the chain.” She finally looked at Cate, her eyes desperate. “I fought him, Cate. I screamed and scratched and fought him every chance I had.”

Cate believed her. That was the Sam she’d grown up with. Scrappy. Outspoken. Confident. “I know you did.”

“But he kept drugging me and said he’d kill my parents if I didn’t behave. I don’t know how long it took before I simply stopped fighting. He broke me, Cate. He barely fed me, and I didn’t get to bathe unless . . . ” Her arms twitched, sloshing a bit of tea onto the blanket in her lap. She didn’t appear to notice.

Unless he wanted to rape you.

“I understand, Sam.”

“He showed me my father’s death notice and said he’d killed him and that my mother would be next if I didn’t do everything he said.” Her gaze went to the cup in her hands. “I gave up. There was no point anymore. He changed my name, telling me I’d never hear anyone say Samantha again because that person no longer existed. I was now Kristin and belonged to him. I hate that name.”

“Did he ever let you walk around the property? Or stay in the house?”

“Only with him. And on a rope,” she whispered. “He said he’d never trust me. I was there for one purpose and that was to help him walk a straight path.”

A flare went off in Cate’s brain. “What did ‘a straight path’ mean?” she asked steadily, dreading the answer.

“He said he had uncontrollable impulses.” Sam’s voice went monotone, robotic. “I was there to keep him from attacking other women because of the impulses, possibly hurting them and getting arrested. Instead he satisfied them with me.”

He is a predator. A rapist.

“Oh, my god, Sam.” Tears rolled down Cate’s cheeks.

“Don’t cry for me,” Sam snapped. “Stop it. Don’t pity me.” More tea spilled as she leaned toward Cate, her eyes blazing. “I don’t want your pity!”

Cate wiped her cheeks. “It’s hate, not pity. Hatred for him and what he is.”

“Knowing I kept him from hurting other people is the only thing that kept me sane. Until Mickey came.” Her tone softened with love for her son. “I’d believed I was dead inside, that Travis had obliterated every emotion of mine. Once I realized I was pregnant, I experienced love for my baby . . . even though I’d never seen him. And when he came, I finally had someone to love. I think part of the reason Travis kept him away from me so much was that he was jealous of my affection for Mickey.”

“I’m amazed you didn’t get pregnant before that.”

“I think I did. I didn’t know it then, but looking back I think I had a few early miscarriages.”

“No one ever came to the property?” Cate asked.

“He’d gag me and tie me up when he expected someone. He rarely had visitors. One time when Mickey was a baby, he tried to gag him too, worried he’d cry at the wrong moment. I panicked, begging him not to do it. I knew my baby wouldn’t be able to breathe. Travis stopped, but he was angry and said he’d kill Mickey if he cried while someone was there. He rolled me on my side, pulled up my shirt, and put Mickey at my breast, telling me to nurse him if he woke.” She gave a choking laugh. “My hands were tied behind my back. I spent the next hour terrified out of my mind that Mickey would wake. I knew I couldn’t get in the right position to keep him quiet.”