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Instead, he points to a closet and says, “There are nightgowns, pajamas, and all of your bras and panties in there.”
I shiver when I realize the things he stole from my apartment are here. How long did he watch me, and how many times was he in my personal space without me knowing? I look around the room I’m in and wonder how he expects me to dress myself with my hands cuffed in front of me. As if reading my mind, he takes a key from his pocket and undoes one hand. He bends over and pulls a long chain from under the bed, then hooks my left hand to the chain.
“Eventually, we won’t need these,” he says, motioning to the cuffs. “But for now, this lead should give you enough freedom to get to that bathroom over there and to change clothes.”
He goes to leave, then turns back toward me one last time and whispers, “Sleep well.”
The door shuts softly behind him as I lie in bed, feeling both confused and scared. I walk over to the closet and grab a T-shirt that says UINDY on it, as well as some large shorts. I slip them on as fast as possible, then hurry to lay down on the bed. I don’t know how I’ll sleep after everything that’s happened today.
I can’t bear to think about what Andreas must be going through right now. He’s chained up and lying in the dark like some kind of animal. The thought makes me shiver with fear and sorrow for him, but also sends a spark of anger through my veins. Just because Darien thinks he can get away with this doesn’t mean he should treat another person so inhumanely. Grief-stricken and enraged all at once, I slump down into my pillow and let out a soft sob before finally drifting off to sleep.
A loud noise jars me from my sleep, and I sit straight up in the foreign bed. I listen intently, but I’m met with silence. Goosebumps break out all over my body, and I take a deep breath and try to relax. Fuck, I can’t handle another day of sitting around waiting for that psycho to catch onto the fact that his presence is revolting to me. I’m still reeling from the fact that the sweet, quiet man I’ve been serving beer has been plotting to kidnap me for the last few months. What had I done to make him believe we were soulmates? We had barely spoken over ten words to each other throughout all of his visits to the bar. Other than him coming in regularly, his behavior never raised a single red flag.
A shudder rattles my body as I envision Andreas chained to the floor of the garage. I have to find a way out of here. I’m Darien’s primary concern, and I know it won’t take much for Andreas to piss him off and end up dead. Standing up, I walk around the bedroom, trying to keep the chain I’m attached to from making noise that would alert Darien.
I spend the next few minutes carefully checking under the bed and in the drawers of the dresser for anything that may help me escape. There’s a pair of safety scissors and a few pieces of paper, but nothing else that stands out as useful. I try to stay calm, but my heart is beating so fast that it’s making my chest hurt. My eyes wander around the room as I search for something—anything—that could help me get out of this hellhole.
The only plan I can think of is trying to make Darien make a mistake. If he’s frazzled or in a hurry, he may fuck up. Tiptoeing back into the bathroom, I begin opening the cabinets for the second time. I rifle through packs of toilet paper, two boxes of tampons, and some old newspapers under the bathroom sink. I’m yanking the paper out when my hand brushes against something. Pulling it out, I stare down at the small brown bottle of peroxide and thank the universe for sending me a lifeline. Before I can overthink it, I tip the bottle up and chug what’s left in one gulp before shoving it back under the sink and getting back to bed as quickly as I can.
52
Chapter Fifty Two
Darien
Things went beautifully tonight.
Alana seemed less afraid of me than she did the first few times we spoke here at the house. Taking the mask off helped, no doubt. The only problem we now face is that ogre piece of shit, Andreas. I could easily walk in there and bash his head in with a hammer, but I’m afraid Alana won’t respond well to that. She’s of no use to me with a broken mind.
I lean over and lather the plates with a generous amount of dish soap when I hear a loud thud come the direction of Alana’s bedroom. My feet pound against the floor as I sprint out of the kitchen and into her bedroom. I unlock the bedroom door and fling it open, only to gasp at the scene I find. Alana is sprawled out on the floor next to her bed, her handcuffed hand stretched in a painful way. She’s convulsing on the floor with vomit all around her.
Kneeling beside her, I cradle her head in my hands, panic rising in my throat. “Alana! What happened?”
Her head lulls to the side limply, and I hurry to unlock the handcuffs so I can move her out of the bedroom. I stand up and cradle her dead weight in my arms and run as quickly as I can to the living room. I lay her gently on the couch and check her pulse and breathing. Her pulse is strong, and her breathing seems normal.
Does she have epilepsy or something? How could I have missed that?
I walk to the kitchen to grab a cool rag to put on her forehead, hurrying in case she wakes up. When I walk back into the living room, however, she’s nowhere to be found.
I let out a loud, animalistic roar when I realize she played me. “You stupid bitch!” I bellow into the still silence of the farmhouse.
I glance toward the front door and see the lock I installed is securely latched. When I first saw Alana and knew I had to have her, I made sure the house was impossible to escape from. The doors all require a master key, and none of the windows open. Even the garage door is bolted into the concrete driveway. That means Alana is hiding somewhere in the house.
I touch the key hanging around my neck and yell, “Oh, Alana. You silly little mouse. You can’t get out of this house. All you’re doing is pissing me off and making a laundry list of punishments for yourself.”
I was only in the kitchen for a few seconds, so I know she has to be close by. Little does she know, hide and seek has always been one of my favorite games. I tiptoe through the hallway, peering into rooms to locate her. Hesitantly, I flick on the lights and meticulously search every nook and cranny on the first floor.
“Alana, this isn’t fucking cute,” I yell. “If you don’t come out soon, there will be consequences.”
The garage door is locked, so I know she’s not out there with her piece of shit lover. I make my way to the stairway that leads to the second floor. I laugh as I climb the creaky steps and watch the shadows shift across the old, peeling wallpaper. If she’s up here, she may encounter a few surprises her mind isn’t equipped to handle.
I stand at the top of the second floor and announce, “Okay, Alana. You win. You leave me no choice. In this house, punishment follows insolence!”
The sound of my heavy steps echo off the walls as I stomp back down the stairs, seething with rage. I storm into the kitchen and grab a meat tenderizer from the drawer, clanking it against my thigh as I march toward the garage.
“I didn’t want it to come to this!” I call out as the door swings open, and Andreas’ wide eyes swing toward me.
He tries to crawl away from me when he sees the weapon in my hand, but his chains stop him. “You’re not going anywhere, you waste of fucking oxygen,” I seethe as I lunge at him.
