Page 42 of Defending Van

She knew because the bed covers on the huge canopy bed were mussed. While she’d been asleep in her own bed, he’d been sleeping just a dozen yards or so away from her. Had he stood at the glass wall of her cage and watched her? Had he gotten himself off to thoughts that she belonged to him, and he could do whatever he wanted with her?

Whatever that was, it apparently wasn't important enough to stick around and tell her, because when she’d woken up, climbed out of her bed, and padded over to use the toilet, she’d seen the bed. It was early, she could tell from the light coming in the window, so he must have gotten right up and headed off to start his day.

Maybe he was in the bathroom, though she didn't think so because she couldn’t see any lights on in there. If he was, and he was going to come in here and do something to her, he would be a more formidable opponent.

But if it was the woman who had brought her meal …

Then Makayla thought she could take her.

Van’s words echoed through her mind. Do whatever she had to do to escape, don’t hold back, kill if she needed to. She’d attacked Josh back at the building she’d been held in, and while she hadn't killed him, she was pretty sure she would have if she’d needed to.

Just like she’d do now.

Please be the woman with breakfast, please be the woman, please be the woman.

Chanting it over and over in her mind as she sat in the rocking chair and waited, it seemed almost too good to be true when, a while later, the door to the main bedroom opened and the same woman who had brought her dinner last night carried in a tray with breakfast.

The woman didn't look at her as she crossed the room, and Makayla could make a guess that she either knew what the man who bought her was capable of, and was terrified of him, or she wasn't here by choice.

If she wasn't here by choice, then killing her would be wrong.

How could she hurt an innocent, even to save her own life?

That went against everything she believed in. But there was no way to know if the woman was an innocent or just a bystander who was too scared to get involved, without asking her. And if she asked, she lost her element of surprise. If she was going to make her move, she had to act quickly, decisively, without hesitation, because hesitation could wind up with her either dead or with any chance at escape stripped away.

So, Makayla shoved away all her worries, and when the woman strolled into the cage, placed the tray on the table, and then turned her back to leave again, Makayla acted.

It was clear the woman wasn't expecting any trouble from her, because she let out a surprised squeak when Makayla wrapped an arm around her throat, squeezing tight enough that she knew she was making it difficult for the woman to breathe. Reaching out blindly, her fingers found the knife that had been on the tray and pressed it into the woman’s side.

Kill her and run.

Van’s voice whispered in her mind, but even though she knew she could be costing herself her life, she hesitated for a moment. The fear that the woman was another victim was almost paralyzing. Killing an innocent would change her forever. Killing anyone would change her, but if she ended the life of someone who didn't deserve it, she wasn't sure she could cope with that.

If you don’t put yourself first and kill her, you won't have a life to worry about what you can and can't cope with.

Since there was no way she could argue with that, Makayla took a deep breath and shoved the knife between the woman’s ribs.

A horrified squawk fell from the maid’s lips, and she shifted the arm she had around her neck to clamp a hand over her mouth instead. Because she wasn't sure if she’d delivered a kill strike, she pulled the knife out and stabbed her again.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and nausea burned in her stomach. Dropping the woman, she ran to the toilet, dropped to her knees, and threw up the little she’d eaten for dinner.

She was a killer.

A murderer.

If it had been Josh, who she knew was evil, who gleefully participated in torturing and trafficking women, she probably wouldn't feel so bad. But she had no idea if this woman was part of it or being forced to work here.

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it,” she urged herself as she staggered to her feet.

Getting lost in her guilt would only paralyze her, keeping her trapped here. She had no idea when someone would miss the woman, and if she wanted a chance to run, she had to keep moving.

With badly shaking hands, she stripped the woman’s clothes off her. They were covered in blood, but if no one looked at her too closely, they wouldn't notice it because the uniform was black. It wasn't just the blood that would give her away. The maid was Japanese, and Makayla was as white as white could be, with blue eyes, plus her hair was brown, not black. Still, they were approximately the same height and weight.

Once she had the woman in her underwear, Makayla stripped off her white dress and pulled on the maid’s uniform. Then she grabbed the woman’s limp body under the arms and dragged her over to the bed. It took tremendous effort to heft the body onto the mattress and tuck her under the covers, and she was breathing hard by the time she had her tucked into the bed.

The maid, on the other hand, wasn't breathing at all.

“I'm sorry,” Makayla whispered, tears blurring her vision. “If you aren't part of this, then I'm so sorry. I didn't want to do it but … I have to live, and that means I have to do whatever I have to do.”