Maybe that was the plan.
What if the blow to my head on the trail had been meant to kill me? What if kidnapping me was never part of it? What if me waking up in his truck was the accident, and now he was improvising, scrambling to figure out what to do with me?
But then why feed me? He could’ve just fed himself and let me starve. Why haul me outside to pee in a bucket? Why build a fire and stock the fridge like he was preparing to feed us?
He had a reason, and I had a feeling it was buried in the contents of that backpack. He didn’t look like the type who’d spent his life racking up criminal records. He’d been mostly quiet in the office and gone unnoticed until that day. Nobody knew why they’d fired him. He didn’t work on my floor, so nobody from our team had the inside scoop. All I remembered was how he kept screaming that they’d ruined his life. He’d still been yelling it at the top of his lungs when they pulled him outside. Maybe there was more to the story than we knew.
Whatever this was, it was personal to him. It definitely mattered. Enough to risk his entire life over. This was much too calculated. Nothing about it was impulsive, and clearly, I was part of his plan.
Another wave of nausea rolled through me, and this one was worse than the last. My stomach clenched. I pitched forward and gagged into the bowl, but nothing came out this time. Just a dry wrench that left my ribs screaming. The room spun. I crumpled onto my side with my cheek pressed against the splintered boards. The taste of acid stung the back of my tongue.
“Please.” The word came out in a broken rasp. My throat was so raw it felt like I was swallowing glass. “You have to help me.”
For a moment, the only sound was my breathing. Then, I heard him shift and the legs of the chair scraped back from the table. My pulse stuttered.
He didn’t come closer. Just stood there. A dark shape at the edge of my blurred vision. I could feel his eyes on me. Watching and measuring. He was thinking about this. He was clearly bothered. That meant he had feelings. He wasn’t all monster. I could speak to that part of him.
He muttered something under his breath, but it was too soft for me to catch it. He paced the small room. His boots heavy on the floorboards.
“Just take me to a hospital and drop me off at the emergency room entrance. You know what? You don’t even have to bring me to the hospital. You can leave me a block away and I’ll walk the rest of the way. Nobody has to know anything about this. I won’t tell anyone a thing, I promise. But please, my head hurts so bad and I’m so sick.” I gulped another wave of nausea down.
“You’re supposed to be the easy part of this.” He shook his head as he rubbed his chin.
“Are you in trouble? Do you need help? I can help you. I have money,” I said, even though I was poor. I was working at Atticus to help pay tuition for my last year of vet school, but he didn’t know that. Maybe all he needed was money. After all, he’d just lost his job.
The words hung between us, jagged and unfinished. It was impossible to read him in his mask. He stared at me another few beats before turning on his heels and striding to the door. He yanked it open, and the cold night air came rushing in. He gave me one last look, then walked out and slammed the door behind him.
Silence.
My pulse hammered in my ears. He was gone.
For a long moment, I lay frozen and plastered to the mattress. Every part of me strained and listened for the sound of his footsteps coming back inside or the crack of the door swinging open again. There was nothing. Just the pop of burning logs in the fireplace and the ringing in my ears.
He was gone. Really gone.
And I was finally alone.
Adrenaline sliced through the fog of nausea and hammering pain. This was my chance. Maybe my only one. I had to move and get out of here, even though I felt awful.
My fingers slipped under the edge of the mattress and fumbled through the thin padding until they brushed against cold metal. Relief surged in my chest. The Kubotan was still there. Yes!
I pulled my knees up tight and started working my bound wrists with the tip of the Kubotan. The ropes burned as I twisted them off because my wrists were so raw and swollen. Mercifully, it wasn’t long until I freed them. I slid the Kubotan through the duct tape binding my ankles. That part was easy. Everything ached at finally being released, the same way my jaw had felt when Dawson had taken the gag off after I started throwing up.
There was still no sight or sound of him. I had to hurry.
I dragged myself upright. My legs shook underneath me and my knees buckled as I tried to stand. Everything twirled. I was so dizzy and lightheaded. I staggered two steps before the room pitched sideways and I fell to the ground.
I pulled myself up again, and the edges of my vision blackened. I leaned against the wall to steady myself. I stepped toward the door. My legs folded underneath me like paper, and I crumpled straight to the floor.
I tried again.
Same thing. Tears stung my eyes.
“Come on, Riley. You can do this!” I sputtered, breathing hard.
I shoved off the boards and tried again. I stumbled toward the door like a drunk. My hands smacked the wood and fumbled for the doorknob. Finally, my fingertips brushed against the metal. I gripped the doorknob tight. Swaying against it like the floor was the ocean. I fought to stay up, but eventually sank down. I fell in slow motion, melting like a puddle once I hit the floor.
I desperately tried to pull myself up again, but I couldn’t. The world faded to black at the edge of my vision, and I clung to consciousness. My stomach heaved and I rolled to my side. Bile spilled out of the corner of my mouth.
