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I knew he was gone. He’d taken Megan’s body, intending to dump it in some abandoned lot somewhere. I tried to think of where the previous victim’s bodies had been found, I but couldn’t think. My brain felt fuzzy, and my head pounded like I had the worst hangover of my life. I tried thinking of how long I would have until he returned. I didn’t even know how long I had wrestled with the cage. It could have been hours for all I knew. I was on borrowed time.
My eyes darted around the basement frantically, until my gaze landed on his table of torture implements. There, amongst the various sharp and bloody tools, including blades, shears, and even pliers, was a solid, heavy-looking hammer. I didn’t even try to imagine what he used it for. I staggered over and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. Either that or the days I had spent here had stolen all my strength. I could barely lift it.
I carried it back over to the door and eyed the doorknob. The door was made out of heavy metal, but the knob, though sturdy, was just a regular doorknob with a keyhole. There was no deadbolt in the door. I worried there could be a latch with a padlock on the other side. Regardless, I was desperate enough to try breaking through the fucking thing.
I raised the hammer over my head and brought it down hard on the doorknob. It made a harsh sound that hurt my ears, and the vibration from the impact made my arms ache, but I didn’t care about anything but getting the fuck out. I swung again and again and again. It took several swings before it bent at an odd angle. I adjusted my hold, widened my stance, and swung at it from the side like I was swinging a bat at a ball.
Over and over, I swung the hammer. My arms were aching and felt like jelly. I wasn’t confident in how much force I was actually able to put into my swings, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t stop. Not until I heard the knob fall to the floor with a metallic crash and roll in an awkward wobble for several feet. I stared at the doorknob, bent and dented all to hell, in disbelief.
When I tore my eyes from the knob, I dropped my hand to my side; the weight of the hammer wrenching at my shoulder. I pushed at the door with my free hand. It didn’t move. Dropping the hammer, I threw my whole body at the door in desperation. I didn’t realize I was screaming and crying as I repeatedly flung my entire body, bruising my shoulder and hip, until I heard a clunk, and the door swung open. I fell onto the floor in a heap, landing hard on my hands and knees. Then I lifted my head and stared at the wooden stairs in front of me.
I began to crawl up the stairs as tears blurred my vision. I didn’t notice the scrapes, the bruises, or the new splinters digging into my fingers. All I saw was the ordinary, everyday door that was in every house I had ever been in. I pulled myself up once I got to the top, twisted the knob to the simple wooden door, and then pushed.
I shielded my eyes from the bright light, blinking rapidly as I took in the modern kitchen. This looked like the home of a family of four who enjoyed spending time together at the kitchen table. It didn’t look like the home of a serial killer.
I stumbled across the room, leaving a bloody trail behind me, and through the living room, past a lovely leather couch and big screen TV hanging on the wall. I walked to the front door, turned the lock, and swung it open to see a row of similar houses lining the neighborhood.
I stumbled out the door and down the steps, breathing in the fresh air and listening to the birds chirping while a dog barked somewhere nearby.
When a woman driving by slammed on her brakes and jumped out of her car, I blinked, trying to tell her to call the police, but all that would come out of my throat was a whimper. I was completely done. All of my fight and determination to escape had drained what was left of my energy. My vision darkened as I watched her reach for her phone. When I heard her say she needed an ambulance and the police, I finally closed my eyes and crumpled to the pavement.
One
ETHAN
I wasbone fucking weary when I parked my Mustang in the driveway and hefted my large frame out of the car. I was more than ready to get inside and just let myself relax. It had been a damn long day.
I walked through the door and inhaled the delicious aroma of food wafting from the kitchen. Unbuckling my shoulder holster and shrugging it off, I immediately checked my service weapon out of habit, ensuring the safety was on. I then slid it into the drawer of the table next to the front door. I waited for the light to blink, letting me know the hidden safe had locked, before finally toeing off my shoes.
“Long day?” Brent was leaning against the doorway to the living room, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. I took in his blue tee, gray sweatpants, and disheveled wet blond hair.
“You took a shower without me,” I pointed out gruffly.
He pushed away from the doorway and sauntered to me with his usual sexy swagger. Everything he did was with that damn swagger. It was no wonder I had fallen for him.
“Yes, but I can still wash your back if you want.”
When he reached me, he put his work-roughened hand on the back of my neck. I stared into his green eyes as I placed my hands on his waist before pulling him roughly against me. Our hard bodies slammed into each other almost as hard as our mouths. Our tongues tangled, wrestling for dominance, as usual. Neither one of us was soft, and neither one of us was willing to give in. It was always a battle in the bedroom, and it made life fucking fantastic.
“Mmmm. Dinner is done, but the stew can wait if you want that shower. You seem tense. Let me help you relax.”
Yeah, we were both dominant fuckers, but we loved each other, and we both knew how to give just as much as we knew how to take.
My stomach growled at the thought of waiting for food, and I grunted. “I’ll take you up on the shower. But food first, fucking later.”
He stepped back after nipping at my lower lip. “Of course. I’m at your service.”
I barked out a laugh and swatted him on the ass as he turned to walk away. “Like hell you are.”
He threw a wink over his shoulder and kept walking. I followed, staring at his firm, round ass the whole way. I had to adjust my dick in my slacks. He never failed to turn me the fuck on. I could be sick with the flu, and he would waltz into the room, looking like a golden movie star, holding a bottle of nasty-tasting medicine, and I’d still get a hard-on the size of Manhattan. Not that he ever waltzed anywhere. Maybe stalk or stomp.
Once seated at the table with large bowls of stew and a plate of rolls sitting in front of us, he asked me what had gone on with my day.
“I got a call today. Domestic abuse. Turns out the fucker had been beating his wife and children.” I paused and forced myself to swallow the bread that suddenly felt like a lump of lead in my throat. “His little girl had that look to her.”
Brent narrowed his green eyes dangerously at me. “Did he…”
I shook my head. “I didn’t get a straight answer from either the mom or the little girl. But if I had to place a bet on it, I’d say yes.”
