Page 20 of Save Me
“Good night, Brock,” she said. She moved around to let Chester inside, then locked the doors and disappeared into her room.
When she crawled into bed, she pulled out her e-reader. Normally, it took her at least an hour to fall asleep, but tonight, before she reached the bottom of the first page, she was out.
It must have been her subconscious playing over the events of the evening when the dream—no, the memory—started. She watched it replay in her head like a movie.
Sure, she knew what to do. Dr. Rizzo had walked her through the steps of quashing nightmares. First, she had to realize that it was only a dream. Next, she had to tell herself that she was safe at home in her bed and that Daryl Collins was dead and could no longer terrorize her. Last, she had to take control of the dream and change the narrative.
But tonight, no matter what she did, she couldn’t shake free.
She was back in the shipping container Collins had used for his and his brother’s sick games, as he’d called what he had done to her.
Since Collins had been a police officer, he’d used his badge to pull unsuspecting women like her over. She hadn’t remembered that part at first, but after a month of recovery, she’d flashed back to being pulled over on her way home and then being knocked unconscious when she’d rolled down her window to talk to the officer. She’d been so worried about paying for a ticket, she hadn’t once thought to be afraid of the man.
Alcott, Collins’s half-brother, had used a different tactic before he’d been killed. He drugged women in night clubs, like he’d done with Jamie the night she’d fought back and won.
Collins had taken her to a large property that Alcott had inherited just northwest of Miami. There were two large shipping containers on the land. One was full of junk of all sorts, the other was full of junk at the front, but the back was a cleared space where she had been kept. Back behind the facade of junk, there was a king-sized mattress where she’d been raped and beaten over and over for the week that she’d been held there.
She watched as if floating above the scene as Collins pulled her over. She was digging in her purse, pushing aside all her tips from that night waiting tables at the strip club, biting her lip, and praying that she could talk the officer into only giving her a warning.
When she woke up, she was in pain. Her head was spinning, and he was choking her as he used her body.
She’d fought. At first. But that only seemed to excite her captor. When she’d laid there, unmoving and uncaring, he’d threatened her life, cut her, broken her bones, anything to get a cry from her. So she’d gone back to fighting. But the damage had been done. She’d sensed that he’d grown bored of her.
She could remember him promising to end her suffering the next time he came to her. Which is why, when she heard the container door open, she’d welcomed the end. Only… instead of the blond-haired man with blue eyes that were full of evil, a uniformed officer with dark hair and kind sad eyes held out his hands and promised her with a gentle voice that she was safe.
Suddenly, her nightmare turned, and she was floating in the pool outside. All the pain was gone, along with the fear.
She watched Brock slowly remove his shirt before he jumped into the water. Then his dark eyes were glued to hers as his lips hovered over hers. Her entire body ached for him. She dreamed of enjoying herself once more. When he was inches from kissing her, the dream was interrupted by a loud shrill of the phone next to her bed.
Jerking awake, she answered the call with her standard greeting.
“Thinking of me, aren’t you, bitch?” The deep voice had her body tensing. “Yeah, I bet you dream of what we did to you. I bet you like to remember the time I was inside you. The time we were both inside you. We’d blindfolded you and when you didn’t scream, we burned you.” The breath was knocked from her lungs as a new memory played in her head. Yes. Just like he described it. That had happened. She’d pushed it to the back of her mind. Had believed that it was just one more sick game Collins had played. Only… now, she wasn’t sure. “You were my first fuck. My first share. The first time I got my dick in a wet hole. You were supposed to be my first kill too, but that ship has sailed. God! I was looking forward to fucking you while choking you. Watching the life slowly drain from those blue eyes of yours.” He laughed, then growled. “You won’t have to wait much longer. I’m coming for you. Soon.” The laughter caused her entire body to ice over.
Just then, her bedroom door swung open, and she would have screamed if Brock hadn’t rushed in and jerked the phone from her hands and hung it up. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her while she wept.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brock held onto Crissy until he felt her drift off. He didn’t know if she’d passed out from pure exhaustion or just fallen asleep. Either way, there was no way he was going to let her go. Not until she woke up and knew that she was safe again.
He’d heard every word of the call. Every single damned word. Why hadn’t she just hung up on the guy?
Was it all true? Had there been a third person? Someone working with Collins and Alcott? Had they tag teamed raping her? Burning her?
There hadn’t been any evidence of that that they’d known of. Then again, there was more DNA from the crime scene than had been accounted for. The working theory was that it was from more victims.
When his phone chimed, he shifted slightly and glanced down at the screen.
The text message was from his father.
“Got a number and location. Local PD en route. I’ll keep you posted.”
He shot off a text, “Thanks.”
“Who is it?” Crissy asked in a whisper.
“My dad.” He shifted until he could look down at her. “They’ve got a number and location. We’ll know more in the morning.” She nodded slightly. “Can you sleep?” he asked. When she shook her head, he sighed. “Yeah, me either.”
“How about I make some cinnamon rolls?” she asked suddenly.
