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A thin layerof sweat coats my skin when adrenaline courses through my body as I make my way out of my glass prison. Yesterday, David removed the cuffs around my ankles, telling me it was my reward for being a good girl.
Fucking bastard.
I just want to scream until I can’t anymore. The raw, pent-up emotions are suffocating me from the inside out, taking in more and more space as time passes by. Five days have gone by, and no one has found us. Five marathon-like, exhausting days in this concrete box of horror. Since there is no daylight and no clock, I don't know if it's day or night. We go by the information David gives us.
My eyes land on Cole, who's sitting in his chair. Bloody red marks cover his wrist underneath the cuffs that are keeping him from moving. The only time he gets off the chair is to use the filthy toilet in the corner of his cell, but only with a gun pointed at my head. He's got cracked lips and bags under his eyes. Thank God, I convinced David to give Cole water and a sandwich from time to time by explaining that if he stays hydrated and fed, he will fully know what is happening. To test if I’m still a good girl, he lets me go into Cole’s cell every few hours. My eyes burn, thinking of the moments where I'm helping Cole drink, mouthing to him that I love him. There is so much I want to say to my love, but I can’t because Mr. Mentally Unstable is always a few feet away, pointing a gun at me or holding a sharp knife.
Walking out of my confinement is like standing on top of a mountain where the air is thin. My breathing becomes shallow, but knowing Cole is watching my every move is comforting. Even if he’s unable to help me.
David stands at the table like the other days, waiting for me to join him. He pulls the chair back, and when I sit, I have to tell myself to stay, because everything in me screams to jump up and run—but I can’t. I close my eyes when his hot breath skims my ear.
"You smell so lovely."
Lovely? I haven’t bathed or showered in days; I’m a smelly skunk.
I cough, and instead of telling him off, I stammer, "Thank you."
When he makes a trail with his finger from my neck to my cheek, Cole growls loudly.
David chuckles. "There’s nothing you can do, Walker. I'm the one in control." Amused, he straightens his back and makes his way to the other side of the table.
I glance at Cole, who's staring at David with a murderous look.
To stop it, I ask a question. "How did you get hold of Cole’s and my mobile number when you sent that video of Samantha walking in the city?"
David's eyes turn to me. He takes a bite of his roasted potato and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.
"That was easy. His daughter hung out with a guy. And after following and observing them for a few days, it led to a genius idea."
He stalked them, too?
"I met up with the young man and told him to check the girl’s phone and get me your telephone numbers. At first, the boy refused, but I can be persuasive if I have to." With a crooked smile,he twists his head left and right.
I stare at my plate as I prick my fork into the vegetables. God, I want to pierce him with this sharp cutlery, make him bleed for the pain he's causing Sam. I keep chewing on the green beans to hide the tension swirling through me. Unbelievably, Leo never worked with or for him. He’s been a victim of this lunatic, as well. And our sweet Samantha thinks he betrayed her. I glance at Cole, who is shaking his head in disbelief. When David switches the topic, I'm glad, until I catch what he’s saying.
"Tonight is a special night, doll face. We’re going to dance."
My fork slips out of my fingers as my head snaps upwards. "W-What do you mean?"
He raises a brow, and his lips purse at my anxious reaction.
"I bought a dress for you, and you’ll wear it tonight so that we can have our dance without interruptions."
He shifts his attention to Cole and grins. "And you’re going to watch, Walker," he says, sliding out of his chair and walking to the door. "I’ll get your dress."
When he disappears, locking the door behind him, waves of nausea hit me, thinking of that beast touching me. I place my elbows on the table and rest my head in my palms as my lips quiver and my stomach churns.
I-I can’t do it. I can’t dance with that monster.
Cole grunts and hums heavily, but I ignore it. If I look at him, I’ll have a meltdown.
I press my finger into my scalp, trying to release the tension and anxiety rising to a peak.
God, I hoped I was tough, but it’s obvious I’m not.
I struggle to steady my raging nerves, and when I perceive footsteps and that malicious voice, I quickly wipe the remaining tear from the corner of my eye.
"Attention," he says as he stops by the dinner table.
