A Minor Technicality [Completed] *Slowly Editing*

Chapter 39 - I Get Knocked Down...

Blythe's POV

We'd driven for hours, and my body was exhausted and cold. Michael loved to keep the air conditioner blowing full-blast, and since I wasn't his favorite person at the moment, he didn't seem to care that I was half dressed. Goose bumps covered the flesh of my arms and legs, and I felt like my teeth were about to start chattering uncontrollably.

We'd headed west, which surprised me. I figured Michael's contacts were mostly in New York, since that is where his empire was headquartered. It turned out that I was probably right. Once we'd driven for a couple of hours in that direction, Michael parked the truck in a busy mall parking lot. He jimmied the lock of a nearby Camry. It was rusted and had a lot of miles on it, but he didn't seem to care. For someone who lived the champagne and caviar lifestyle, I figured there must be a reason for his choice. It took Michael only seconds to hotwire the car, and we were once again traveling down back roads.

This time, however, he headed northeast, and I slowly realized that he was leading whomever might follow us on a wild goose chase. They would waste an enormous amount of time traveling in the wrong direction.

After several more hours of silence, the sun had set and the moon shone brightly. The sky was clear. Not a cloud in sight. The moon bathed the trees in a ghostly light, and I occasionally saw the reflection of the eyes of the forest animals. The night seemed too beautiful for the events of the day, and it beckoned me to rest. My body was begging for sleep, but I didn't want to miss a single clue regarding our destination.

Michael finally pulled into the lot of a two-story, brick motel. The neon lights flashed "Camelot", but the o and t were burnt out, so it just blinked "Camel" repeatedly. The run-down building was near the interstate exit, and scantily clad girls were on a nearby corner. Great. Hookers.

Without a word, Michael parked, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me across the armrest. The clerk in the lobby didn't look twice at the sight of a beaten woman in nothing but a men's dress shirt. I was obviously there against my will, but Michael paid in cash, and I'm sure he tipped the guy large. What a fine establishment. Michael then dragged me once again until we reached a scuffed door. He unlocked the room and shoved me inside.

After six months of being wined and dined, I could honestly say this was the first time Michael had ever brought me to such a disgusting place. I stared uncomfortable at the seedy motel room bed, forcing myself not to regurgitate my lunch (if it was even in my stomach still). This place had to charge by the hour, and I wondered (not for the first time) how Michael even knew of its existence.

I stared in horror at the stains on the gaudy red coverlet. Even the cream sheets that were visible beneath the pillows had a dingy, brown tinge to them. The walls had streaked marks near the corners of the ceiling, indicating some sort of water damage, and I swear the carpet had a darkened bloodstain. I could make out a similar tableau in the bathroom – all dingy, broken tiles and stained paint. The old radiator in the corner hissed and gurgled like it was on its last leg. The air reeked of sweat and sex, and a shiver of unease raced down my spine.

Annoyed at my sudden cessation of footsteps, Michael gripped my arm and pulled me across the room. He miraculously pulled a set of handcuffs from his jacket and quickly latched one end to my wrist. At this point, fight or flight kicked in, and I began to buck and kick, trying to free myself from his bruising hold. This turned out to be a not so bright idea. Growling like the animal he was, Michael didn't hesitate to lift his hand to bitch slap me. My head snapped at the feeling, and I began to think I needed to change tactics. That was the third time that day that I'd been struck across that same cheek, and it was fucking throbbing.

Still, I was never the one to make the smart choice. Hence, moving to New York and abandoning my family only to begin dating a full blown criminal. I kicked straight out with my foot, hoping to do some sort of damage, and I struck gold on the first try. Michael groaned and dropped to his knees, cupping his family jewels while I grinned in triumph. I leapt from the bed and made it three steps before he had recovered enough to catch me.

A burning sensation flooded my scalp as Michael grabbed a handful of my hair. I whimpered as he used that handful to literally drag me across the room to the bed. Before throwing me down, however, Michael raised his hand again. This time, though, his hand was fisted, and I saw fireworks when I felt it connect with my jaw.

"You fucking bitch," he sneered, letting his rage fly when he used his other fist to strike my gut. I bent over the moment all breath left me, but before my knees could hit the ground, Michael lifted me by my hair and punched my stomach again.

"You are mine," he yelled, "and you will pay for that."

The promise was sinister, and even though he had not once hurt me before that day, I had no doubt that Michael was nowhere near done doling out his punishment. The next few minutes passed in a blur, as all my mind could register was intense pain. Michael's fists made quick work of my face and stomach, and eventually, he let me collapse to the floor, but only to introduce me to the damage he could inflict with his feet.

No one ran to my rescue, although I am sure the entire rat-infested motel could hear my screams of anguish. And that anguish was immense. I had no doubt in my mind that Michael had broken several ribs and one of my arms. Not to mention, he continually grabbed me by the hair, and at one point, he lifted me against the wall and slammed my head into it several times.

The world around me began to spin, and I struggled to focus when he finally began to speak again. He gripped my neck in his large hand, and with every word he said, his fingers tightened, cutting off my air supply.

"You stupid, little slut," he hissed. "I was ready to give you everything, and you turn on me?! Who the hell do you think you are?" he roared, squeezing my neck more tightly. "I'll tell you who you are," he yelled, lifting me by the neck and throwing me onto the bed. I heard myself cry out when the jolt of the mattress sent shocks of pain throughout my chest and arm, but it felt like I wasn't present in the moment. It was like I was watching this brutal beating happen to someone else.

"You. Are. Mine," Michael whispered furiously. "Until the moment I decide that I am done with you, you and that sweet little pussy belong to me." His livid mask transformed almost instantly, and I was baffled at the sudden lust in his eyes. "You will learn the ways of my family," he murmured seductively in my ear. "You will accept it, and you will stand at my side. And if you don't, your little sister will deal with the consequences."  He pulled his torso upright and glared into my eyes. "Do you understand?" he demanded.

I gaped at him openly, but he may have missed the expression, as I could feel the pain and swelling in my face, and I could taste the coppery blood in my mouth. I stared for a moment, mesmerized by the tiny rainbows of light surrounding Michael's face, shimmering and wavy across his rugged skin. They were extremely distracting.

"Do you understand?" he shouted, his warm breath harsh against my face.

The tiny auroras transformed into bright white spots, twinkling across my vision like fairy lights. As the white lights disappeared, the space remaining was void and black, and before I could answer, those black spots grew until Michael, thankfully, faded from view, and the agony finally dissipated.

When I awoke, several hours had passed. I only knew this because it was light outside, with only a small ray of sunlight slipping through the gap in the thin curtains. My arm protested fiercely as I held it protectively to my stomach, and I noticed my other arm ached, as well.

The sudden gurgle of the radiator caused me to jump, sending shards of pain through my body. I stared at my unbroken arm, realizing that Michael had attached the other end of the handcuffs to the radiator. Groaning, I leaned my head against the wall. Unfortunately, my neck had to bend at an odd angle to do so, and I could not find an ounce of comfort. I felt a hot tear stream down my cheek, but I refused to allow any more to follow. I could blame that one on the pain, but there was no way I would let Michael win any victory, even one as small as shed tears.

I searched the muted light of the room to find that Michael was nowhere to be seen. My eyes frantically scanned the room for a phone, and I heaved a large sigh of relief when I saw one on the bedside table. Relief turned to despair when I realized Michael must have left it knowing that I couldn't reach it from my position at the radiator. My heart clenched, and I dropped my head to my chest in defeat.

At that moment, Michael proudly sauntered into the room. He glared at me and left me sitting in the corner as he began to wear a path in the carpet. Grumbling under his breath, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"It's Mikey," he growled into the phone, and I listened, hope dying, when I realized he was talking to the mole.