Chapter 6
“Fuck!” I shout as I kick the bottom stair in an attempt to get out some of my frustration. Pacing isn’t doing shit to help me calm down. That didn’t really help either, and now my foot hurts. But fuck!
He does have a kid.
I knew it.
He must not have a wife if he’s begging me to fuck his face, although I’m not convinced that whole thing wasn’t just an elaborate attempt for him to try to get me to believe he won’t turn me in because, seriously, who the fuck wakes up tied to a chair in a basement and immediately thinks, “Oh, cool. This is so sexy”?
He was very obviously hard, though…
Probably the adrenaline. Or he’s just a maniac. I barely know him, and I’m already assuming it’s the latter.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about his erection at all, though. I don’t care what this guy is into. Even though this whole setup would be really hot if it was with a woman and it was all actually an elaborate role-play…
Nope, not thinking about that.
I should be worried about his kid, Pete, who will be without a father if I kill this guy.
God-fucking-damn it.
I give up pacing and sit on one of the lower steps, ripping off my mask because it’s useless anyway. He already knows what I look like, knows my name, knows where I work. I’m definitely going to prison if he goes free.
When he goes free. I can’t kill a dad, can I?
I slouch, resting my elbows on my knees and hanging my head in my hands. “How old is he?”
The guy—I still don’t know his name—perks up at my question, hope shining in his blue eyes. He must realize this is his actual ticket out, not all that sexual fantasy shit. “He’s four.”
Fuck. So young, but still old enough to know his dad, I would think. “Where is he now?”
“At my apartment. What time is it? He must be so worried about me.”
I glance at my phone. It’s officially past midnight, which means the worst day of my life is over. Yet the nightmare continues.
“Twelve-forty a.m.” He nods and looks a little relieved. Maybe whoever’s with his kid didn’t expect him until tomorrow. “So who’s with him?”
“No one. I could probably text one of my neighbors in the morning to help, but that’s a long time for him to be alone.”
“Why the fuck is he alone?” I demand, sitting up straighter so I can glare at him properly. I might not be a parent yet, but I know a four-year-old shouldn’t be left at home by themself.
Maybe this guy is a horrible person, after all, and his kid will be better off without him.
“Well, I thought I’d be home hours ago, but someone had other ideas.” He looks at me pointedly like it’s my fault he’s a shitty parent.
“Hey, don’t blame me. You’re the one who left him alone.”
He rolls his fucking eyes like he’s not just as bad a person as I am—probably worse, actually, because that’s neglect, child abuse. All I did was think I accidentally murdered someone and freak out about it while trying to cover it up.
“Well, I didn’t know if the restaurant allowed dogs,” he argues back.
“Dogs?” I repeat before I realize my mistake. “Wait, is Pete your fucking dog?”
“Piet is my dog, yes,” he answers.
I heave a huge sigh of relief but double-check just to be sure. “Do you have any kids?”
A laugh bursts out of him. “Human children? No. I’m not nearly responsible enough for that.”
I can easily agree with that after this conversation.
So, it looks like murder is back on the table.
Cool. Totally cool. I can definitely kill him then.
I should probably just grab his dog first. I’ve always liked animals, and I don’t want to add a dead dog to my list of sins. Plus, a neglected dog would bark and draw attention to the fact that this guy is missing, so really, helping his dog is in my best interest.
I eye him skeptically. I don’t really trust him to tell me his address, he might send me way out of town to buy time to escape, or to a friend’s house who’ll be home and then there’ll be more witnesses involved.
“Do you still have your wallet?” I ask suddenly.
He looks down at his lap, then back at me. “Right front pocket.”
I jump up and get the wallet out from his pants as quickly as I can.
On the off chance all that kidnapping fantasy shit was real, I don’t need him thinking I’m feeling him up.
I find his ID, apparently his name is Mason, then pull out my phone to search the address listed.
It’s local, close to the restaurant, so I’d bet it’s current.
“This still where you live?” I gesture to the address, and he looks it over before nodding. “And you live alone?”
“Yeah, why? Are you going to hurt my dog?”
I step back, offended by the question until I realize that, yeah, I guess it’s fair given the circumstances. “No, I’m not a monster. I was going to go get your dog.”
He visibly relaxes, slouching into his restraints.
Which reminds me, I need to replace those.
“Oh, thank God! My door code is 1061, then the pound key. I’m on the third floor in apartment 7.
My key for that should be in my pocket as well.
He’s very friendly, but he doesn’t love leaving the house so you might need to bribe him.
Treats are on the counter, and his bag of food is in the pantry.
His leash is hung up next to the front door. ”
I blink at him. Despite how quickly he rambled all that off, I do think I caught everything, but the fact that he seems perfectly content now that he knows his dog will be okay is so fucking weird.
Maybe he really is crazy. Just my luck I kidnapped a psychopath.
“Oh, can you get my glasses, too, please? They’re on the bathroom counter. I need them to see. Unless you want me to leave my contacts in? But if I get an eye infection, you’re gonna have to deal with that, and I might need a doctor.”
“Fine,” I mutter, adding his instructions to a note on my phone. Then I jog up the stairs to grab the sex shop bag from where I dropped it when I realized he was awake. I get to work swapping out the makeshift restraints for the new ones before I leave.
Mason seems far less alarmed than I would be if our positions were reversed.
I swear he’s shifting to help me tie him up, and he sounds completely casual as he asks, “Are you sure this isn’t sexual?
I definitely recognize that bag, and I swear I just saw a dildo in there.
How do you expect me to believe you’re straight with the size of that thing? ”
“I just wanted it to be less weird that I was buying handcuffs and rope at midnight, so I added some extra sex things to seem less suspicious,” I admit because, honestly, I don’t know how to respond to this guy.
I attach the handcuffs to his wrists behind his back and test to make sure they aren’t a fake easy-release situation before removing the fabric I’d initially tied him up with. I leave the belt around his chest and swap the fabric around his calves and ankles for rope.
Much better. I tug on everything to make sure it’s secure and stand. “Well, I’ll be back soon, then…” I trail off awkwardly as I realize I don’t need to tell him anything.
But he calls out after me. “Thanks!”
This guy is so fucking weird.
“Well, hello there.” I bend down to pet Pete, who runs right up to me as I open the door, clearly unafraid of strangers.
Or maybe he just has to pee. He’s an English Bulldog with a big bricky head.
I’ve always thought these dogs were so ugly they’re cute.
I’m glad Mason told me about him so quickly so he wasn’t alone for too long.
I’ll let him out in a second, but I don’t want to be running in and out in case there are cameras—as great as my baseball cap and hoodie disguise is—so I go to search for what I need.
Shit. Mason’s apartment is really nice. I look around the old warehouse that’s been converted into apartments.
With its exposed brick and ducts, it still manages to look fancy, and I let out a low whistle.
He has art everywhere. Not hung up on the walls, although he does have that too, but canvases lean against furniture and tubes of paint are everywhere.
The art itself is really fucking cool. Abstract stuff that keeps drawing my focus.
I could probably stare at the seemingly random shapes and colors for hours trying to figure it out.
If Mason is the artist, I’m officially impressed.
Is that what he does for money? Shit. I should probably figure out his job, or if anyone is expecting to see him tomorrow.
Ugh. Why is kidnapping someone so fucking complicated?
I find his glasses, a phone charger, and the dog food before attaching Pete’s leash and heading back to my truck where I parked a couple of blocks over. Pete goes along with me easily, so at least that part wasn’t harder than it needed to be.
When I get back into my house, even though it’s the middle of the night, I decide to let Mason see that Pete is okay. It’s not like he can chew through metal handcuffs, so I lead him down to the basement.
I’m also hoping that it might make Mason a little more likely to tell me the truth about his life because I think it’s officially interrogation time.