Bittersweet Chocolate (45 page)

Determined to loosen the bindings, she continued jerking on the rope. It rubbed her already bruised flesh and she gritted her teeth, biting down on the gag,
eww.
A bitter tang assailed her taste buds and she grimaced.

Shit, now what?

She continued tussling with the restraints, even though her struggles seemed to make them tighter. If she could turn over, get on her side. Wriggling, her body shifted,
can’t quite
—
oomph.
Damn it, facedown.

She turned her head to the side and continued to pull at the bindings while trying to listen. With one ear pressed against the bed, the rustling of her clothes against the bedding seemed loud, crackling like static from a badly tuned radio. Combined with the thundering tempo of her heart, it distorted her ability to distinguish any other sounds and movement around her. In desperation, she attempted one final, frantic pull—
wait, what’s that?

She stopped struggling and remained motionless, feigning unconsciousness, she willed herself to calm her frantic heartbeat. There. Someone’s at the door. Must have worked up the nerve to confront—she flinched, startled by the explosive sound of the door banging against the wall.

A sudden flash of illumination highlighted the insides of her closed lids and she made an effort to control involuntary movement of her eyes. Breathing shallow, she waited, knowing he was there, watching.

Don’t open your eyes, stay calm.

Uh, wait a minute. The bastard intended to kill her, tried to kill her husband, and went after her children. Screw calm. She didn’t intend to make it easy for him. What she needed was a whole lot of pissed. Rage might be the one motivational force that could make the difference between life and death.

She eased her eyes open and the unexpected glare blurred her vision for a few seconds. Once she could focus, she turned her head toward the doorway, and her gaze inched its way up his body until their eyes met.

Matthew.

A spurt of adrenaline gushed through her veins as they critically studied each other. Damn, she’d wanted it to be Joel, yet she wasn’t disappointed. She owed Matthew too.

After their confrontation in his office, she had considered him a suspect in the campaign to terrorize her. But she couldn’t reconcile the incongruity of him imagining he deserved reprisal with rational thought, and dismissed the idea.

She watched him approach the bed, holding his gaze for several seconds, before her gaze slid away from his, looking beyond his shoulder. He stood between her and the door. Searching for another way out, she scanned her surroundings and gasped, her mind reeling. She recognized the room.

The wood paneling, the wall of mirrors, black ceiling fan with gunmetal trim, nothing had changed, even the same dove-gray shutters at the windows. Her old house. The hairs on the back of her neck twitched. Was he crazy?

Gaze darting back to his, she saw the fanatical gleam, smug smile—hell, damn straight, he was crazy, and she should have been afraid, but she refused to be intimidated. He was pathetic. Keeping her face expressionless, she watched him climb on the bed. He straddled her thighs and turned her over.

“Surprised?” He chuckled. “Considering your past, I would imagine quite a few men would like to be in my position, right now.”

She didn’t as much as blink. Her regard remained steady, even when he eased his hand around her neck and applied a small amount of pressure.

“No, I’m not going to kill you, yet.” He reached for the gag. “I’ll remove this, if you promise not to scream.”

She nodded.

His hands worked the knot at the back of her head, and the cloth slid across her lips. He dropped a handkerchief to the floor. Moistening the corners of her mouth, she grimaced, recognizing that earlier taste as the acrid tang of cologne. He leaned forward and brought his face within inches of hers, one hand grasping her neck.

“Twenty years ago, I wanted to kill you for what you did to me.” Fingers tightening. “What you did at the office, I’m going to kill you this time.” He looked remorseful, but it didn’t stop him from applying more pressure, fingernails digging into her flesh. “Not just yet, not until I get what I deserve. You owe me.”

Maintaining her composure, she never broke eye contact, and a flicker of doubt changed his angry expression to wary. He must have recognized there would be no pleading, but if he thought she intended to go out like this, passively lying there. Uh-uh, not reacting to his intimidation, and with a little provocation, it would piss him off, and he’d become reckless.

A slow smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “I’m not surprised to see you. One asshole is the same as another. You’re just the asshole who found me first.” She snorted. “So, what’s up with this? Had a can of kick ass, grew a pair—wait, don’t answer that, let me see if I have this right.

“If you beat and rape me while I’m tied up, it will make up for our encounter twenty years ago, make you feel like the man you pretend to be, huh?”

There you go.

Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, the flush of anger peppered the skin along his cheekbones.

Temper, temper—he was so predictable. Without a doubt, her attitude probably reminded him of her at fifteen, and if she bided her time, her mocking smile and arrogant, snotty tone would get to him. Her sigh exaggerated, she went on.

“Hey, come on Matthew, you’re the man, untie me. Not afraid, are you?” she taunted.

“You think I won’t kill you?” he sneered. “Told you before, I’m not afraid of you. But I see you still believe your own hype, think you can take me?”

“Not the point. What do you think? Untie me, let’s find out.”

Matthew jammed his hand into his pocket, pulled out a knife, unfolded the blade, and slashed the rope at her ankles. Reaching under her body, he cut the bindings at her wrists, gripped the front of her blouse—Marissa made her move.

Punching him in his face with enough force to knock him over, she leapt off the bed. The swiftness of the attack caught him off guard. He dropped the knife and lunged for her, grabbing her blouse from behind. The material ripped down the front, buttons flying.

“Bitch,” he screamed. “I’ll kill you.”

She tried to twist around to face him, but he tightened his grip on her blouse. She had to jerk her arms from the sleeves. Turning, she kneed him in the groin, and he hunched over at the exact moment she brought her fist up, connected with his nose, and heard a sharp click, like a dry twig underfoot. Teeth snapping together, pain shot to her nerve endings. His cry of agony drowned out her moan.

For several heart-stopping seconds, she stood rooted to the spot, clutching her right hand, staring mesmerized at the thin line of blood trickling from his nose. Seeing his mouth contort grotesquely, her gaze moved to his eyes, and his infuriated look galvanized her to action.

She turned toward the door, started forward, but wasn’t quick enough. He grabbed her from behind, spun her around, and slammed his fist against her jaw. Her head snapped to the side.

The pain―fight it!

She thought she’d pass out, but anger spurred her on while she struggled to free herself from his grasp.

“Yeah, fight me, Marissa. Come on, you’re bad. I’ll enjoy it. If you want rough, I’ll give you rough.” He forced her back against the door. The weight of his body kept her pinioned as he twisted one arm behind her back. Every time she tried to shove him away with her injured hand, he added pressure.

“What’s this, a love token from the man?” he scoffed and reached for the silver chain around her neck. Sliding his finger along her collarbone to the bottom of the chain, he lifted the whistle nestled between her breasts. She didn’t respond and he dropped the chain. He grasped her chin between his thumb and index finger, kissed the corner of her mouth, and tried to insert his tongue.

“Open your mouth,” he growled. She compressed her lips and he grabbed her hair, jerking her head back. His weight continued to press heavily against her. “Open your mouth, damn you.”

The pain in her jaw was fierce, the slightest parting of her lips became unbearable. Her hatred must have shown in her eyes because he taunted.

“Go ahead, little tiger eyes, hate me, fight me.” His face moved closer.

At the sight of his malicious smile, she closed her eyes, but her thoughts were rampaging at full throttle—the knife! Her eyes opened and her gaze homed in on the bed where he’d dropped his weapon. If she could get to the knife. Her focus returned to his face, mere inches from hers.

Thrusting her head forward, the angle and the force of her action caught him on the mouth, erasing his smug look. He cursed and released his hold. She drove her knee up between his legs, and he doubled over, then fell away from her.

“Damn you!” Blood dripped from his mouth and nose.

Marissa pushed away from the door and started toward the bed, but he managed to grab her when she tried to dodge by him. He spun her around and hit her hard enough to knock her down. Before she could scramble out of reach, he grabbed her hair and tugged her up from the floor. On her feet, she went on the offensive, fists raised.

Trading blow for blow, he struggled to gain the advantage. Teeth clenched to ease the mind-numbing pain in her jaw, there was no relief for her hand. She had to use her injured hand. She dodged a blow to her face, and countered with a fist to the side of his head. She stood her ground, giving as good as she got. But she was tiring.

Her movements erratic, breathing constricted, size became the deciding factor. If he hadn’t outweighed her, the outcome might have been different. Her lagging strength gave him the opening he needed, and he threw his weight against her, taking her down. Stunned and knocked breathless, her reactions became sluggish. She didn’t struggle when he dragged her to the bed.

Hell. She’d fought the good fight, and considering the damage to his face, she’d scored a few good hits. Besides, she never thought she could take him, one on one, and unarmed. But she never imagined he would go this far.

Once she realized she’d become the target of a stalker, she had expected the cat-and-mouse terror tactics to continue, anticipating the culprit would be Joel. No doubt, she had nudged Matthew over the edge when she stopped him from raping Megan. Like before, he allowed his misguided sense of entitlement to rule.

He never could play by the rules, and this time he’d gone too far, shooting Tristan, going after her kids. If an opportunity presented itself, she’d kill him, and he should know that, or maybe not. They hadn’t seen each other for years, and her new façade could have fooled him. It had her fooled.

The corners of her mouth twitched.

Matthew had claimed he knew her background, but he must have forgotten to include her dad in that equation. Stephen would retaliate, even if Matthew didn’t kill her, just because he abducted her. Assuming Tristan’s brothers don’t get to Matthew first, through legal channels, or not.

If the tiniest movement of her lips didn’t hurt so much, she’d smile. Matthew had no idea his lack of impulse control would culminate in him not outliving her by much.

She had no fear, only acceptance. She brought this on herself proving what goes around does come back around, and had finally caught up with her. In retrospect, was it worth it?

A cold fist clutched at her heart as she thought of all she’d leave behind.

Her struggles had become indolent, useless. Intent on conserving her waning strength for the right moment, one last effort, she didn’t resist when he picked her up and put her on the bed. He sat next to her, studying her as he picked up the knife and pointed the blade at her neck. She refused to cringe and she didn’t have to look at him.

Just for a few minutes, she’d close her eyes, block out the sight of his repulsive smirk while she rested and regrouped. Feeling faint, she welcomed the darkness closing in on her as another old adage leapt into her consciousness.

If you live by the sword...

* * * *

Tristan jerked awake as soon as Anthony touched him. Slightly disoriented, he looked around. “Rissa?”

“No, we haven’t heard from her. Why don’t you go to bed, get some sleep. We’ll get a fresh start in the morning.”

“I don’t think I can go back to sleep.” His voice a tired whisper, he raked his fingers through his hair. “You know he has to kill her. He can’t let her live, because she’ll know, and this time, she’ll tell her father. Joel knows her father, knows how he’ll react. Given the chance, I’ll kill him.”

“Tristan, you don’t know what you’re saying. Damn it, don’t tell me that, and don’t let Chris hear you say you’re planning to kill someone. Don’t get me wrong, I empathize with you.”

“Where’s Chris?”

“He’s downstairs, with Vi.”

“She’s still here. What time is it?”

“It’s a little after two a.m.” Anthony glanced at the cribs. “If you’re not going to bed, let’s go down and get some coffee before we wake the twins.”

Tristan checked to make sure the dogs were in the nursery, bent over each crib, kissed the babies, and left the nursery. “Has everyone else gone to bed?” he asked.

“About an hour ago, except for Kate. We’ve been talking to Vi, hoping something Marissa told her over the years would be helpful,” Anthony remarked. “Kate said Marissa seemed upset when she returned to the house yesterday. Know anything about that?”

“No. I told her to go home, and as far as I know, she came straight home.” Tristan sighed. “I’m positive she suspected something then, but she never had a chance to tell me. Do you think it’s important?”

“Could be, since no one knows where she went after leaving you. It’s obvious she didn’t come straight home, because there’s a substantial time difference.”

Tristan and Anthony joined the others in the kitchen. Vi had been crying. Traces of recent tears streaked the makeup on her cheeks. She approached Tristan and hugged him.

“Everything’s going to be all right, Vi.” He spoke automatically in response to her distress, because he sure didn’t believe what he’d said. “Go home, get some sleep. I’ll call you if we hear anything.”