Saving The Mayor’s Daughter

Eloise doesn’t know how long she’s been here—four months, possibly five. Time passes in strange ways when you have no means to mark it. At first, she counted time by the meals she received, but after a while, they became less and less dependable. She knew for sure she’s been here one entire season. The men went from wearing long sleeve shirts to t-shirts.

Her prison is a small room with a rusty bed that squeaks whenever she shifts position. A tiny wooden table with a small stool takes up one corner, and a toilet and sink hide behind a tattered curtain in the other. No windows, no TV, and nothing to read but an old copy crime novel. She wasn’t one for reading those in the past, but she can recite every single word by heart now.

She heard the familiar sound of the key retracting the lock, and her stomach sinks. She pulled at her ratty sweater, wrapping it around her midsection a little tighter—like that is going to help protect her from them.

She heard his boots scuff on the hardwood, and sweat breaks along her neck.

‘Shit, it’s him.’

Her skin crawls when she sees his sausage-like fingers holding a food tray for her. His hairy stomach pushes out below his t-shirt and bulges over his jeans. As soon as he spots her, he gave her his crooked smile.

“Hey, bitch. How are you today?” His voice is raspy, and his accent thick. His body language is enough in itself. “I asked you a question,” he barked at her.

“Fine,” she says through the lump in her throat.

He stood holding the tray above her. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet his, and he smirks, showing her how much he enjoys having this power over her.

Eloise had enough encounters with this man to know he won’t leave without wanting something in return. Luckily, up until now, it’s never been anything sexual—just more head games. That doesn’t mean he’s never insinuated it.

She trembled, shaky fingers pulling at the hem of her cotton nightgown that reaches mid-thigh. She doesn’t need to give him any ideas. His gaze drops to her legs, and he licks his lips.

“Beg,” he ordered, drawing out the word.

Eloise’s mouth goes dry. He loves this part. She’s an animal to him. Her temper rises as she tries to tell herself to stop, but she can’t help it. She passed caring anymore.

She gives him the sweetest smile she can muster. “Screw you.” She had never spoken more than she had to since she got here, and suffice it to say, her choice of words blew him away.

Usually, she does what she’s told while secretly fantasizing about the many ways she’d like to kill this man. She tries to behave, never wanting to relive her first few days here.

After they beat her to a bloody pulp when she didn’t do what was asked, the incredible pain made her wise up quickly.

However, her adrenaline high is short-lived as she watched his eyes narrow and his jaw tightened. He suddenly tossed the tray across the room, shattering the dishes against the wall.

“No food for you, bitch!” he hissed, taking a step toward her.

Eloise covered her ears and tucked her knees up to her chest. This man is large enough to pick her up in one hand and toss her across the room, duplicating the tray’s fate. He grabs a handful of her hair and drags her, her knees bouncing along the floor like a rag doll.

She barely registered the pain—she was more aware that this six-foot, three-hundred seventy-five-pound man was hovering over her, enraged.

Why did she have to get smart?

The only thing she has going for her is they haven’t killed her yet. Maybe she was being held for ransom. It’s no secret her father has a lot of money, and everyone knows his name—he is running for a second term as mayor of New York City.

Eloise tries to force herself onto her hands, but his boot crushes on her back, forcing her down hard. Her forehead smacks against the floor, and her ears ring.

She let out a whimper as her eyes focus on something just out of reach. She hears the sound of him removing his belt, and her heart quickens.

‘No, no, no! This can’t be happening.’

If she could move a few feet to the right…she mustered up all she had and launched herself forward along the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is calm—oh, so calm. Her fingers wrapped around the broken plate, and she tucked her hand under her chest to hide it. “Come.” He bent down, grabbed her feet, flipped her over, and dragged her back toward the bed. She screams in protest. She kicks and wiggles, but his grip is too tight. “Feisty little thing, aren’t ya?”

He leans over her, and she takes her opportunity. She shoots upward, driving the sharp piece of glass into his neck. His eyes widen with shock, and he falls to his side with a loud thud, cursing and digging at the object.

Eloise scrambles to her feet and heads for the open door.

She has no idea what direction to go, but she doesn’t care. For the first time in forever, she was free of that room. She moves as fast as her feet can take her. She’s low on sugar, and her head feels light, but she keeps going—this is her chance.

Physical activity has not been a part of her world for so long that it is hard for her brain to wait while her legs try desperately to keep up.

The hallway is long with lots of doors, the wallpaper is ripped in places, and the lighting is low. It looks like an abandoned hotel, but where are the windows? She keeps winding around corners, holding herself upright against the walls as her knees weaken.

She has no sense of direction; every hallway looks the same. She hears voices getting louder, and her heart is in her throat. She tries pulling and pushing on the closest door handle, but it doesn’t budge. Stinging tears race down her cheeks. Panic is kicking in, and sobs overtake her.

She fights them back, but she feels she’s letting herself down. She has a chance to escape, and she can’t even open a goddamned door!