ArHi SS-Seven Days *Complete* - Page 3

Chapter Three

6:00 AM

A couple of days before, her slumber had been broken by an unidentified sound, one that had led to the beginning of this nightmare.

It felt like deja vu now.

Snuggled under the comforter on the couch, her eyes felt leaden after a few hours of sleep. And yet, the soft yet persistent sound nudged at the edges of her consciousness. 

But this time it wasn't unfamiliar.

Realization of what the sound signified had her bolting upright before she had even truly registered her intent. 

Her eyes scanned the semi-darkness, and found the still figure of her captor seated a few feet away by the French window, his body relaxed in sleep for the first time since he had barged into her home. The sound originated from the other side of the spacious living-room, and it was apparent that the sound of the waves had obscured it for him.

But not for her.

Scrambling up from the couch with her hands tied behind her back wasn't an easy task, but she managed to do it silently, gritting her teeth against the aches and pains that instantly made their presence felt. Forcing herself to walk slowly , she darted several glances at the man behind her as she made her way over to the cabinet in the corner--where her phone had been plugged into its charger. It had been vibrating for a few seconds now, and she held her breath, terrified that he would get to it before she could.

But when she finally reached her phone, a quick glance behind her reassured her that her captor slept on, unaware.

She looked down at the flashing display, and hope lit her eyes.

Anjali!

She had been right all along. Anjali Saxena would never give up on the habit of a lifetime and just let her be, even if she had expressly ordered her to. But in this instance, that was a good thing.

Twisting around so that her hands could touch the phone, she cast one last glance towards the man sleeping by the window and then reached out towards the phone. Her fingers could barely reach the touchscreen, and after a couple of failed attempts, she managed to hit the answer button.

She fell to her knees beside the phone, just as Anjali's anxious voice came down the line.

"Khushi? Khushi, are you alright? Why haven't you answered my texts? And why..."

"Anjali."

The word was a soft whisper, but Anjali must have heard it because she stopped speaking at once.

This was her opportunity, her one chance to escape. All she had to do was let her manager know that she was a prisoner in her own home, and help would arrive in a matter of minutes.

And yet, inexplicably, the words wouldn't come.

Her mind, groggy from sleep yet strangely lucid in some ways, threw up two contrasting images before her.

If she told Anjali what was going on, she would be rescued.

She would be free, free to go out and reenter the world she had shut herself off from recently; the world where scandal and paparazzi would dog her every step; where questions would be thrown at her from all sides, unaware that they left her bleeding inside.

And if she stayed silent...if she said nothing, then?

She could still stay here in isolation, her heart safe from the outside forces that threatened to destroy something that was already broken. She would remain a captive...to the only man who had shown her a modicum of respect even as he took away her freedom.

She remembered his expression when he saw the effect the news reports had on her. She recalled how her discomfort had made him apologize.

It was crazy, it was insane...but she was almost sure that he would never do her harm. 

She wanted to stay, with her head buried in the sand...away from everything out there.

Here, as a prisoner.

It was madness. It was pathetic.

And yet, she couldn't stop herself from saying what she did, even as a part of her screamed at her to tell the truth.

She silenced that part, and went with the irrational section of her mind.

"Anjali, I'm fine. And I'd already told you not to call until I did."

"Khushi, this is stupid. You don't need to isolate yourself from..."

"I will be the judge of what I need, Anjali. Look, I'm grateful that you've handled everything on the outside for now. All I ask is that I am allowed to stay here without any intrusions. Now please, let me get back to sleep."

"But Khushi, N.K is rumored to be..."

She cut the call before Anjali could say more than that hated name...before her words could bring back the nightmares that were never far.

And as she straightened up, she realized that she was no longer unobserved.

Her breath stopped in her lungs. Any moment now, she would feel the cold metal against her body and then it would be all over.

He had warned her, hadn't he? And foolishly, she had decided to stay here with him.

She must have lost her mind.

And now, she was about to lose her life.

But she'd be damned if she was going to go out like a coward.

In a quick move, she turned around to face where she thought he'd be.

But she was in for a surprise.

He was close, much closer than she'd anticipated. And the dreaded gun was in his hand, but held loosely at his side. In the dim light of dawn, she could see that the brown eyes behind the mask were wide...with shock.

Of course he would be shocked. It was obvious now that he'd heard everything, and that was enough to render him speechless.

She was astounded too, at the decision she'd just made.

But now was not the time to think about it.

She stared at him for a long moment, and neither moved until the cry of a seagull broke through the charged silence.

She could see the questions brewing in his eyes, and so she shrugged, preempting him. "I must be insane. That's the only explanation."

She shifted slightly, then made to move past him.

An iron grip on her wrists stopped her.

She stilled, her entire body tensing, as she wondered if she had pushed him over the edge at last.

There was complete silence for a moment, and then she felt something that she had never, ever imagined she would...not now, at least.

Her wrists were free.

Whirling around, she stared down at her hands, then down at the floor where the curtain tieback lay on the Persian carpet. She shook her wrists, absently rubbing at them, her eyes back on her captor.

Why had he freed her?

This time, the questions were all in her eyes, and it was his turn to shrug.

His voice, low and husky, made goosebumps rise on her arms. "One act of insanity for another. It's only fair, don't you think?"

And with that, he went through to the kitchen, leaving her there, staring after him in bewilderment.

A few moments later, she shook herself out of her trance and walked back to the couch, falling back on it as the repercussions of her impulsive decision hit her full-force.

What had she done?

All her earlier reasons seemed foolish now...and yet she couldn't really begin to regret what she'd done. It was an odd conundrum, and she found herself wondering if this was what victims of Stockholm Syndrome felt like. Was this the manifestation of the supposed bond between the captor and prisoner that allowed them to identify and empathize with the person they should fear?

And was she so far gone that she really didn't even care?

-

10:30 AM

He looked up from the laptop, his eyes aching from the effort it took to keep them trained on the words. He'd had very little sleep last night, and when he had finally fallen into a fitful stupor, the low-voiced conversation between his hostage and someone on the phone had woken him. 

He'd had his gun in his hands before he's even taken his next breath, and had taken the first, soundless steps towards her when her words had halted him in his tracks.

"Anjali, I'm fine."

He had been sure then that he was still in the middle of some crazed dream. Why else would his captive throw away her one chance at freedom?

But then he'd heard the rest of her words, and realized that this was real, that this was really happening. Astonishment had frozen him where he'd stood until she had cut the call with barely concealed violence.

She must be crazy.

But then, he must be equally crazy. 

After all, he had freed her, hadn't he?

This entire situation was insane.

It was a complication he really didn't need. He had enough on his plate without being distracted by a woman who was proving to be an enigma, someone whose motives and actions made no sense. And yet, she compelled him to wonder...

Who was she, really?

The image he had in his head of the stylish, popular actress didn't quite mesh with the one being revealed to him now. There was a vulnerability that she had been quick to hide-- and a core of steel that gave her the courage to deal with his presence without falling apart. It wasn't what he had been expecting...not that he had been expecting her at all. He had chosen this mansion when his flight from the city had led him to this remote seaside; and when he'd overheard the departing staff, he had known that fate had played into his hands after all. The location was perfect, and he had had no problem in circumventing the alarm before letting himself inside.

But then he'd realized that he wasn't alone.

Since then, a part of his mind had been continually occupied with trying to figure her out. And he really didn't need that, not now. Not when his freedom and his very life depended on what he did next, and what he could find out from his research. He needed to concentrate, and she was the biggest barrier, the one thing that could make him lose focus.

Like right about now, for instance.

Unbidden, his gaze went to her still form. She was still seated on the couch, the same as she'd been all morning. He had allowed her to go into the kitchen for a quick breakfast, but that had been all. After that, she had taken to sitting there like a statue, her eyes on the azure ocean outside. It was apparent that her thoughts had taken her far, far away from this room, and for some unfathomable reason, that fact irked him.

Her gaze snapped up suddenly, and she caught him staring.

Her hazel eyes flashed for a moment, and then she looked away.

"Look, if you are taking a break from...whatever you've been doing on my laptop, could you let me go up to my room and change? Seriously, I've been in this outfit for days now."

He suppressed a wry smile. This was more like what he would have expected from someone like her; anxiety over her clothes when there were bigger problems looming on the horizon. 

And yet, that wasn't fair. 

She had been in those same clothes since he'd met her, and if he had had any compassion, he would have allowed her the basic necessities and comforts of her own home, for heaven's sake.

But he couldn't afford to be compassionate or sympathetic or any of those things. He had a mission, and he needed to keep his mind on that. Best to get this over with, so that he could go back to what he'd been doing.

He got up abruptly, and reached for his gun. "Get moving."

She started, and he realized that she had not been expecting him to agree. But then she shook her head, and preceded him to the staircase.

He followed slowly, keeping the gun trained on her back. He was almost sure that she wouldn't try to run, but he couldn't be one-hundred percent certain because he hadn't quite figured her out. She had continually surprised him, and he was slowly learning to expect the unexpected when it came to her.

When they reached her room, he waited while she pushed the door open and followed her in, taking up a position by the door and relaxing his stance a little when she went straight for the closet.

Pulling it open, she selected the first thing she could see, or that's what it seemed like to him. It was something red-- that was all he could see from his position near the door. When she turned back to face him, he was reminded of the time when he had come up here for her sweater, and had been puzzled by the contents of this closet.

The words spilled out before he had the chance to think.

"I wouldn't have expected you to have such an...ordinary selection of clothes."

She stopped, then turned to him, surprise evident in her expression. "Are you shocked by the lack of designer labels?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I just expected something more...extravagant. Flamboyant. Like your red-carpet appearances."

Her face hardened. "The red-carpet facade is necessary, but I choose not to bring it here, into my home. I keep those outfits in my penthouse in the city. But these...these are what I prefer, when I don't have to be anyone I don't want to be."

Her eyes wore that far-off look again, but then she snapped out of it. "Does that satisfy your curiosity? Or would you like to discuss the contents of my vanity as well?"

The sarcastic edge to her voice made him smile. Almost.

"Just get changed. And make it quick."

With one last look, she disappeared inside the en-suite restroom, and he sank down into a nearby chair. He looked up at the closed door after a moment, wondering what she was doing now.

He was a man, after all. He hadn't failed to notice the curves...or her flawless skin, bare of makeup. Her lustrous hair and captivating eyes hadn't escaped his attention either.

But he hadn't allowed those facts to force their way to the forefront of his mind...not until now. But as he sat there, gazing at the door that was the only barrier between them, he couldn't help but wonder...

He brought the fantasies to an abrupt halt.

This shouldn't be happening. Lusting after his prisoner wasn't on his agenda, and never would be. Steeling himself, he got up swiftly and knocked once on the door.

"Time's up."

He heard the water turn off, and a moment later, she was standing in the doorway.

Dressed now in a red sweatshirt and pant combo with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she looked ridiculously young.

He turned away, irritated with himself for his fixation.

"Back to the living-room. I've got work to do."

He had taken two steps forward when he realized that she wasn't following him .

"Wait."

He heaved an exasperated sigh. "What the hell do you want now?"

She walked out of the room, then gestured down the hallway. "I want to get some paperwork of my own. I can't spend another day down there, just staring at nothing."

He couldn't see any harm in her suggestion. If she was occupied, maybe he would stop being distracted by her presence as well.

"Fine. You have a minute to get what you need."

She was back in half that time with a couple of folders in her hands. Without sparing him a glance, she walked right past him, heading for the stairs. He followed, and they went back to the living-room in silence. 

His gaze went back to the laptop and he inwardly berated himself for wasting so much time. He needed information, and he wasn't going to get that by following his beautiful captive around.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that she had stopped moving. His shoulder nudged hers, and the folders went flying out of her hands. The papers scattered all over the carpet, and he muttered an automatic sorry before picking them up for her.

He was about to hand them back when he noticed the title on one page. His eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly skimmed through the page before she snatched everything out of his hands.

"Those are private."

He looked up into her flashing eyes, but she looked away immediately. A light pink tinge stained her cheeks, and he wondered if she was...embarrassed?

"You're giving away your settlement to charity?!"

She still wouldn't look at him. "It's none of your business."

He shook his head in disbelief. When she had asked for her paperwork, he had assumed that it had something to do with a script for a show or maybe even her divorce.

But this...this was unexpected, much like everything else about her.

Questions arose in his mind. He recalled the news reports where they'd spoken about how she had won her husband's entire fortune in the divorce settlement.

Why had she fought so hard for all that money, only to give it all away now?

It didn't make sense.

She didn't make sense.

And then he reminded himself that it really didn't make any sense for him to be obsessing about all this.

He turned away, saying nothing.

The next two hours crept by in silence as he worked at the laptop, and she went through her papers. He mostly succeeded in not paying attention to what she was doing and only looked at her when she stood up suddenly.

"I'm hungry. And no, I don't want cereal or a cheese sandwich. I want real food."

He stood up too. "Get yourself whatever you want."

They walked into the kitchen in the now familiar pattern, with her moving ahead and him following her with the gun.

Walking up to the cabinets, she threw them open and stared at the contents for a while. He propped himself against the wall, wishing that she would hurry. 

He had been close to discovering something about a person who might be able to help with the impossible situation he was trapped in, and all he wanted was to get back to the laptop.

Looking away for a few minutes, he paid no attention to the sounds of pots and pans coming from behind him. It was followed by the sound of chopping, but only for a moment.

The sharp gasp had him turning around in a hurry.

He looked at her face, contorted in agony. Dropping his eyes to her hands, he saw the source of the pain.

The chopping board was smeared with blood, and she was holding a kitchen towel to her left hand now.

He pushed the gun into the waistband of his jeans and walked over to her quickly. 

"Is the cut very deep? Here, let me look."

He raised one hand towards her but she backed away and walked out of the kitchen. He followed her to the restroom, watching in silence as she ran cold water over her hand until the blood stopped flowing. Wincing as she dried her hand, she reached into the bathroom cabinet for a first-aid kit, then opened it and pulled out a bandage.

He cleared his throat. "You're never going to get that on with one hand."

She ignored him, and tore the packet with her teeth. Bracing her left hand against the sink, she somehow managed to place the bandage in place. When she was done, she just stood there, her face paler than usual.

In the harsh light of the restroom, he noticed something else.

Taking one step towards her, he grasped her wrist lightly and held it up to the light.

The restraints had left their mark; the bruises were dark and were surely painful even now, hours after he had removed them.

Guilt and regret reared their head. "I'm sorry I had to do that."

She pulled her wrist out of his hold and backed away. "Just stop."

He stared at her, puzzled. "What?"

"Stop with the concerned act. I don't need your help when I'm hurt. I don't need your help, period. And I certainly don't need your sympathy. I don't need anything from you, do you hear?"

With a sharp intake of breath, she turned around and almost ran back into the living-room. Throwing open the door that led out onto the balcony, she stood there for a while, cradling her injured hand against her.

Alone.

She was alone, just as he was.

Something about her called to him, made him want to go out there and...and do what, exactly?

Squashing the wayward impulse, he walked instead into the kitchen. He put away the chopping board after rinsing it, noting that she had chosen the wrong knife to cut the onions with. 

He shook his head. She probably didn't even know how to cook.

Placing a pan on the stove, he poured in some water and added some instant noodles he'd found in a cabinet. When they were done, he served up two portions and carried them out to the living-room. Mindful of her earlier words, he placed her plate by the couch and said nothing. 

Hours later, the plate still lay there untouched.

-

7:20 PM

"You skipped lunch. Now don't say no to dinner, or I'll be forced to feed you at gunpoint."

Khushi raised bleary eyes to look up at her jailer. That's how she had started referring to him in her mind. 

It was necessary, because she had to remind herself of what he really was, and what he had done to her.

Earlier today, she had been in real danger of forgetting that fact. But now, after a long, painful day spent reminding herself of the dangers involved in trusting anyone, she had herself back in control.

Or so she'd thought.

His gruff words brought her head up, and she straightened from where she'd been leaning against the couch. He towered over her, and her eyes went to the bowl of steaming something that he was holding under her nose.

It did smell good, but she didn't want to take it. She wanted nothing that came from him. She wanted nothing to do with him.

And yet, you didn't call for help when you could have...

She silenced the small voice in her head that insisted on reminding her every now and then of her insanity this morning. What's done was done, and she had to move on now. 

And there was no point in starving herself, was there?

She parted her lips, intending to accept his offering.

But before she could say anything, they both heard a sound that stunned them.

A car had pulled up outside her front door.

He was the first to react.

In one swift move, he placed the bowl down and pulled out the gun, then gestured for her to stand up. When she did, he turned her around and whispered with his lips close to her ear.

"Any idea who that might be?"

She thought quickly.

The only person who came to mind was Anjali. Despite her lies, had Anjali somehow managed to decipher what she hadn't been saying then?

Had she come to check on her?

She shook her head, then mouthed back just as softly. "I don't know. Let me look through the window."

She felt him nod, and then he nudged her forward until she was by the window. Parting the drapes just a little, she peered out into the darkness and suppressed a gasp when she recognized the car...and the man getting down from it.

She backed away, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

"He?"

She turned back to face her captor.

"N.K. My ex-husband."

They turned towards the door as the doorbell pealed, and kept on ringing as if someone was keeping his finger on it.

He pulled her back again.

"Does he know you're here?"

She shook her head, unable to make sense of what was happening. "I don't know. And it doesn't matter. He still has a key. He can come in from any of the entrances."

Her captor drew a sharp breath, then abruptly let go. He moved in front of her and grasped her shoulders.

His eyes bored down into hers.

"Okay. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to answer that door, and get rid of him quickly. Do you understand?"

She smiled a grim smile. "Believe me, there's nothing I want more."

He gave her one last look, then walked back into the shadows of the hallway that led back from the living-room to the rest of the house. From that vantage point, she knew that he would be able to see all that happened here.

He would be able to shoot her, too.

She looked at the door. Talk about being between the devil and the deep sea...

Steeling herself, she walked to the front door and opened it an inch, keeping the chain in place. N.K's eyes snapped up to meet hers, and he finally took his finger off the doorbell.

In a flash, she realized that he was drunk. His eyes were red and clouded, and he was leaning against the pillar as if he couldn't keep himself upright.

He leered. "So. If it isn't the filthy rich wife herself. Open the door, woman. You may have taken all my money, but you can't stop me from coming in to my own house."

Apparently, the alcohol had made him forget the fact that he still had keys.

She reflexively took a step back, and kept the chain in place. "Don't be a moron, Nick. I'm no longer your wife, and this house isn't yours, either."

He laughed, a malicious sound that grated on her nerves. "A moron? Yeah, I must be one, because I married you, didn't I? I married you, and you cleaned me out. You've bankrupted me, and brought me to my ruin. Are you happy now, bitch?"

She squared her shoulders. "It was no more than you deserved. Now get the hell off of my property before I call the cops."

"Property? You were my property, once. I enjoyed owning you...but the price wasn't worth it, in the end. I never did get my money's worth. You were never even good in bed. Now that you've gotten your divorce, I hope you enjoy your cold bed, all by yourself. Because no man is going to even want to come near an ice-queen, I can guarantee..."

His words had gotten more slurred by the minute, and all she wanted was to slam the door in his face. But she was also conscious of the fact that she had to get rid of him once and for all. She racked her brains for something to say, something that would make him turn around and head back to wherever he had come from.

But before she could cut into his rant, a male voice from behind her stopped N.K in his tracks.

"Khushi? How long are you going to keep me waiting?"

She felt him behind her, but she knew that N.K couldn't possibly see him from this angle. She fought hard to keep her shock from showing on her face, and took an unholy amount of satisfaction in seeing the color drain from N.K's .

"What the hell? You've got a man in there with you? It's been just a few months since we've separated, you filthy wh..."

"I'd mind my language if I were you, Mr. Kaczinski. You have nothing to do with Khushi anymore, and you know that. Now if you don't leave within the next minute, I do have friends in law-enforcement who could be persuaded to pick you up for harassment. And maybe even add a drunken driving charge to the list."

Aryan's voice floating out from behind her was barely above a whisper, and yet, it was underlined with a threat of steel that raised the hairs at the back of her neck. She held her breath. She knew, better than most that N.K couldn't afford to get into that kind of trouble. The publicity that would result from his arrest would lead to other, more dangerous people gaining knowledge of his whereabouts...

Even in his drunken state, she could see those same reasons filter through his mind.

Masking his impotent fury with an attempt at a devious grin, he gave her the middle finger.

"Go to hell."

With one last glare, he stumbled over to his car and somehow managed to drive down the driveway. She shut the door and leaned her forehead against it.

She hadn't seen him for months, and that had helped lessen the effect of the waking nightmare she'd been part of. But now, seeing him again...days after their divorce had been made final...the confrontation had ripped open barely healed wounds. She felt as if she was falling apart at the seams.

A sound behind her made her still.

Her emotional turmoil had almost made her forget her captor...and his intervention. Her tense state morphed into anger. She turned on him.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Getting rid of the jerk you'd been foolish enough to marry."

His nonchalance infuriated her. "I could have done that. I didn't need your help. There was no need to interfere with my personal life!"

"Your ex-personal life, or had you forgotten?"

"I've forgotten nothing. I am living with the consequences, every minute of every day. But none of that gives you the right to..."

"Why did you marry him?"

The question halted her mid-rant. "What?"

"Anyone with a brain can see that he doesn't even deserve to be in the same room as you. Why didn't you see that? Why did you marry him?"

She hauled in a deep breath, enraged at herself now. Because despite it all, despite everything, she wanted to tell him the whole, miserable tale.

Confiding in this armed, dangerous stranger made no sense.

But today, virtually nothing had made sense...so why stop now?

-

Chapter 4