Chapter 6 #2
He freezes with his hand on the refrigerator, then turns around, hurt etched onto his handsome face.
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
“Um. I was walking through the woods minding my own business, but now I’m tied to a chair in your cabin. What would you call this?” I jiggle my arms a little to emphasize but regret it right away when the plastic digs into my wrists.
His brow furrows when I flinch. “Minding your own business?”
“Yes.” How dare he? Fine. Maybe I wasn’t quite minding my own business, but still. Zip ties.
“You were hiding behind a tree watching my cabin after following me home from Portland. What would you call that?”
I scoff.
“So you’re afraid of me? Which is why I’m tied up?” I wiggle my body in frustration, moving the chair an inch forward.
His eyes flick down to the chair legs, then back up to my face. Then Wes just… stares at me, clearly and shockingly concerned. Instead of answering my very logical question, he pulls out his phone, taps it a bunch of times, then slides it back in his pocket.
“What’d you just do? And where’s my phone?”
Wes turns and takes two steps, then reaches for something on the kitchen counter and strides toward me.
It’s a huge fucking knife.
“Wait!” Panic grips my body as he approaches me, his face blank.
I’m gonna die. Now’s the moment. And it’s my fault because I followed him home and then picked a fight with this psychopath while I’m tied up in his remote cabin.
Shit! I squint my eyes shut just as the walls creak with whipping wind.
Is he gonna cut my throat? Stab me in the belly? Cut off my fingers one by one?
Then I feel the smooth, cold metal on my hands.
Guess it’s my fingers. I feel pinpricks of tears in my eyes.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice pathetic.
But then I feel the pressure release on my wrists.
He cut the zip ties? I pull my wrists in front of my face. He cut the zip ties.
“Oh my god.” I spring up, intending on, I don’t know, running out of the cabin or attacking him or something, but then I immediately fall face first onto the thick rug, my cheek hitting the ground hard. The air’s completely knocked out of my lungs, and I can’t get a sound out or a breath in.
My ankles are still tied to the chair.
“Fuck!” Wes swears and falls to his knees next to me, the knife still in his hands. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He touches my back and peers down at me. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit the other chair with your face.”
I struggle and finally manage to suck in a breath. Perhaps I should just give up on life now. I can’t get anything right. A single tear breaks free from my eye and drips down the bridge of my nose.
“Were you trying to run?” Wes wipes the tear off with a gentle touch. “It’s a blizzard outside.”
“Can you help me up and put down the knife?” I’m humiliated. Exhausted. Face-first in a surprisingly fluffy shag rug.
A second later, my ankles are cut free and the chair lifts off my back. Strong, knife-free hands wrap around my waist and lift me up, and for a second I’m in Wes's arms, like a bride on her wedding night.
Then he deposits me gently on the couch and sinks down next to me.
“Are you okay, Callie?”
My name on his lips is weird to hear, like we’re friends, not the kidnapper and the kidnapped.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound tough, but when I lift my hand to my cheek, I wince.
“Your cheek might be sore. Let me get you ice so it doesn’t bruise.” He heads back into the kitchen and pulls a bag of frozen corn out of his freezer, walking it over. “Here, put this on your face.”
Then he returns to the kitchen and pulls a half-gallon of milk from the fridge. I touch the corn to my cheek and watch him stick a pot on the stove, click it on, and pour milk in.
Now’s my chance to run. Run from this… really not scary man? And run where? I’m not sure I could even make it to where I ditched my car. My car, which is shit in the snow, even though I live in Maine. At least I’m wearing sturdy boots.
Fuck, it’s really snowing out now.
There’s literally nowhere to go. I made a series of terrible decisions today, and now I have an aching cheek, sore wrists, and I’m sitting on the couch of this mystery dude, trapped here by snow. At least I’m no longer tied to a chair.
I consider my options.
I could leave anyway, fight my way to my car, and hope I can get off the side of the road. Maybe he’d let me, maybe he wouldn’t. He’s unhinged in a confusing way. Like he’ll stab a woman with a needle and tie her to a chair, but then feel bad when said woman complains that her wrists hurt.
And why does he look so fucking good in the gray sweatpants and the snug hoodie that’s hugging the hard lines of his body? He scoops hot chocolate mix into the pot where he poured the milk and pulls a whisk out of a drawer.
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter how hot he is. Besides the fact that he’s a kidnapper, I could never trust another man to keep me safe. I should never have depended on anyone to do so.
Shane kept me in my place, but not safe.
He might not have hit me, but the gaslighting and the emotional abuse were intense.
Over the years, he continued to try to convince me to have a baby, and when I resisted, called me selfish, a bad person, not a real woman, etc.
Even right before my father died, Shane tricked me into meeting with my father’s boss about working on the family’s bookkeeping—as if that were something I’d ever want to do over my peaceful, safe library job.
Luckily, the man let it go when I said no.
But Shane flipped out and disappeared for a weekend.
A few days later, someone slashed my tires, and Shane refused to give me a ride to work. I could walk or take the bus anyway.
That same week, I found a scrap of women’s underwear shoved into the pocket of his jeans.
I contacted Hawk—Wes—so I could find Shane for the last time and be rid of him forever.
Maybe he’ll still help me do that.
“I need to find the man I want to divorce,” I say. “Can you help me?”
Wes freezes in the kitchen with his back to me, mid-whisk.
“Tell me more,” he says, turning around to look at me.