Trapped in his End Game (Series)

MELANIE

I don’t know who I am anymore.

The realization paralyzes me to the cold, empty bed as my eyes search the cracks in the ceiling frantically, as if there’s an answer for me somewhere in there.

It’s not that I’ve gone crazy. I know my name, my mind just draws a blank when I think about who I am. It turns out that I was wrong about everything and he was right. In the beginning, he told me what would happen.

You’ll beg me to suck my cock.

And he was right, wasn’t he?

My body radiates with aches from last night. A line of heat sears my spine when I think about my legs wrapped around his torso, my body shaking with every thrust. Somehow, Tommy manipulated my feelings for him. Instead of revulsion, I find myself missing his warmth. There’s still a healthy dose of fear, but I no longer want to rebel against him. Why should I?

I slip inside the bathroom and start the shower, convinced that he’s downstairs, and I let the hot spray soothe my aches and bumps. Last night was brutal. I’ll be sore for days. I reach down and feel myself, slipping a finger between my lips as I remember how the ropes felt, how they made my breasts stick out of my chest and how I was utterly powerless, wrapped up in bondage.

My troubled thoughts seem to echo in the shower as I wash myself. I dry myself off and comb my hair with a short black comb. I search for a blow-dryer, but there’s nothing there. Shutting the cabinet in frustration, I march into the bedroom.

He’s still not here.Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

I look through his dressers for something to wear, only finding oversized male t-shirts that drown me when I pull them over. I find a pair of black sweatpants and pull them on too. Damn, it feels nice to wear clothes, even if they barely fit. I head downstairs, my bare feet soft on the splintered wood. He’s not in the kitchen. He’s not in the living room. I even open the closet and peek down the dungeon, the sight of which makes me tremble.

Nothing. He’s fucking gone!

Then a gust of wind blows through the house, and then I look toward the source and my mouth gapes.

The front door is wide open. It wavers slightly, almost as if it’s beckoning to me.

“This has to be a trick.” I raise my voice. “Tommy, where are you?”

No response.

Perhaps he had to leave in a hurry.

Perhaps there was a struggle.

None of these possibilities seem at all likely, but I can’t ignore that freedom is only a few steps away, and nothing can stop me.

Do I even want to be free anymore?

The alarming thought propels me down the hall. I take hesitant steps forward until I’m standing in the doorway. “Tommy?”

Maybe he’s setting me free.

A sea of white stretches beyond the porch of the house. Snow blankets the ground. It’s hard and packed, like ice. To my left is a sparse forest, the branches looking like skeletal remains. There’s nothing else. God, it’s just as deserted as he said it was and I have no idea where I am. I’m not even wearing shoes.

I’ll take my chances with the outdoors.

Freezing, I dart out into the snow, my feet screaming with the contact of the packed surface. I walk slowly at first, heart hammering as I move away from the house. I expect him to sprint after me, materializing behind a mound of snow or perhaps around the house, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Then I sprint toward the woods, screaming when my foot plunges into a foot of freezing slush. My skin numbs from the contact, but I force myself to keep plowing through.

Keep going. You may not get a chance like this again.

The forest bounces in my sight, the dark branches no longer frightening. Beyond it, I see another farm.

I trip over a root and land on my knee hard, hissing in pain as my skin scrapes into an angry red gash. Freedom. It’s right there. I can almost reach it.

Yes! I reach the sanctuary of the trees. Almost crying with relief, I don’t stop. I barrel through, hardly feeling the cold anymore. Then I turn around a trunk and collide with something very solid.

“Oof!”

My body crashes on the freezing ground and I look up into the stunned gaze of a man dressed in a navy-blue jacket, with gold letters stamped across his chest. FBI.

What?

“Ms. Ronaldo?”

He helps me up and all of a sudden the cold returns to my limbs and I shake in his arms, teeth chattering.

“Get me out of here!”

“Hang on. You’re safe.” He pulls the radio from his side. “Right. I found her. Taking her to rendezvous point. Over.”

Freezing tears of relief cascade down my face as he helps me limp through the snow, toward the car parked just beyond the forest. He opens the door for me and I slide inside, moaning in gratitude when he turns on the heat.

“H-How did you find me?” My teeth chatter with the cold.

“We received intel from someone inside. We were going to raid the house.”

I shake my head. “There’s no one there.”

He drives me away from the house, across the farmland to a street in the middle of a small town. The heavy weight I’ve been carrying for weeks finally lifts from my shoulders. I’m free. No more worrying about what’ll happen to me. Still, it all feels artificial. Perhaps it’s the stimulation from the town. For weeks it was just Tommy and I, and that crappy, old house. People mill on the streets and cars zoom past us, spraying slush on the sidewalk. Everything is too bright. It’s too much.

I’m ushered out of the car, barefooted on the icy streets as he brings me into an office, up a set of stairs, and into a conference room where there are four other men, similarly clothed, waiting for us.

“You must be freezing,” the man who rescued me says. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

I whimper in thanks and sit down at the table, trembling violently. An olive-skinned man gives me his jacket.

“Right-so, uh. We have a few questions for you, Ms. Ronaldo.”

They sit down in front of me in their FBI jackets, looking uncharacteristically hostile. The man returns with the mug of coffee and presses it into my hands. He stands at the door like a sentry.

“I just want to go home,” I tell them. “Where’s Agent Palmer?”

They ignore my question. “What happened at the motel? Who kidnapped you?”

My guts clench and I bite my lip hard. I was on the verge of telling them what happened to me, but I can’t rat on Tommy. I gave them up once, and look what it cost me.

“I-I didn’t. I wasn’t kidnapped.”

The one in the middle creases his forehead. “You weren’t kidnapped? You vanished from a motel on the 28th, leaving behind your wallet and cell phone. You have a trial in five days, and no one’s been able to reach you.”

I clasp the cup of coffee, taking a sip even though it burns my tongue. “I left on my own.”

His hands clench over the table, his thin face trembling. “Look, we already know what happened to you. It’s obvious that the Vittorios sent someone to kidnap you-”

“No, I left on my own accord.”

“Melanie,” he says in a kinder voice. “There’s no reason to be afraid anymore. You’re safe. We’re not going to let you out of our sight. Now, tell us the truth.”

They couldn’t guarantee my safety before. They got me once, they could do it again.

And the next one might not be as kind as Tommy.

“I am,” I say in a firmer voice. “I left on my own.”

He slams his fist on the table, making the coffee splash on my hands. I release it, crying out as it burns my fingers.

“Listen to me, you stupid cunt. You better start talking, or I’ll throw that cup of coffee in your fucking face.”

Jesus Christ.

A rush of heat makes me stumble as I stand up. Then I back against the wall as he gets up from the chair and moves around the table. I look pleadingly at the others for help, but they seem unperturbed.

“Why are you-?”

“We’re asking the fucking questions.”

He seizes my hair and I scream in pain as he hisses right into my ear. “Tell us what happened and you won’t get hurt.”

What the fuck is going on?

“Who the hell are you?”

Suddenly the door slams open. A very familiar, tall figure strides through the door, and I topple to my knees as the FBI agent releases my hair. It’s him. Him. How did he find me? My heart stalls in my chest and the strangest relief runs through my limbs.

Tommy is dressed in a pair of slacks and a light-blue dress shirt, looking immaculate as the FBI agents hardly glance at him.

What’s happening?

His amused gaze turns sour as he looks at the man standing next to me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He stiffens. “You told me to interrogate her. That’s what I was doin’.”

Confusion and fear mingle together as Tommy takes a few menacing steps forward. I shuffle backward on my hands, terrified of the look storming his face, but then he grabs the FBI agent by his neck and slams his head into the wall.

“Cops don’t threaten to throw mugs of coffee into people’s faces, moron.”

Oh my God.

The truth crashes over me, and my arms shake, barely able to support my body. I was never free. A sour taste runs in my mouth as I look at him. The whole thing was a trap. A setup. Tommy never left the house. He was watching me the whole time. Was this some sort of test?

The room echoes with a sudden choking sound that I realize is coming from my mouth. Some of the guys glance at me, and I turn to face the fogged over window.

I didn’t say a word, right? My heart pounds furiously against my chest.

“Sorry, Tommy.” The man wearing the FBI jacket rubs the back of his head when Tommy releases his collar.

It occurs to me that they’re all mobsters. Tommy probably hired them to do this to me-to fuck with my head one more time. Jesus Christ, is it ever going to stop?

“She didn’t cave,” someone else says.

I cry out when I feel his hand on my back, but his touch is gentle. He helps me stand to my feet and I try to swallow, only to make desperate, gulping sounds. His arm wraps around my waist and he wipes the tears from my eyes.

“Take it easy, hon. I’m not going to hurt you. You did wonderful. I’m proud of you.”

Proud of me? Waves of shock crash through my despair. I thought that he was going to hurt me for running off.

He turns his head toward the others. “Thanks, guys.”

They nod at him and tear off their jackets, filing out the door as they recognize his dismissal. Then it’s just him and me standing in that room.

There’s a chill in his eyes that I hate to see. It fills me with guilt and more sobs shake from my throat. I know that I failed his test and there’s no telling what he’ll do to me now.

“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“I never told you that you could leave.” His gaze softens. “I’m a little disappointed that you left, but I think it’s safe to say that you’re ready to go outside with me.”

My head pounds with heat. “How could you expect me to stay in there? Do you realize what you’ve done to me-do you even care?”

He releases me, losing the warmth in his voice and adopting a cool detachment. “I care about getting you to do what I want.”

“I’m sick and tired of these head games,” I say as more tears squeeze through my eyes. There’s a suffocating pressure on my lungs. It crushes the life out of me. “I thought I was free-I thought I could go home.”

“When are you going to realize it? You’ll never be free again.”

He kisses my cheek, almost as if it’s an apology, but it feels like ice burning my skin.

Never?

I feel as though I’m running through a maze of nondescript white halls, all of them the same. My eyes search for a way out, and he’s around every corner.

You’ll never be free again.

His arms tighten around me, mercifully giving me the affection that I need. He speaks warmly into my ear as he strokes my back.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help you. I was always trying to help you.”

And it’s true, isn’t it? Some sick, demented part of me can’t help but agree with him. He never laid a hand on me, even though Jack probably ordered him to. He even defended me from him, and saved me from that lunatic who was about to throw boiling coffee in my face. No, Tommy never did anything except give me the most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had, and hold me in his arms as we fell asleep together.

And keep you captive.

I cling tightly to Tommy’s shirt, not certain that I’ll never be able to let go.