Seizing Rain (Seas of Seduction Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  1. 25/11/2017

  2. 26/11/2017

  3. 27/11/2017

  4. 28/11/2017

  5. 29/11/2017

  6. 31/11/2017

  7. 1/12/2017

  8. 2/12/2017

  9. 3/12/2017

  10. 6/12/2017

  11. 7/12/2017

  12. 8/12/2017

  13. 9/12/2017

  14. 12/12/2017

  15. 13/12/2017

  16. 14/12/2017

  17. 15/12/2017

  18. 16/12/2017

  19. 20/12/2017

  20. 21/12/2017

  21. 22/12/2017

  22. 23/12/2017

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by the author

  To Jami Kehr, the woman and reader who makes me feel great every single day.

  This one is for you.

  It was outside my door when it happened, a bold move, a brave one, perhaps even a stupid one. Were they to wake up Niall who slept soundly within our home, the outcome would have been different.

  The one night he isn’t up would be the one night they’d come. He often waited up for me, anxious to have me home after a long day of searching for loved ones lost. It made him paranoid and rightfully so, but it also exhausted him so I can’t blame him for wanting sleep.

  Even though my life is over.

  I’m now a statistic.

  How ironic.

  The girlfriend of one of the country’s best detectives is now a missing person. I knew it the moment that cloth covered my mouth and the putrid, burning smell of ammonia and other chemicals rubbed against my nostrils and lips while fogging my mind and hazing my vision. My tongue fell lax, a heavy piece of lead in my mouth, I soiled myself, releasing the contents of my bladder. At least it spilled through my clothing and onto the shoulder of the man who tossed me over it.

  That’s the last saving grace I got before I fell unconscious. Into a sleep so deep even dreams couldn’t penetrate it to save me.

  I’m awake now, rocking side to side, fighting the urge to vomit as I get the feeling back in my body. I find it hard to breathe through the burlap sack over my head. I can see some light through it, the fading red of a cigarette that hisses as my enemy brings it to his lips. His silhouette is just visible through the tiny holes in the itchy material that reeks of damp.

  I don’t speak. I want to. How I want to scream and kick but from the feeling of the way I’m rocking and the sound of wood hitting the surface of flowing water, I’m in a boat and not a sturdy one. I’m not a strong swimmer, one could say I can only just stop myself from drowning and that’s with the use of my hands. Right now, mine are bound behind my back in ropes so tight I worry I’ll lose my fingers.

  There’s no way I’m swimming my way to freedom, though perhaps drowning will be better than whatever they have planned for me.

  It’s freezing. My legs are sodden, from my own piss and from water which has me believing I was dropped in at some point. At least my trousers are still in place and I don’t ache yet so hopefully that means I haven’t been molested. The thought that I will be has me shivering from fear instead of cold. Right now, as disgusting thoughts suck all hope from my mind like the point of a black hole, I find it hard to hope for anything bright.

  “Stop snivelling!” a male voice hisses and his foot hits the back of my leg.

  I yelp and pull my legs in tighter, my knee hits a discarded bottle which rolls to my face. I squeal when water sloshes over the side of the wooden rowboat and drenches my torso and face.

  The men laugh.

  This is funny to them. I am nothing to them and I have never been more terrified.

  “She’s not bad. Why do cops always get the good-looking birds?” The man smoking grabs a handful of my sodden breast. “Fucking pigs.”

  “Don’t touch me,” I plead, trying to roll away as he fondles me over my shirt.

  His large, heavy hand squeezes harder, making me choke on bile as the pain becomes all I can think about. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I like.”

  I close my eyes and let tears slide down my cheeks. How long have I been with them? How long do they plan on keeping me alive? What do they want with me?

  Questions that I daren’t ask flood through my mind, wave after wave of incoherent ramblings, desperate to spew from my lips.

  I shiver, biting hard on my trembling, plump flesh to stop my teeth chattering. The more invisible I make myself the less likely he is to touch me again, I hope.

  Why couldn’t Niall have been awake?

  Now he’ll have to watch my capture through the CCTV system, knowing we were metres apart when this happened. He’ll never forgive himself. He won’t stop looking for me. I know him. He’s tenacious but we both know if he doesn’t find me today he likely never will.

  Well, not unless they want something, but even then, the chances of me returning alive are slim.

  I try to recall everything Niall has ever told me about this. I listen avidly, of course I listen but right now as my brain tries to recover from the drugging and the shock, I can’t recall a single piece of wisdom.

  All I can do I squeeze my eyes shut and wait, wishing they’d knock me out again.

  It feels like forever before the boat hits the side of something. I blur in and out of reality as the cold and drugs grip and twist my mental state. I hear the men yelling, I feel the boat we’re in jostle as the clanging of metal and creaking of wood before the hum of a mechanism has us rising.

  “I’m surprised you pulled it off,” another man barks happily, chuckling as we come to a stop yet again.

  Maybe now I can run?

  Hands grab my ankles as others hook under my arms.

  “Careful, the dirty bitch pissed all over Clunk.” The voice belongs to the man who was smoking. I recognise it immediately.

  That’s it!

  Niall told me once that there was this case where a man had been kidnapped and held for ransom. It was paid and he was delivered, but at the very moment he was delivered during the exchange, he was shot in the head and killed. Because he’d seen the kidnapper’s faces!

  Don’t look at their faces.

  If I don’t see their faces, then surely, I’ll be safe?

  I’m clutching at straws I know but it’s the only hope I have.

  I rest limply, hoping they think I’m sleeping as I am handed over the side of something that bumps against my hanging hips. My body tenses in preparation at being dropped but I’m gently placed onto a hard surface and left as the surrounding men laugh with each other about a job well done.

  One of them digs his boot-clad foot into my side but I stay asleep.

  “She should be awake by now; did you use more than I instructed?” a calmer, posher-sounding male voice asks and I feel him crouch beside me.

  “Probably, you know what a fucking nugget Roger is.”

  “You morons,” the man crouching over me hisses and gentle fingers feel for a pulse on my neck. “Can you hear me? Can you move your legs?”

  “Please… don’t hurt me,” I beg, my voice raspy.

  He doesn’t reply. When he moves away I’m lifted again and taken through a creaking door. We descend stairs and I start to panic as overhead lights flash through the burlap.

  I tense and kick my legs, wishing I’d tried to make my escape while outside. I’ve fucked myself over. I might have had a chance but now…

  “Let me go,” I scream until my throat is sore. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

  “Ain’t nobody gonna hear you out here.”

  I kick out, connecting with something that crunches, glad that I chose sneakers today and not
my usual stiletto pumps. Although I could have used the heel as a weapon.

  The man cries out and drops my legs which forces the other to release my arms.

  With my head still in the bag and my hands still bound, I start to shuffle, unable to get the footing needed to run. Before I get even half a metre away, the sack is ripped from my head and a hand sinks and twists in my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my throat to the elements.

  “Stupid fucking slut!” the man bellows, bending my head so sharply I can hardly breathe. Another inch and my neck might snap. “You broke my nose!”

  “I’m sorry,” I cry and I feel his blood drip onto the top of my neck.

  My eyes scan for anything that can help me but all I can see are metal doors with circular handles set on either side of a long, narrow hall.

  This is a ship.

  I’m on a ship!

  I start to sob as the direness of the situation finally clutches tight to what little pools of adrenaline I have left. Finally, my head snaps forward and my cheek hits the metal grate. It bruises my skin, making my cheekbone fire up with dull pain.

  I groan as I’m yanked to my feet and shoved forward so hard I fall again, this time hitting my face on a cold pipe. The world spins and my stomach retches, heaving the snacks I consumed at my desk while finishing that stupid piece on social media and how the media uses it to brainwash society.

  Now it seems like such a trivial matter as my life hangs in the balance.

  I keep my eyes on the path ahead, trying to memorise the route I’m being forced along for when I figure out my escape later. I’m taken down another set of metal stairs, which I stumble on, and along another hall where a few more men linger, playing cards at a table between rooms labelled “19” and “21.” I log that in my weakening mind.

  “You did it then?” one of them cheers but the other doesn’t look up from his cards. I don’t look directly at their faces but it’s hard when my entire life I’ve been taught to make eye contact.

  “Aye,” Roger replies.

  “Who drew blood?”

  Roger shoves me forward again but I don’t fall, my wobbly knees keep me balanced though only just. “This cunt.”

  The man laughs but we keep on. How can this be okay? How can so many men think this is okay?

  Surely there’s got to be somebody on board who doesn’t think it’s okay to treat a woman this way, or anyone for that matter. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

  Finally, we stop at door number “25” and Roger twists it open with far more strength than I have.

  He shoves me inside, leaving me shackled and cold before slamming the door closed after me and plunging me into a darkness so profound I can’t even see the shoes on my feet.

  My stomach empties, heaving and hurling the remaining contents to the side. It’s all I can do not to roll into it as I’m left alone without a word.

  I don’t count the seconds, it only makes time slow down and time is slow enough. It feels like weeks since I was left in here but really it has been a lot less. I even try to sleep but my mind won’t shut off.

  I’m terrified that if time doesn’t fly, I won’t be rescued, but then I’m also terrified that the quicker time goes, the quicker it is until I’m in the arms of my captors again.

  When the ship hums to life and we start to move I scream with frustration and slam my feet against the floor. My chances at survival are getting slimmer and slimmer.

  “Somebody, please help me!” I yell out once more for good measure but it does nothing but echo in the dark space.

  I rest my head against the metal frame of something to my right and sniffle. Wishing I was home, soaking in a bath, counting down the moments to when I’ve pruned to perfection and can finally get out.

  The noise is unbearable. It’s not loud, it’s just consistent. A constant reminder of my looming death.

  But then, I’d prefer to spend an eternity listening to it than feeling my heart stop as the tiny circular window above my head starts to shine with a sunrise. A sunrise that can’t be seen as this window is underwater and all I can see through the murky dome is lightening blue for miles. Not a fish or a piece of land in sight.

  The room I’m in is a cabin, with rubber-looking mattresses on beds either side of me. They have no sheets or blankets, barren of any kind of homeliness.

  I shift until I’m sitting on one in my drying trousers. I stink. I know right now it’s not a priority but I really do stink and I need the bathroom again. The stench of vomit is doing nothing to help with my nausea either.

  What kind of hell is this and what did I do to deserve it?

  The door creaks and opens but it’s somebody else this time. I keep my eyes on my shoes as heavy boots approach and shut them tight when I’m lifted, turned, pressed against the wall with the window and my bindings are removed. My aching arms burn and clench so painfully I cry out as I slowly bring them around to my front and attempt to lift them to my chest. It’s no good.

  “You fucking stink,” the man grumbles.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, hoping to get on his good side. Maybe he’ll save me? He’s gentler than the others.

  “Don’t talk to me,” he snaps, holding me between my shoulders. He sighs gravely. “I’ll hafta fuckin’ wait then.”

  Wait for what?

  “Behave yoursen’ and you’ll be reet.”

  What? What accent is that?

  He leaves before I dare to ask, throwing a bucket at me before closing the door. I assume I’m supposed to do my business in this, how fucking degrading. I’d rather die.

  Another hour passes before the door opens again and a tray of food is brought in. “Ugh… she’s puked, man!” Whoever he is leaves immediately after dropping the tray on the end of the rubber mattress.

  I look at the food and my stomach grumbles. I debate not eating the weird-looking soup and bread, it could be drugged, but if I’m going to get out of here alive I need my strength.

  Sniffing it as I bring it to my face, I decide it doesn’t smell awful, like beef broth and onions, but my stomach roils and I can’t even manage to swallow a sip.

  I cry into my knees, wishing I’d called my mum one last time before I left work last night. I miss her, so much. Wishing I’d hugged Niall and run my hands through his blond hair that he cuts too short.

  Why am I here?

  I stare out of the tiny window, praying something gives me a clue as to where we are but nothing happens. Nothing appears. Superman doesn’t save me. The army don’t send fighter jets. Niall doesn’t swim over and pry a hole in the side of this fucking boat to get me the hell out.

  In my anger I kick the tray of food and water, sending it crashing into the wall. I scream at the window, hitting the wall with my fists over and over. The outburst doesn’t even help a little bit because my situation is the same.

  By nightfall I truly have no voice left, not even a smidge enough to hum with. My throat is dry and sore and the room is getting too warm and too gross.

  I revert back to a foetal position and cry silent tears. Twenty-four hours have now passed since the moment I was taken. My chances of being found just shrank by more than fifty percent.

  When the door opens again, I close my eyes.

  “Shower time, princess,” Roger sneers. I’ll never forget his voice, at least I’ll have that if I survive.

  I want to tell him to leave me alone but he’s huge and I already know he’s not ashamed to hurt me.

  Trembling, I allow myself to be dragged from the room with his hand gripping my bicep. He whistles as we go back down the long hall, the way we came. We pass the same table that the men were playing cards at but it’s empty. I wonder where everybody is until we push a door open at the far end that leads to a spacious, white room with multiple cubicles for showers.

  “I even got you a pretty little nightie for afterwards,” he tells me, pointing to a red, satin gown with spaghetti strap shoulders hanging from a hook by the door.
r />   “Please,” I croak as what exactly is about to happen sinks in.

  He closes the door behind him but not before somebody else steps inside.

  “Please don’t. I’ll shower. I promise.”

  “Yes,” the second man who brought my food earlier replies. “You will.”

  He steps into the cubicle ahead with nothing but a thin white curtain to cover it from wall to wall. It’s tossed to the side, the bottom trailing slightly on the surprisingly clean floor.

  I look up, finding the man’s eyes, hoping if he sees into mine he’ll have mercy or pity. Anything.

  Instead his blue eyes which look so innocent, darken with lust and he pulls me under the hot spray, fully clothed.

  He lifts his T-shirt above his head, showing his tattooed chest and beer gut. I look away as the hot water hits the top of my head.

  Thick fingers grip the hem of my top. I cry and try to pull away as he yanks it over my head.

  “Please,” I beg, falling to my knees in a shallow puddle of warm water, keeping my arm over my bra-clad breasts. “Don’t do this. I won’t recover.”

  They don’t reply as they yank me to my feet.

  I find my voice, screaming and begging as my bra is ripped away and Roger hungrily sucks my wet, pointed nipple into his mouth. Now I wish I’d fought to eat that food so I’d have something to vomit on them.

  “STOP!” I beg but Blue-Eyes forces his tongue into my mouth. I bite on it, hard, until I taste blood and he punches me full force in the temple to get me off, straight into the side already bruised from the pipes. Pain radiates through my head as I fall to the side, directly into Roger’s arms. He laughs as his friend spits blood onto the floor and then rips down my trousers.