Ripples

  That was the sensation Natalie experienced, a free-fall from a mile high, her stomach in knots. Perspiration dotted her skin, her palms moistened, and the breakfast she couldn't recall eating pushed upward. “I-I’m going...sick...”

  Dexter's lips quirked upward; even his eyes lightened. “No, dear, you won't. I made sure of that. The anti-nausea component of your little cocktail won't allow it.”

  “C-cocktail?”

  “Why yes, we're about to land in Munich. You're old enough to drink there. In Germany, it's sixteen for beer and wine. It's eighteen for spirits. The laws are the same at our final destination. Though I must say, as your husband, I'll need to keep a close eye on your intake. It does seem as though you have a rather low tolerance.”

  There was too much in his speech, so much to decipher.

  “Destination?” Her chest clenched. “M-my mom...France.”

  “Yes, it's interesting that she's who you mention. Of course, one day we'll visit. Keeping us from your family isn't my goal. I doubt our visit will be in France. You won't be ready. Besides, they're only renting that chateau. I'd love to visit their island. I'm sure it's beautiful. But first, don't you think we should get to know one another better?” His hand splayed over her thigh, the heat transcending the material of her tight jeans. “My dear wife.”

  Chapter 4

  Acceptance doesn't mean resignation; it means understanding

  that something is what it is and that there's got to be a way

  through it. ~ Michael J. Fox

  With each second that Natalie stared, unsure what to say, Dexter’s hold intensified until the tips of his fingers blanched with the depth of their grip. Pain ached deep below her skin.

  Dropping the passport, she clawed at his unmoving hand. “Stop. Y-you're hurting me.” The sentence came faster, the pain returning her ability to speak, yet through clenched teeth, the words were barely audible.

  Dexter's hand didn't move. The pressure neither lessened nor increased. His words, however, were clear and concise, knives cutting through the plane’s rumbling. “On this plane, with the roar of the engines, our conversation is private. Can you remember to keep it that way when we're off the plane?” His fingers dug deeper.

  Natalie gasped, biting her lip to keep from screaming. “Please.”

  “Questions are to be answered the first time.”

  Her mind swirled as she tried to comprehend his words and somehow ignore the pain. Biting her lip, she nodded.

  The pressure increased.

  “Please...I can remember.”

  Again, the pressure leveled. With each assertion, she prayed that he wouldn't make it worse. She could bear it as long as there wasn't more.

  “Tell me your name,” he demanded.

  She tried to remember. Everything was still foggy. The answer was in the passport. Not the real answer, but the one that would bring her relief. The small folder was now wedged beside her leg where she'd dropped it.

  Dare she let go of his hand to look?

  Before she was able to open it, Dexter snatched the passport with his other hand. The one on her thigh never twitched or wavered in its mission.

  “I-I can't remember,” she admitted.

  Dexter's head slowly shook. His fingers dug harder into the jeans, into her leg.

  Tears prickled to life behind her eyes.

  “No,” he growled, a low rumbling hiss. “That won't do. We have customs soon and a car to secure.”

  “But...I have another flight.”

  “Don't be silly. Europe is too beautiful, and what did you call it? Oh, I remember...magical. It's too magical to miss seeing the countryside.”

  “I don't understand,” Natalie replied, keenly aware that somehow she'd grown tolerant to the pain his hand continued to inflict.

  “Your name?”

  Her eyes closed to her silent plea. She begged for magic and so much more, the words only audible within her own head. And then she opened her eyes.

  Europe wasn't magical, or at least its airspace wasn't. This man—the one she barely knew—was still before her. She'd wished him away. She wished she'd done as her parents wanted and flown privately. She wished she’d never met him, but there he was, his deep-ocean-aqua eyes growing darker and deeper by the moment, staring back. Not staring—demanding. His fingers continued to dig, probing into her skin.

  As her breaths hastened, Natalie moved her eyes from side to side, looking...searching. The couple on the other side of the aisle was too interested in one another to notice what was happening. The attendant walked back and forth, seemingly unaware. The people in the seats in front of them spoke, but she couldn't hear what they said. That meant that those near them couldn't hear Dexter either.

  No longer prickling, tears teetered on her lids as she asked the questions churning in her stomach, knotting her insides. “Why are you doing this? Are you going to hurt me?”

  Dexter's chest expanded and contracted as he leaned even closer.

  This man was bigger than she remembered. Wider, stronger. He dominated her vision.

  His eyes scanned to where his fingers grasped her thigh and back. “The why can wait. Tell me, am I hurting you now?”

  If she weren't watching his firm lips, she might not have heard his question phrased and spoken in barely a whisper, but she was watching. Her thoughts were once again forming words and her brain was functioning. Synapses were firing. It wasn't at full speed, but it was there.

  Her neck straightened as she answered, “Not as much as at first.”

  “Explain.”

  “At first, it might have been shock, but now the intensity...I don't know...” An unwanted tear escaped to her cheek, revealing her lie.

  He was hurting her.

  Still not releasing her thigh, Dexter wiped the tear with a satisfied grin. “The thing is, Nellie, I've slowly increased my hold. Your ability to accept what I’m giving you excites me more than you know.”

  What the hell? He had? Nellie?

  Before she could form a question, he continued, “Will I hurt you? I'm leaving my mark. I plan to leave more. The intensity, your ability to handle what I give, is at your discretion as are your responses and your honesty. Don’t lie to me again. Am I hurting you?”

  Her head barely bobbed. Admitting was as bad as the pain. “Y-yes.”

  His aqua eyes sparkled in sick delight at her confession. “Tell me, what's your name?”

  She remembered. He'd said it. “Nellie...Nellie...” The twisting in her stomach tightened. If only she could get sick, she'd vomit all over him. But he'd planned for that. What else had he planned?

  “Go on.”

  Her heart beat like a drum, pounding out a distress signal that no one but she heard. “My name is Nellie Smithers.” When he didn't respond, she added, “Please.”

  “Please, what? My dear wife, what are you asking?”

  Only her eyes moved, looking down again at the blanched tips of his fingers dug deep into her jeans and skin.

  “In the future, we'll work on using words, but for now that will do.” His smile widened as his grip loosened.

  As it did, Natalie anticipated relief. Instead, pain shot through her thigh, worse than with his grasp. She lunged forward with a whimper, feverishly rubbing the material of her jeans.

  “Yes, you see,” he calmly explained, “the sensation of blood returning to starved tissues can be more painful than the pressure itself.” He paused, pursing his lips in contemplation. “Consider that food for thought. Be careful what you ask. There’ll be times when I'll be more than happy to oblige.” His head tilted. “And other times when you must trust that I know best.”

  Who the hell?

  Natalie's eyes widened. The world was becoming clearer though it still didn't make sense. This man was threatening her. He spoke as if they were going to stay together. Was he planning on taking her—kidnapping her? “If it's money, my father—”

  “Don't be so naïve.”

  The bl
ood running through her veins chilled as she considered her options. Why hadn’t she flown on one of her parents’ private planes? She needed a plan. “I can scream. I won't let you do this.”

  “Do what, my wife?”

  Her tenor slowed. “I'm not your wife."

  “Au contraire, every form of identification you possess states that you are. Who do you think will be believed, an inebriated woman or her sober husband?”

  Natalie frantically pulled the bag from the floor, the one he'd given her earlier from the upper compartment, the one containing the fake passport. Where was her real one? She dug and dug through her things. Her heart raced quicker with each unsuccessful search. No other passport. No boarding pass for her next flight. Even her phone was missing. “Where...?”

  And then she remembered her driver's license. It would prove her identity, even containing her Iowa address. A sigh escaped her lips as her fingers brushed the small leather clutch stowed in the bottom of the larger bag. Surely, he hadn't known about that. It was her golden ticket, the one to her freedom and safety.

  Dexter didn't speak as she opened the small purse.

  Nellie Smithers. Nellie Smithers.

  Her ID. Each plastic card. Everything down to the Amex Platinum card her father had given her had that name. The disappointment was staggering.

  “H-how?”

  “I realize it was premature, and one day I'll change the first name. I rather like the name Nat—my little bug—and soon we'll be better acquainted. In the meantime, this will help our cause.”

  “No, I got on this plane, me, not Nellie Smithers. The airlines will have record. My father will—”

  His finger touched her lips. “If you think for even a moment that I haven't thought of that—of everything—you underestimate me.” He roughly rubbed his fingers over her bruised thigh, eliciting Nat's small wince. “I look forward to more underestimating.”

  At that moment, the attendant appeared with hot cloths. Natalie looked from her to Dexter and back knowing she should say something. Before she could, being ever the gentleman, Dexter reached for one of the cloths, unfurled the roll of material, allowing the steam to escape, and handed it to Nat with a smile. “I wouldn't want it to burn you.”

  She took the cloth.

  “Miss, I hope you're feeling better,” the attendant said.

  Natalie looked again from her to Dexter. Silence settled as the beating of her heart increased. A second and another passed.

  Finally, Dexter prompted, “Tell her how you're feeling, dear.”

  Natalie slowly raked her teeth over her lower lip as her gaze moved between the deep-ocean eyes silently warning her to the woman's kind face. Nat took a deep breath and made her decision. It wouldn't help to make her case in the sky. She needed to wait until there was someone who could help. “I'm feeling much better, thank you.”

  “Don't worry about it, honey,” the woman said. “The altitude and alcohol and a newlywed to boot. Your new husband took good care of you. You're in good hands.” She winked. “He said you hadn't eaten with all the excitement. It's a combination we often see.

  “And as we promised him, your secret is safe with us. We wouldn’t want to start your honeymoon holiday off with a scene. Besides, everyone else was so preoccupied in their own world...don't you worry, no one noticed.”

  Natalie's stomach sank. She wasn't sure if this was good or not. Appearances were taught to her from an early age. However, if she'd been noticed...

  “That was very good,” Dexter praised once the attendant was gone. The light was once again in his gaze. “I can either reward you for being a good girl, or slip you more of your new favorite cocktail if you plan to misbehave.”

  Her lips came together. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with his patronizing tone and condescending words. She wasn't a little girl to be praised or punished. She also didn't like the effects of the drug: the lack of control, the queasy detachment.

  “The choice is yours,” he continued. “Customs will go much smoother if you're coherent. I'm also prepared to handle it if you're not.”

  She ran her palm over her tender thigh as the landing announcement spilled from the overhead speakers.

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles before holding it and rubbing her skin. “You're very beautiful, Nat. I've watched and waited. I've had this day planned for a very long time.”

  “My friends call me that. We're not friends.”

  The caress of the top of her hand stopped. His thumb pressed upon the fragile bones beneath. Like matchsticks, they could be easily snapped. Before the pressure became too much, he spoke, “You're mine now. And you're right: we're more than friends. Aren't we, my little bug? That's what I'll call you until you earn back your name.”

  “Stop...” She tried to pull back her hand, but his hold stayed steadfast.

  “I have no doubt you'll do it. You'll earn your name as well as mine. I have the utmost faith. You have your father's determination and your mother's submission. It's a fiery combination that I can't wait to explore.”

  “What do you know about my parents?”

  “Everything.”

  Natalie shook her head as the ring on her left hand caught her attention. It was a large diamond lifted high on white-gold prongs; the band below it was simple. She yearned to take them off and throw them away. In the pit of her stomach, she knew that these rings didn’t signify love and commitment, but a collar of ownership.

  She hadn't been for sale nor could she be owned. Yet the way Dexter spoke to her was as if he knew otherwise.

  “They're not real,” Dexter said, releasing her other hand.

  “They aren't?”

  “No, bug. You'll need to earn that too. And let me tell you, the real ones are spectacular—a family heirloom.”

  “Stop calling me that. I don’t want the real ones.”

  “You will. And what would you like me to call you?” he asked with a new, unsettling gleam in his eyes.

  Her stomach pinched. “My name.”

  “Go on. Tell me again what that is.”

  She took a deep breath as another tear escaped and slid down her cheek.

  Getting off the plane and avoiding his cocktail were her two immediate goals. Though there was a small part of her that felt a rush from what was happening, the smarter part was telling her to run. Appeasing him would help. She was in control of her answer. Not him. Once they were on solid ground, she'd figure out a plan.

  “I'm waiting.” His fingertips tapped the armrest, pinkie to forefinger, once, twice. “You should know, I don't like to wait.”

  “My name is Nellie Smithers.”

  Chapter 5

  Things are not always as they seem;

  the first appearance deceives many. ~ Phaedrus

  As Dexter and Natalie slowly progressed through the customs line, his hand remained in the small of her back, a constant reminder of his presence and expectations. On the surface, they appeared the happy yet weary couple. The reality was more ominous. She concentrated on standing, stepping, and taking in the world around her. The drugs—the so-called cocktail he'd given her—weren't completely out of her system. The effects lingered. Speech was back and, according to him, mobility had never been fully lost. It was how he was able to convince the attendant of her intoxication.

  Before they left the plane, Dexter explained the effects of his chosen combination of drugs: lower inhibitions, eliminate awareness, and increase obedience. In a deep, soothing voice, the tone that if others heard would sound comforting, he went on. His words contrasted his timbre, but only Natalie was privy to those.

  “But, my bug...”

  With the crook of his finger, he gently caressed the line of her jaw, burning her with his touch and branding her with his mark. It took all of her willpower not to pull away.

  He continued as the plane taxied to the gate, “It's truly a wonderful concoction. No one in the cabin questioned your sincerity.”

&nbs
p; “I-I don't remember.”

  “Of course you don't. That's the problem. If I gave you more for customs, you'd comply with my every command. Honestly, it would make this easier on me.” He shrugged. “Maybe even on you. But easy isn't as fun or as thrilling.” His hand gripped hers, swallowing it in its girth. “The way you answered the attendant earned you this privilege. Don't disappoint me.”

  A madman was threatening her and taking her away from her family. He'd already admitted—and demonstrated—that he was willing to hurt her.

  She repeated his word as her neck straightened, “Privilege?”

  “Why, yes. If I gave you more of your cocktail, you wouldn't remember what's about to happen. How you willingly obeyed, willingly walked to your destiny.” The aquamarine irises glittered. “I want you to remember that this was your free will. Don't you want that, too?”

  Natalie wanted to forget the entire episode. She wanted to return to Boston, wait for Phil, and fly with him beside her, the man who was more than security, more like an uncle. He would have seen this threat and taken care of it—him—before Natalie even realized it was there. That was what she wanted. Instead, she had to face her new reality and construct a plan of escape.

  “Bug.” His voice, accompanied by a nudge, brought her back to the large room, the line, and the people.

  Reluctantly, she moved, keeping their place in line. With each passing moment, coherency improved. High above, the ceiling was dotted with darkened globes—cameras—recording their movement. Every now and then, she'd look up, hoping that her picture would be recorded. She may have earned this privilege as he called it, but this was her chance to end this bizarre abduction before it could go further.

  With the necessary forms in the breast pocket of his jacket, Dexter was never more than a few inches away. She hadn't seen what he'd written, only heard his warnings. Even leaving him for the restroom was out of the question. Truly she didn’t need to. He’d somehow prompted her to take care of business on the plane, before the cocktail began to lose its grip.