Not that this knowledge did her much good under the circumstances. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, and therefore had no way of knowing for certain in which direction her captor had driven. She might not even be in the same county, though the close proximity of mechanical farming equipment suggested a rural location. She was inclined to think that Des would not have wanted to drive far from the city, so hope remained that she was still relatively close to home.
But there was not much solace in that possibility. Even if she had known precisely where she was being kept, it would have counted for nothing. After all, she was unable to contact anybody to inform them. The real question was much more simple: had anybody missed her enough to report her unexplained and unplanned absence?
The thought caused Abbi to surrender to melancholy. How had she ended up here? How had things gone so badly wrong with her parents that she would rather sell her body than return to the home in which she was raised? They had not treated her poorly; that much she could admit. It wasn’t as if her father had ever travelled the short distance along the landing from his bedroom to hers – a story she had heard often from other girls. He had only ever treated her kindly, with compassion and love. Her mother’s personality was more reserved, and if there was harshness to be found, it certainly came from her. But even these outbursts were tempered with understanding. That, and a simple desire to raise a child properly.
The absence of sexual abuse and parental negligence aside, she had never been physically mistreated, either. Her father worked hard, and her mother kept a clean home and always put a hot evening meal on the table in addition to running her own small arts and crafts business. So much for leaving home to find independence, Abbi thought miserably. For the past couple of years she had submitted to being sexually victimised with great frequency and no tenderness – and that lifestyle choice had ultimately led her into the clutches of a man like Des and a place like this. What she would give for the warmth of her centrally heated home, her mother’s cooking and baking… even her father’s absurd, unfunny sense of humour. Together her parents had given her a great start in life, and this was what she had done with it.
Finished with sobbing, shame burning her cheeks, Abbi stretched herself out on the vile mattress to ease away the tension in her muscles. Moments later she curled up into a ball. She pulled the duvet tight around her neck and tucked her feet up to envelop them. The room was not quite as cold as it had been on the first couple of nights, but neither was there any reprieve from the air’s corrosive touch.
The one thing that had surprised her about the situation she found herself in was that Des had not touched her sexually since her incarceration. She had come to understand the immense high some people got from being strangled – oxygen deprivation created a unique euphoria, and when coupled with orgasm it delivered a sensation unlike any other. But choking someone else out while obtaining that same sexual rush was a completely different thing altogether. She could only imagine the added excitement came from a sense of having control over life and death in that instant.
In truth, from the moment she first realised the terrible situation she was in, Abbi had assumed the worst: that Des would take their choking game further and further, leaving her closer each time to unconsciousness and, eventually, worse. That he had subsequently treated her more like an animal had left her confused, but equally wary. Because if Des had no intention of continuing with his peculiar form of lust, what exactly was the purpose of keeping her locked up like this?
About to close her eyes in a bid to snatch some much-needed sleep, Abbi heard a key scuff in the lock. She jammed her eyes tight shut and turned her head away as the door groaned open.
‘There she is,’ Des said. ‘She’s as good as broken in. Your money buys you an hour. But remember, I have others waiting, so leave her in good condition.’
Abbi’s heart skipped several beats. She bit into her lip, deep enough to feel the warm flow of blood in the curve between her mouth and chin.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ came a voice she did not recognise. ‘I’m experienced. No safe word, right?’
‘Of course not. Where’s the fun in that?’
Abbi felt her entire body become rigid, her flesh both crawling and tightening at the same time. She choked down a groan, perhaps even a cry of terror. Pain rippled across the muscles in her stomach, pulsing like a living creature trapped beneath the skin.
‘Good. She won’t need one. I’ll take her close to the edge and pull her right back again.’
‘You’d better,’ Des said flatly. ‘You snuff her on the first attempt and it’ll cost you big.’
Still lying on the filthy mattress, Abbi’s stomach clenched again as she stifled the scream that threatened to erupt from the very centre of her being.
Twenty-Eight
At lunchtime, Bliss nipped out to buy fish and chips for everyone. Netherton Fisheries served up some of the best in the
