Page 10 of Not Another Dark Romance

I bet a sex store would still be open this late. I run upstairs, and on the off chance he does attempt an escape, I shove my kitchen table in front of the basement door so it can’t be opened. I grab a zip-up sweatshirt to throw on so I don’t walk into the store half naked, then go back out to my truck. My phone is still powered off, so I turn it on—which reminds me I need to find a charger for that guy’s phone—and search for the nearest sex store. Sure enough, one is open until midnight that’s only a couple of minutes away.

I pull out of my driveway and head toward the shop. It isn’t until I’m walking inside that I realize I’ve never even been in an adult store like this, and damn, do I wish I was here under more fun circumstances. My sexual fantasies might be full of restraints and dominating my partner, but I haven’t ever been in an established enough relationship to comfortably explore anything that advanced. And if this guy turns me in, I never will.

Fuuuck. I really need to pull this off to live to enjoy kinky sex.

My favorite hookups have been when the woman I’m with asks me to get rough with them—spanking, choking, that sort of thing—so I wouldn’t say I’m boring in bed, but looking around at all the colorful toys and lingerie, the different accessories that promise to make things even more fun in the bedroom, it’s so fucking clear I’ve been missing out. If I do end up a free man, I need to take advantage and try everything I’ve thought about, live my life to the fullest.

Tonight though, I need restraints. And probably some other random shit to not draw attention to the fact that I’m showing up here by myself so late at night and only buying handcuffs and rope. I fill a basket, getting anything I think might be useful, adding a black roll of what looks like duct tape, a gag, a blindfold, and then, in my panic to seem casual and make things a little more sex-focused, I add the first things I see that could only possibly be used for sex. I end up with a Fleshlight, a dildo, a butt plug, multiple kinds of lube, and condoms.

“Find everything okay?” the employee asks before checking me out.

Despite the fact that my hands are still shaking slightly, I manage to smile, nod, and respond, “Yes, thanks,” in a semi-normal tone. I’m hoping any nerves she’s picking up from me will be brushed off as embarrassment about buying sex stuff. There’s no way she could know I’m actually so fidgety because I’m anxious to get back to the man I’ve kidnapped and tied up in my basement.

So I can decide if I should kill him.

How the fuck is this my life now? I went to work expecting a completely normal shift, and now I’m trying to avoid jail time by purchasing half the merch in this sex shop.

Fuck, I really need to charge his phone so I can figure out his family situation.

Once she rings up the total, I hand her cash and head home. This whole night still feels like a fever dream, but I’m hours into this horrible nightmare, and I’m clearly not waking up, so the only thing to do is continue with my shitty plan.

Once I park in the driveway, I grab the unlabeled sex-store bags and notice the mask Grant got me on the floor.

Canyon Brewery is on track to open in a few weeks, and Grant and Eric have planned a huge Halloween event to celebrate the grand opening. They want all the employees to dress up and decided the three of us should be classic horror movie villains. Grant has a Scream mask, Eric has the Michael Myers mask, and they got me the bloody Jason hockey mask.

If the guy is awake, maybe he won’t remember what I look like. It was dark when he woke up right before I hit him with the shovel, so there’s a chance he didn’t get a good look at me. Maybe, if I find out this guy is a dad, or he’s some amazing person I can’t possibly kill, there could still be a third option. One where I let him go, and he doesn’t have any clue who I am to turn me in.

I grab the mask and head inside.

5

“Owwww,” I groan, wincing at the pain in my skull as I wake up. “What the fuck did I do?”

I attempt to rub my head but realize I can’t move. Am I dreaming? What is happening right now? I try again, then it finally registers that my arms are behind my back, and they’re restrained. Weakly, I move to yank my arm free, but it doesn’t work. My head is pounding, and the effort creates a stabbing pain.

Moving isn’t worth it right now.

My eyes slowly blink open, adjusting to the room I’m in. It takes a moment for shapes to emerge and my eyes to catch up, but I’m in a basement, no doubt. The air smells damp and earthy like it hasn’t been opened in years.

“Hello,” I call out weakly. “Where am I?”

My voice echoes back to me, and the sound makes my head throb even worse. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember what happened.

“I woke up at home this morning…” I start to say out loud, but the noise hurts my head as I recount my day. I definitely woke up at home with Piet. Then I… Shit, what did I do? How did I find myself tied up in a basement with no memory of how I got here?

Okay, focus. What the hell did I do today? I was trying to paint, and yeah, still no luck there. I think I was looking for inspiration and went on a walk in the park. That obviously didn’t work, and then… I went to that restaurant. I met Zane! That gorgeous, might-have-ties-to-the-Mafia waiter who made my heart race just by existing. He was dreamy, basically my fantasy man. I know I wanted to see him again… so I… oh my god… I followed him. Holy shit, I tried to stalk him!

That’s right. It’s slowly coming back to me.

My brain feels like it’s moving through molasses trying to piece the day back together, but I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing I remember.

So, how did I get here?

I shift again, realizing I’m tied to a chair. My wrists are bound behind me, but it doesn’t seem like rope; it’s too soft for that. I lean my head forward to eye my feet as much as I can, and it looks like a piece of fabric is tying them together. Clearly, I can’t be in too much danger if I’m not even properly restrained.

There’s nothing I’ve done that could possibly warrant me finding myself in this situation. I haven’t wronged anyone or stolen anything. I’m just a twenty-six-year-old who sells his art on the internet. Unless I’ve been wrongfully kidnapped. Maybe whoever did this thinks I’m someone else and they have the wrong guy.

“Okay,” I say out loud to the empty basement. “This isn’t good.”