Chapter 5
FIVE
MOLLY
I wake up with a start with my heart beating frantically.
The events of the night before replay in my head in slow motion. A horror reel that I can’t pause, or swipe up, or mark not interested.
It wasn’t Matt.
I’ve been tricked and truly stolen off the street.
I. Am. A. Real. Hostage.
“Shit,” I curse, bile rising in my throat.
Rubbing at my eyes, I look around the room to scan my surroundings. I’m perplexed by the wholesome and feminine decor. The peach—my favorite color—painted walls. A walk-in closet and an en suite bathroom.
Am I tripping?
Hallucinating it?
What kind of psycho abductor has kidnapped me?
Is he trying to entice me to stay? Create an illusion I’m on a vacation so I’ll stick around?
“A mind game, Molly,” I huff. “He’s fucking with my head.”
Peering down at myself, I notice he’s put me in the hoodie he was wearing earlier. It dwarfs my frame and reaches to my knees. I inhale sharply, causing his earthy scent to flood my lungs. Shifting on the soft bedding, an ache spreads through my body, reminding me I had a stranger inside me.
A stranger I gave myself to willingly.
A stranger I let fuck me hard.
A stranger I allowed to dominate me.
A stranger who made my fantasy reality and turned it into a cosmic joke.
“No. No. No,” I chant in a small, terrified voice. “I need to get out of here. This isn’t happening.”
My captor cannot be the best sex I’ve ever had.
I’m repulsed at myself for stupidly following this man outside to the cornfield. I sought him out like a horny lunatic.
God! He must’ve been laughing behind the mask at how easy a victim I was. I served myself to him on a silver fucking platter.
“All your fault, Molly,” I utter to myself.
How did I not realize it wasn’t Matt?
The little signs were there. But he was clever enough to distract me with pleasure.
I don’t allow panic to set in yet. Climbing out of the four-poster bed, I tiptoe out into the hall barefoot. It works in my favor as my feet don’t make a sound.
I look to my left and right, finding the floor empty. I seem to be in a basement, seeing a wine cellar and a second door opposite the bedroom I exited.
Keeping a hand pressed to my mouth to avoid making a noise, I search for the staircase that’ll take me up and, hopefully, out of the front door.
This isn’t how I die.
Hell no.
After what feels like forever, the clock in my head ticking like a time bomb, the narrow staircase comes into view.
My insides burst with hope.
Walking faster, I grab the banister and step onto the first rung.
The electricity goes out.
I squeak behind my palm. My stomach bottoms out as pitch-blackness blinds me. Crippling anxiety roars to life, deciding to join the pity party of emotions I’m feeling.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The ceiling creaks rhythmically.
“Fuck!”
He knows I’m up. The lights didn’t go off because of a power cut.
He did it.
Am I being watched?
Without any self-preservation—it’s on a hiatus, anyway—or plan, I run up the stairs before he can find me and trap me in the bedroom. I trip twice on my way up, but I don’t slow down.
It’s a life-or-death situation.
I’m only interested in the former.
Shoving open the wooden door at the top, I enter straight into an open-space living room slash kitchen and dining area. My captor is loaded, judging by the opulence of the place. The entire length of the room is made up of a floor-to-ceiling glass wall.
Outside in the distance, I see a highway and tall, lush trees kissing the starry and moonlit sky.
Seeing the black double doors to the side, I race toward them. Just as I touch the brass knuckle, a deeply masculine voice announces from behind me, “It’s locked.”
The tone sounds vaguely familiar. However, my fight-or-flight response is fueling my senses.
Refusing to believe him, I turn the knob. Only to deflate when it doesn’t budge. Fear like never before slithers down my spine, making me stumble to the side along the glass wall. My petrified face reflects back at me. Somehow, still aglow from the orgasm my abductor gave me.
A movement at the back of the room steals my attention.
The tall, menacing figure emerges from the shadows.
My mouth hangs open.
My captor stalks closer.
“M-Mr. Smith?”
As silent and lethal as a hunter, my boyfriend’s father keeps sauntering to where I’m standing against the glass wall. My instincts tell me to run. But my feet are rooted to the marbled floor.
I’m so lost, unable to put the pieces together.
Unable to decide if I’m safe or in danger.
Am I kidnapped or not?
Was it really Matt after all? Did he leave me with his dad and go out? Did he decide to cut our fantasy short? Why the heck would he drug me then?
Or… Was the masked man Mr. Smith?
He stops behind my back, towering over my petite body. Lifting his corded arms, he cages me against the wall with his palms on either side of my head.
Our gazes collide.
A predator and his prey.
A captor and his captive.
The truth hits me like a freight train.
Oh.
My.
God.
I fucked my boyfriend’s dad.