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This was it.
I was going to die.
Die in this chamber of horrors without ever seeing Grant again. Without ever touching, kissing, laughing, or making love to him again. Without ever telling him…I love you. Fighting the sobs burning the back of my throat, I closed my eyes and waited, waited for the glistening blade to stab my heart.
Instead, the rope attached to my left wrist tightened. I opened my eyes, and in disbelief, I watched Wesley slice through it. My arm—numb from lack of blood flow—dropped to the bed like a tree limb while my forearm and hand flung over the side of the mattress, bobbing in mid-air.
“Clean yourself up, you stupid bitch,” Wesley barked. Leaning in close to my face, he sneered. “You do anything to fuck up my plans…I’ll slit your throat.”
His threat ricocheted through me as he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
I blinked at my free hand, dangling off the bed, as shock and excitement bled the fear from my system. Eyeing the door, I prayed Wesley was mentally too far gone to realize he’d fucked up. When he didn’t return after several long seconds, I let the embers of hope sparking inside grow into flames.
Shaking my arm to bring life back to my hand, I rolled to my side and stretched toward my tethered arm. My fingers were still tingling and partially numb, but I managed to untie the rope and free my other hand. After rubbing and squeezing, working life into it as well, I wiped the blood from my face, chin, and chest, then worked to free my ankles.
The rope had rubbed my skin raw, but I didn’t care. I was free.
Biting back a howl of delight, I climbed out of bed. My legs wobbled and my feet were numb, but that didn’t stop me from shuffling across the carpet to the window and whipping back the drapes.
Confusion charged through my brain.
I was in New York all right, but nowhere near my Central Park South home. My bird’s-eye-view of the Hudson River and Statue of Liberty told me I was somewhere in or near Battery. While I had no idea whose penthouse or apartment I was in, the mystery of my location was solved.
Turning from the window, I tore through the room, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. I never considered myself a violent person, but I couldn’t wait to bash Wesley upside his demented head, knock him out, and punchhimin the mouth.
I was so stupidly excited about the prospect, I feared his crazy had rubbed off on me.
“All the more reason to get as far away from him as possible,” I muttered, opening the drawers of the dresser to find them completely empty.
Turning in a slow circle, I studied the room. The walls were bare. There were no paintings or pictures I could bash over his head, and no knickknacks of any kind. Even the curtain rods had been screwed into the walls.
Frustrated but undaunted, I hurried into the bathroom. Again, no pictures. Inside the cabinet beneath the sink were two rolls of toilet paper. Determined to find something to use to my advantage, I pulled open the vanity drawers. But all I found was a flimsy plastic toothbrush, a travel-size container of toothpaste, and a basic black comb. Hope dwindling, I turned my attention to the shower. A couple bottles of hotel-size shampoo and conditioner, along with a bar of soap, sat inside a recessed marble ledge. Draped over the glass shower door was a thick white towel and washcloth. When I noticed the towel bars had been removed, my heart sank.
The lunatic had stripped the entire room. Though Mack had nearly stopped him, Wesley had meticulously planned to find me and bring me here all along.
To do what?
An icy shiver slid down my spine.
The door burst open, and Wesley raced in holding the wicked hypodermic needle in his fingers.
My shiver turned into a full-body tremor.
“I knew you’d try to escape.” A sinister smile speared his lips as he prowled toward me like a rabid dog.
“No. I-I just needed to use the restroom,” I lied, somehow keeping my voice soft and even. “I assumed you’d left the room so I could untie myself and go pee in private.”
“That’s right. I did. You think I’m stupid enough to leave one hand untied so you could try to run away again?”
And do exactly what you just accused me of? No, you’re not stupid. You’re fucking INSANE!
“Never. You’re the smartest man I know.” Unable to look him in the eye for fear he’d see right through me, I glanced at the needle. “Please don’t drug me anymore, Wesley. I won’t run away.”
Two can play your demented mind games, you sick fuck.
“Liar!” he roared. “You ran away the first time…left me standing at the altar with my dick in my hand. You embarrassed me, bitch!”
“I know…and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said, forcing a contrite tone I didn’t feel. “I-I was scared…scared you didn’t love me.”
