Page 83 of Playing for Keeps

“I brought him into this world. It was my job to take him out.”

My head shook. Tears leaked from my eyes as I thought about my friend. “You’re supposed to protect your children, put their needs above your own.”

“I had no choice!” Jim’s voice snapped sharp and stinging through the air. Around me, some of the girls stirred. The ones already awake shriveled where they lay. Jim darted a glance around the room before turning his scathing gaze back to me. “I had no choice. It was him or me.”

Kelly’s voice cried out. I spun so fast to look her way I nearly fell to the floor. Rhys had cut her free from the wall. His hand was tangled in her hair as he lifted her to her feet.

“What are you doing?” I demanded as he dragged her across the room, closer to me. Closer to the door next to the one he and Jim and come through. “Where are you taking her?”

Rhys shot me another crooked smirk, and it felt as evil as I now knew he was. “I’m taking her for processing.”

Processing?

My muddled brain wouldn’t let me speak. Another wave of nausea hit, and I fell from my knees, landing on my side.

Rhys opened the door and ushered Kelly in. Closed the door and peered out through the dirty blinds with that smirk. With his eyes on me, he mouthed the words, “You’re next,” before the blinds shut and hid him from view.

I was next? Had Kelly just woken up, too? What did they do to process us?

Jim knelt down on one knee and pulled out a knife. I jerked away from him, but he grabbed the rope tying me to the floor and dragged me back. The blade sliced through the thick fibers of the rope like a hot knife through butter, and before I could blink, Jim had tucked the knife back into the sheath hanging from his belt.

“Get up.” His hand gripped my arm and he dragged me off the floor. My bare feet were left hanging before he dropped me to the ground. “Get moving,” he said, prodding me with one hand in the back as his grip tightened and he pushed me forward.

He steered me to the door he and Rhys had come through, then loosened his grip as he forced me up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” I asked, unwilling to move.

“Up.” Jim’s voice was in my ear, his face so close I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. I could smell the stench of alcohol wafting out of his mouth. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Trembling, I raised a foot, leading the way up the steps if only to get away from him. We were on the move, the boat bobbing in the water, heading somewhere. As long as we were moving, we were safe, right?

I had myself convinced of that as I got to the top step. As the cold winter air sliced through my sweater, the icy chill of the lake water blasted me in the face. The sound outside was deafening, louder than I expected to hear. I had myself convinced, right up until Jim steered me to the right, pushing me up against a door as he fumbled with the knob.

“This is all your fault,” he muttered, his hands messing with the latch. His body pressed against me, hard ridges I didn’t want to think about rubbing at my back. “If you’d just come in like you were supposed to, my son would still be alive.”

The door swung open, a dim light hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the space.

And all my convincing went running for the hills as the truth of my situation finally hit.

Jim pushed me forward and I slammed my body back, refusing to go through the door. Refusing to step toward the filthy mattress that rested on the floor.

“No!” His hands grabbed me, one arm around my waist as the other snaked up under my shirt. Touching. Rubbing. Making me want to hit back. “No! Let go!”

Jim wasn’t listening. My struggles didn’t faze him, my voice nothing over the thumping sound outside. He was so wrapped up in his muttering he didn’t hear me at all. “But, no, Aaron just had to stick his dick in you, didn’t he? Well, you know what? Now it’s my turn.”

The plastic, binding my hands bit into my wrists, but I forced them backward, forced them to touch and search and grab at things I tried not to think about. But I found what I wanted. Found what I needed on his belt. I leaned my body forward, taking Jim with me, my shaky legs supporting our weight. Then I threw him backward until his grip broke.

His knife slid free from the sheath. I crouched down and fell to my ass. Then I wiggled my arms and legs, biting plastic be damned, until my arms were in front of me, the knife still in my hands.

In his drunken fury, Jim didn’t see what I’d done. He came running at me and I extended my arms. His knife sliced into his gut, the weight of his body driving it in. I shifted to the side, refusing to let go, trying not to think of what the blade was doing to him as his momentum drove him forward and he fell to the ground.

The blood-splattered handle became slick beneath my palms. It tumbled to the floor, the dip and sway of the boat throwing it out of the room. I spun, racing after it, but Jim hit me from behind and I landed with a thud.

“You think you can get away that easily?” he asked, hands grabbing at my breasts. I tried to shove him off me, but the man weighed too much. He sat back on my knees, his fingers yanking at the button of my pants before moving to his belt. I swept my gaze above my head and my hands reached out.

The angle was awkward, but I pulled with all my might. The metal rod that’d been snug in the corner by the door came free and I gripped it in my hands. Then, using everything my brother had taught me about swinging a bat, I pulled back and swung with everything I had.

There was a sickening crunch. A slow motion fall. The weight of his body released me and I twisted, rising off the floor. On hands and knees, I wriggled forward, my eyes burning as the pain in my wrists throbbed.