Josephine was white-faced at this attack on her, and she wasn’t able to answer her husband. His anger was so painful and raw. She had never seen him like this before. Somewhere in her head, she recognised he was telling her the truth, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.
Pulling herself upright in her chair and, squaring her shoulders, she gathered her pride. Looking at the man she had married, and who she still loved with all her heart, she said coldly, ‘I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me about my life, Michael. I am the one who has to live it, and I live it to the best of my ability.’
For the first time ever her words didn’t have any effect on him; he didn’t care about her problems or her needs. ‘Oh, blow it out your arse, Josephine. It’s not about you for once, is it? It’s about Jessie, and where the fuck she might be. Because I don’t think this is her usual old fanny. I think this time she might really be in serious trouble.’
Chapter One Hundred
and Five
Jessie woke up to find a stone-cold McDonald’s and a large bottle of water on the end of her bed. She was relieved there was finally some light, albeit not that bright, but at least she could peruse her surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. As she gobbled down the food left for her, she didn’t notice anything of use; the walls were concrete, badly rendered, and there was no furniture in the room other than the bed she was tied to. The smell of her urine was disgusting, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. She just hoped that would work in her favour – whoever this man was, he wouldn’t want to rape her. She stank like a fucking polecat. But he’d already had his chance for that.
She finished her food and drank a deep gulp of the water; she had never been so hungry in her life. She had a feeling the man was sedating her with the water he allowed her, but she had no choice – she had to drink it. It was better to be asleep, if truth be told. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Her arms were aching from being bound for days and, as she tried to flex her legs to get some feeling back into them, she saw a bundle of clothing on the floor beside her bed.
Grabbing the clothes eagerly, she noticed that he had left her a cheap wraparound skirt that was suitable for the beach and a tracksuit top; it was an ugly grey colour, but at least it looked warm. As she stripped off her clothes, she was ashamed to see just how soiled and dilapidated she had become.
She slipped off the end of the bed, and stood up unsteadily. In the dim light she could make out two thick metal plates fixed into the floor, and these were what held her captive. The chains themselves were tight, and they were very heavy. She couldn’t remove them without a weapon of some kind, or the keys to her ankle chains, of course. It was a terrible feeling, being held captive like this, left to lie in her own stench, her own urine, like a fucking animal. But she wasn’t going to let this man know how much that affected her. He’d not harmed her since that first night, when he had knocked her unconscious, but she could still feel the pain from where he had hit her. If he had hit her like that once, he wouldn’t care about having to do it again.
She dressed herself quickly in the fresh clothes, pulling the skirt she’d been wearing over her head. Her underwear was filthy but she couldn’t remove it with the chains. At least the clean clothes gave her a feeling of power and reminded her of how strong she could be if necessary. She could not allow herself to think otherwise; if she gave in to her fears, this man would beat her, and she was determined that she would never give up without a fucking fight. She had fought her father, the big dangerous villain, tooth and nail, so she was fucked if she was going to let anyone else get the better of her now. She forced herself to concentrate on the predicament that she was in, reminding herself that, no matter what might have passed between her and her father, he was the only chance she had to survive; if anyone was capable of finding her, and rescuing her, it was her dad.
She saw how stained the mattress was with her own bodily functions and, using all her strength, she finally managed to turn it over. It was difficult and exhausting, but it was something she needed to do. This was about her refusing to let the man who was holding her captive demoralise her completely. She climbed back on to the bed, pleased at what she had achieved for herself.