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“She was grateful,” he sneers. “The bitch fell at my feet. She was glad he was gone. After all the things he did for her.”
I underestimated the man I was dealing with. He’s unhinged. His reasoning has zero logic. His mom had been abused in ways I don’t know the scope of for years, and he speaks about her that way. “What happened?”
“I couldn't let her disrespect his memory like that.” He scowls. “I buried them together under my mother's favorite tree in the backyard. I thought she would be happy about that,” he says wistfully.
I think I may throw up. I force down the urge, knowing nothing would upset him more than wasting the food he made me. “What did you do then?”
“I moved away. I was lucky enough to find money that my dad hid away. He didn’t trust banks, so he kept it around the house. It was enough for me to rent a place and pursue my passion for cooking. I took several classes. I even got offered a position at a five-star restaurant. I met a girl there; she was beautiful. I thought she was everything I wanted.” He sets the tray to the side. “She was a lot like you, actually. We dated for three months, but then she did the worst thing a woman can do to a man.”
He leaves me hanging. “What?” I ask. He loves it when I seem eager to learn about him. He thrives on attention.
“She questioned me,” he states simply.
I raise my eyebrows, forgetting about my swollen eyes. “Really?”
“I told her that she needed to move in with me and quit her job. She refused. I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I lost my temper.”
No shit. “I bet that was uncomfortable for you to work with her after that.”
“Oh, no.” He chuckles. “She didn’t show up to work the next day.” He grins. “Fortunately, she came from a rich family. I used her credit cards to invest in my new face. I bought this house with the money in her bank account and had enough to not work for quite a while until the next one.”
I suck back the tears that want to gather. He killed her for not following his direction. He’d left a string of dead bodies as if they meant nothing. I’ve been sheltered from the horror that happens in this world. As girls, we are warned about what can happen to us if we aren’t careful. We have to look over our shoulders a lot in life, fearing the predators that want to do things to us to satisfy their sick desires. The world is filled with danger.
“What do you do now?” I ask. I have to fill the silence.
“I work at a hospital. I work at the front desk. Patients love seeing a friendly face when they come in desperate to be helped. That’s where the drugs come from. It’s amazing the things you learn by just watching.”
I hate to ask, but I’ve had to use the bathroom for hours now. I didn’t want to say anything, unsure if he would let me. Plus, I don’t want to have to pee in front of him. I think he will react worse if I’m forced to soil myself. “Sammy, I have to use the bathroom.”
He studies my face. “I don’t want to have to hit you again. Your beautiful face is bruising up, so I’ll just have to use this to encourage your cooperation.” He pulls a gun from his waistband and points it at my head. “I will untie you. If you try to get away, I will shoot you.” He waves the gun down my body. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” I respond weakly. Fuck. Tears prick my eyes.
“Be good,” he warns.
I nod shakily. “I will.”
He struggles to hold the gun at me and untie the ropes. My mind buzzes with the possibility of running. My heart pounds so loud I can’t hear anything else. One hand is free; it falls to the bed, useless from being tied so long. I force the pinpricks away. He works down to my feet, keeping his eyes on me, so releasing me takes forever. I decide to pretend to be passive and let him work.
Once I am loose, he levels the gun to my head. “Stand up,” he orders.
I slowly move off the bed, my body shaky. I’m trembling with the combination of fear, anticipation, and hope. I sneak glances at the stairs. If I can make it to the top, I hope the door isn’t locked.
I move to the toilet, and bile rises. I’m going to have to use it. He doesn’t turn around to give me privacy but keeps the gun pointed to my head. My fingers fumble as I try to unbutton my jeans. They are almost numb. His eyes flare with heat when I accomplish the task, and my stomach drops. I will never forget this overwhelming hopelessness.
I drop my gaze and pull my pants down just enough that I don’t pee on them. I squeeze my eyes shut when I hear him groan. I concentrate on finishing.
I fix my clothes as fast as possible. “Can I wash my hands?” I ask, nodding to the sink behind him. It’s closer to the stairs.
“Yes,” he concedes.
I walk carefully around him. He swivels to keep me in his sight. I turn on the water and take the opportunity to clean the blood off my wrists. I’m wavering back and forth with the idea of running or not. Will he shoot me if I try? I desperately don’t want to go back to that bed. It’s never been in my nature to fight. But what if I don’t take the chance? At least I can know I went down fighting.
I turn off the water and reach for a towel. There is a heartbeat of time between putting it back and when I make my move. I run and don’t look back. I expect to hear a gunshot, but it never happens. My foot hits the bottom step when his hand grabs a fist full of my hair and pulls.
I fight for my life. I kick at his legs as hard as I can. He drops the gun, and it skids across the floor. He grunts as I punch as hard as I can at his face behind me, feeling the bones in my hand crack. I get sick gratification that I made contact. His arm goes around my neck and pulls sharply. My legs dangle, but I don’t stop moving them.
“You bitch.”
