eight years of my life. I think it’s only fair I take eight of yours.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. His words turned in the pit of my stomach like acid. “You’re going to keep me here for eight years?”
He tightened his hold on my chin. “Are you hungry?”
His refusal to answer didn’t escape me. Something felt different about this visit. He was deviating from his routine, and I wasn’t sure what it meant. The thought of eating made me nauseous, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. Maybe he’d finally let me out.
“Yes. I need to use the restroom too.” I prayed he wouldn’t make me use the disgusting bucket again. Even from the other side of the cell, the stench of port-a-potty contaminated the air.
He stepped back and gestured toward that awful thing. “Better go then.”
I climbed to my feet and stretched the deep ache from my body, then I suffered the indignity of squatting over the bucket while he watched, inked arms crossed as a corner of his mouth turned up. Once I’d relieved my bladder, I stood, unsure of where to put my hands. If I folded them over my chest, I might anger him, so I let them dangle at my sides.
“Follow me,” he said, “and don’t do anything stupid unless you want to end up back down here.”
I scurried up the stairs after him, each step landing with uncertainty. We entered a large kitchen where a burst of sunshine streamed through the skylight. Dark clouds roiled, a sign another storm threatened on the horizon and the rays were only a temporary reprieve. I searched the area beyond the windows and found thick and sodden greenery outside. A door off the kitchen drew my attention, and I wondered what my odds were of making it outside before he grabbed me.
I was peeking into the adjacent living room, as the cabin took advantage of an open floor plan, when he said, “You reek. Shower’s that way.” He indicated a bathroom straight ahead and to the left of the dining table. “Towel’s on the rack. You’ve got five minutes before I come in after you.”
I hurried inside and plopped down on the toilet, shaking too much to do anything else. I lowered my head between my knees and breathed deep. Five in, hold, five out. Repeat. By the time I stood on jittery legs, I’d lost at least two of my five minutes. Another thirty seconds passed as I puzzled over how to escape, but the bathroom was a windowless cubicle with no way out. As I switched on the shower and stepped inside the stall, I wondered where I’d go if I did manage to break free. I’d been an instant away from leaving my house, duffle packed, when he’d shown up. How stupid, considering I hadn’t put together even the flimsiest of plans, and if Zach ever tracked me down…I didn’t want to think of how he’d punish me for running.
A shiver went through me, and I quickly washed up before drying off with a towel. Despite spending the last few days in the nude, exiting the bathroom sans-clothing felt exceptionally violating. I finger-combed some of the tangles from my dark locks and returned to the dining area.
Rafe had his back to me, bent over with his head in the refrigerator, and I almost ran for it, except fear of what he’d do if I failed paralyzed me. But the real reason I didn’t run was harder to stomach. I wasn’t ready to leave. Some masochistic shred of my being didn’t want to walk away from him yet, even though staying defied logic and common sense.
Reality check, Alex. He’s kidnapped you, drugged you, and he’s obviously not right in the head. Run for it, stupid!
But running for it meant arriving back at square one. Still, my pride wouldn’t let me lay down without a fight. “My father will find me.”
He pulled out a carton of orange juice and turned around. “No one’s looking for you, so you might as well take a seat and get comfortable.”
I folded my arms. “You should know better. You spent enough time with my dad. You know how dogged he can be.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. His words turned in the pit of my stomach like acid. “You’re going to keep me here for eight years?”
He tightened his hold on my chin. “Are you hungry?”
His refusal to answer didn’t escape me. Something felt different about this visit. He was deviating from his routine, and I wasn’t sure what it meant. The thought of eating made me nauseous, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. Maybe he’d finally let me out.
“Yes. I need to use the restroom too.” I prayed he wouldn’t make me use the disgusting bucket again. Even from the other side of the cell, the stench of port-a-potty contaminated the air.
He stepped back and gestured toward that awful thing. “Better go then.”
I climbed to my feet and stretched the deep ache from my body, then I suffered the indignity of squatting over the bucket while he watched, inked arms crossed as a corner of his mouth turned up. Once I’d relieved my bladder, I stood, unsure of where to put my hands. If I folded them over my chest, I might anger him, so I let them dangle at my sides.
“Follow me,” he said, “and don’t do anything stupid unless you want to end up back down here.”
I scurried up the stairs after him, each step landing with uncertainty. We entered a large kitchen where a burst of sunshine streamed through the skylight. Dark clouds roiled, a sign another storm threatened on the horizon and the rays were only a temporary reprieve. I searched the area beyond the windows and found thick and sodden greenery outside. A door off the kitchen drew my attention, and I wondered what my odds were of making it outside before he grabbed me.
I was peeking into the adjacent living room, as the cabin took advantage of an open floor plan, when he said, “You reek. Shower’s that way.” He indicated a bathroom straight ahead and to the left of the dining table. “Towel’s on the rack. You’ve got five minutes before I come in after you.”
I hurried inside and plopped down on the toilet, shaking too much to do anything else. I lowered my head between my knees and breathed deep. Five in, hold, five out. Repeat. By the time I stood on jittery legs, I’d lost at least two of my five minutes. Another thirty seconds passed as I puzzled over how to escape, but the bathroom was a windowless cubicle with no way out. As I switched on the shower and stepped inside the stall, I wondered where I’d go if I did manage to break free. I’d been an instant away from leaving my house, duffle packed, when he’d shown up. How stupid, considering I hadn’t put together even the flimsiest of plans, and if Zach ever tracked me down…I didn’t want to think of how he’d punish me for running.
A shiver went through me, and I quickly washed up before drying off with a towel. Despite spending the last few days in the nude, exiting the bathroom sans-clothing felt exceptionally violating. I finger-combed some of the tangles from my dark locks and returned to the dining area.
Rafe had his back to me, bent over with his head in the refrigerator, and I almost ran for it, except fear of what he’d do if I failed paralyzed me. But the real reason I didn’t run was harder to stomach. I wasn’t ready to leave. Some masochistic shred of my being didn’t want to walk away from him yet, even though staying defied logic and common sense.
Reality check, Alex. He’s kidnapped you, drugged you, and he’s obviously not right in the head. Run for it, stupid!
But running for it meant arriving back at square one. Still, my pride wouldn’t let me lay down without a fight. “My father will find me.”
He pulled out a carton of orange juice and turned around. “No one’s looking for you, so you might as well take a seat and get comfortable.”
I folded my arms. “You should know better. You spent enough time with my dad. You know how dogged he can be.”