Captive Read online

  Captive

  Jay Nadal

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Current book list

  Stay In Touch

  About the Author

  Published by Jay [email protected]

  Copyright @ Jay Nadal 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Jay Nadal has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction, names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Foreword

  Hi there, it’s Jay Nadal here. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my writing with you. My books are set in the coastal resort of Brighton on the south coast. For the Brightonians amongst you, you’ll recognise many familiar locations in my scenes.

  Brighton offers such a vivid and diverse landscape that it makes it a pleasure to incorporate many well-known settings that bring my writing alive.

  If you want to keep in touch, then connect with me below and join my VIP early readers list:

  Join up to my VIP early reader list here.

  Prologue

  The coldness of the metal chilled her skin. Condensation formed wet trails that raced down the sides. It was dark. Black. Blacker than coal. The harder she pushed against the sides, the more she could see the tiniest fleck of light form a halo of illumination above her. But it wasn’t enough.

  An overpowering stench assaulted her nostrils. An oily stench that brought tears to her eyes. A memory floated across her consciousness about the time she’d checked the oil levels on the sky-blue Fiat 500, that she’d affectionately referred to as her ‘baby blue.’

  She needed a pee, desperately needed a pee. The more she tried to avoid thinking about it, the more her bladder seemed determined to spasm its annoyance.

  Her hands were numb; her palms pressed against one another had all but lost any feeling as the plastic tie tightened its grip around her wrists like a boa constrictor. Hailey Bratton wanted to scream, but the duct tape over her lips kept them firmly shut tight, allowing only the smallest of whimpers to escape as she exhaled heavily. She felt trapped, her legs pulled into the foetal position. She tried to move, but every muscle hurt and ached from being cramped for so long. Each time she pushed against the sides of her prison, her efforts were met with the unmovable barrier that cocooned her.

  She’d lost count of how long she’d been here. It had felt like days, but in reality, it had been less than twenty-four hours. Time drifted into a standstill, as she faced not knowing how long she’d be entombed or when someone would come for her. Thoughts of dying a slow, painful death before being rescued, raced through her mind.

  A symphony of sounds banged her head. Stress, dehydration and panic all contributing to the throbbing pain. She violently shook her body again, hoping that the box would move, or attract attention. But silence remained like a constant companion, neither friend nor foe. She didn’t know her location, but wherever it was, it certainly wasn’t busy, nor was it completely remote. The odd car engine gave her hope followed by defeat as the sound faded into the distance.

  Hailey hopelessly clawed at the sides, her nails scraped down the metal with a shrill screech like nails on a blackboard. Waves of panic washed over her. She needed to get out quickly before he came back.

  How was another matter. Her mind was fuzzy, blackness robbed her of sight. A musty, cloying, bitter odour enveloped her. A heady mix of stale air, oil and sweat assaulted her nostrils.

  She froze. The sound of a metal door scraping along its runners shocked her back into the present. Was she finally going to be free? Was a rescue imminent? Her heart pounded against her chest, her pulse throbbed in her temples. She frantically shook her body as she banged and thumped the soles of her bound feet against the end of the metal container. Please help, help, I’m in here, she recited over and over, as the accompanying muffled screams bounced around inside her mouth.

  Slow, steady footsteps grew louder. Like a slow-motion movie, what felt like minutes elapsed between each step.

  Every one of her senses was on high alert as the sound of a padlock sprung open. A thin line of light, like a white halo crept in as someone gently lifted the lid. She screwed her eyes and pulled her hands up to shield her face as the light temporarily blinded her.

  An ice-cold bolt of fear sent shivers through her body. She cranked her head in the vain attempt to focus as the light scorched her retinas. Like a lunar eclipse, a dark figure cast a ghoulish shadow over her. Her breathing grew rapid, her eyes fixed wide in terror as she realised that this wasn’t a rescuer at all. The light bounced off the silver edge of his knife. Her worst fears were realised. Hailey’s body stiffened, paralysed with fear.

  “I’m going to take good care of you. You’re a precious commodity,” said the figure, as he reached in and gently wiped Hailey’s hair from her sweat-drenched brow. He softly ran a finger along the edge of her face and traced it down from her temple. He followed the edge of her jawbone down to her chin in a lover’s caress. He savoured every sensation that raced up his finger. “So beautiful, so delicate, like a china doll,” he whispered as he licked his lips, his finger trembled in anticipation and excitement.

  “I have no idea why so many find your type so unappealing. You’re unique, a heavenly creation by the Lord Almighty. Sent to stand out from the crowd, and you, my dear, stand out. Oh, you certainly stand out, with your pale skin, delectable curves and magnificent chest. My, oh my, you do look after yourself,” he muttered, as his eyes followed the curves of her pert, ample breasts, and the lines of her body. For a longing moment, he paused unable to continue, transfixed by her crotch. “It’s a nice touch,” he nodded as he ran a finger over her painted red toenails that matched her fingers. His eyelids flickered as he let out a sharp intake of breath. His thoughts whisked him away on an erotic journey.

  He glanced over at her s
trappy stilettos that lay neatly on his desk. His groin ached as he recalled the memory of seeing her wear them, the familiar click-clack sound had proved too much to bear.

  Hailey thrashed and squealed. Her head bounced off the metal base, immune to the pain that raced through her. A mixture of repulsion and fear sent waves of nausea cascading through her stomach. She pulled her legs away from him, desperate to retch as her belly heaved. She swallowed hard sending the bile back down, the acidic taste stung and burnt her insides. Fear took over, her bowels twitched and her bladder gave way. A dark liquid crept from between her legs. Tears squeezed from her scrunched up eyes.

  “Now now, calm yourself. I want you to enjoy your time with me. You won’t need anyone else ever again.” He leant over, pulled the tape away, and squeezed her mouth open as he gripped her cheeks with one hand. The other hand forcibly tipped the white powder from a teaspoon into the small opening as her lips parted. Hailey tried in vain to thrash her head from side to side, a shrill scream emanated from deep within her throat. Blowing the powder out wasn’t an option as it clung to the insides of her mouth and dried her tongue further.

  A firm suffocating pressure over her mouth ensured she had no choice but to swallow.

  “There, my dear, you need to rest now.”

  Hailey gave one final thrash as her world faded to black.

  1

  It didn’t take long to remove her from his room. His brow furrowed in anger. His lips were pursed into a pencil-thin line and his face muscles ached as his jaw locked tight. He hated her and needed to remove every single trace of her. From her cheap tacky New Look jeans that hung in his already overcrowded wardrobe, to her well-worn white Converse trainers that sat at the end of his bed. He hated her untidiness.

  Anger wasn’t a word he would use to describe how he felt about her. A seething, boiling rage fitted much better. Several of her surfer bracelets sat in a tangled pile by his bedside lamp. They were swiftly swept into a black bin liner, overflowing with every last trace of her. His mind momentarily flashed back as he held her black stiletto shoes with the metal spiked four-inch heels. They were a gift that he’d bought for her to wear during the rampant sex they’d had right there in his bed. He’d give her that. She was good in bed, not great, just good. She’d at least worn the heels for him even if she’d turned down his request to be ‘filthy.’

  He glanced around the room, chest heaving from the swell of resentment that flooded through his veins. I want every damn thing gone. Everything that reminded him of her. He hated that sickly, sweet voice, the smell of Victoria’s Secret’s body spray, and the tacky photographs he had pinned above his desk.

  She couldn’t give a shit about him, so why should he waste another second thinking about her. Fucking bitch.

  He’d start afresh, new everything. Right after he completely removed her from his life. He grabbed another black bin liner and proceeded to strip his bed. The pillowcases, the cream sheets and the pale blue duvet cover that she’d chosen. He’d hated them from the moment she had dragged him from the Asda superstore across to Matalan in Hollingbury.

  Behind him lay two black bin liners, neatly tied up, the only evidence of their relationship, their pathetic relationship. She’d used him. They were all the same, it was always take, take, take. Did he have ‘mug’ written on his forehead, with a big red, flashing neon arrow pointing to his head that said ‘pick me’?

  Her smell assaulted his nostrils in every direction. It was like she still clung to him, desperate to leave her mark, determined to make sure he never forgot about her.

  He breathed out violently through his nose, obscenities rolling off his tongue as he shook his head in frustration. “You’ll never do this again to anyone else you fucking evil cow.”

  He’d spent what little money he had on her, or so she thought. A warm sense of satisfaction swirled around his belly. He had always pleaded poverty, with a wallet that carried no more than a few five-pound notes in the sleeve. He had deliberately left Barclays bank statements lying around that showed a balance of no more than two hundred pounds. He’d noticed her taking a sneaky peek on several occasions. It was his Santander card that he kept hidden beneath one corner of the carpet that she never saw. She never knew about the eye-popping five-figure balance that allowed him to enjoy a secret lifestyle.

  Oh yes, he was certain she had treated him like a mug. He paid every time they went out. He paid for the takeaways. He paid for her shopping trips, the trips to the cinema and everything else she moaned about wanting. His constant pleas of poverty seemed only to fuel her greed to bleed him dry.

  Their time together had come to an abrupt end. She was gone, and he was glad of that. He would never have to listen to her moan and whinge ever again.

  He grabbed the Asda shopping bag that lay under his desk and pulled out a pack of bleach disinfectant wipes. Her scent still smothered him, stifling his air and his space. He had hoped that an open window would have wafted away her presence.

  Tearing the packet open with excitement he reached in and pulled out a few sheets, bringing them up close to his nose. He inhaled slowly, and deeply. He closed his eyes as the fresh, clinical fragrance soothed him. It cleansed his soul, took away his misery and placated him.

  He started with his desk, wiping down the surfaces in a methodical fashion. Slow, straight and steady strokes in one direction gathered dust and the odd strand of hair. He discarded the wipes in a new black bin liner before grabbing another fresh handful and systematically cleaning each table leg. Every few strokes would herald the need to discard the wipes and replace them with fresh ones. He hated dirt, he hated filth. The room was contaminated, and she was the cause.

  He didn’t want to leave any traces behind, after all, he’d bought six packets of bleach wipes. Sensing that perhaps it wasn’t enough, he’d gone back in and grabbed four bottles of Dettol spray, a pair of rubber gloves and a can of Glade air and fabric freshener, the crisp, white cotton fragrance version his preferred choice.

  His unusual purchase had attracted a brief cursory look from the store assistant who had been on hand to oversee customers using the self-service checkouts. Her bold, garish green blouse struggled to contain her ample weight, as she rocked from one foot to another. Boredom and aching joints were clearly etched on her face as she grimaced.

  The smell of disinfectant bathed the room, sanitising it, much to his delight. His breath switched between episodes of slow and steady to rapid and shallow as he moved around his room. The sense of regaining his environment relaxed him as he moved on to the next possession or fixture. A mixture of anger and excitement raced through his veins as he furiously wiped down smaller items. Nothing was left to chance as his bedside clock, books, mirror and each pen and pencil were meticulously sanitised.

  He had only just begun, his work would take the next few hours. Once he was satisfied that he had covered every square inch of his room, he would start again from the beginning. His room needed a deep clean, and he would stay up all night if necessary to get the job done to his satisfaction.

  The need to be clean had been drummed into him at an early age. His mother was fastidious about cleanliness. He paused for a moment as his mind wandered back to his childhood.

  On many occasions, his mother had walked into his room and sighed in despair before saying, “Clean up after yourself. Your mother doesn’t work here!” She always appeared to have a J-cloth and a can of Mr Sheen furniture polish in hand. It had caused more than one argument between his parents. His father was relatively laid-back in comparison.

  He recalled how his father had seen a sticky sign above the toilet which said, ‘Treat me well, and keep me clean. I’ll not tell anyone, what I have seen!’ As a boy, he had found it funny. His dad, on the other hand, hadn’t. He’d torn it off the wall and stormed downstairs to the kitchen screaming, “Woman, you are obsessed!”

  He was jolted back into the present as he sat on the end of his bed. Women are all the same, he thought as he shoo
k his head and returned his mind back to her.

  He didn’t care about her now. She was gone. “What goes around comes around. What goes around comes around,” were the only words he muttered quietly as he busied himself.

  “Good riddance, you stupid bitch.”

  2

  The team gathered around the incident board and looked at the face glaring back at them. “This is Hailey Bratton. She’s been missing since last night, and there are concerns for her safety,” Scott announced as he crossed his arms.

  Mike rolled up his sleeves. “There’s nothing unusual in that, Guv. How many times have we heard this from a concerned partner, only to find the person returns, as if nothing’s happened?” he replied raising an eyebrow.

  Mike had raised a valid point. Missing people was nothing new. More than two hundred and fifty thousand people go missing in the UK every year. The county of Sussex has an average of more than ten thousand people go missing annually. With the thin blue line becoming even thinner each year through budgetary cuts, the police had neither the time nor the resources to investigate many of the cases. The high number of children’s homes in Sussex accounted for a high number of missing children. As the team had found on their recent child trafficking case, it was an issue that pushed out its vile tentacles to all corners of the UK.