Chapter 2
TWO
The smell hits me before I even see him.
Cigarettes. Stale sweat. Something sour and rotten that makes my stomach squeeze against my ribs.
I've learned to catalog the guards by scent now—a survival skill I never thought I'd need. This one is the worst. The one whose eyes linger too long. Whose laugh sounds like breaking glass.
I knew he’d come when the building was empty. The reason making my skin crawl.
Metal scrapes against metal as the door swings open. Fluorescent light spears into my makeshift cell, and I have to bite down on my tongue to stop the whimper.
"Wakey wakey! Scaredy cat."
My fingers close around the microscope's cold base.
Seven seconds. That's all I need.
But my body betrays me the way it always does. Fight or flight or freeze—and I land firmly in freeze. Every. Single. Time.
Trembling. Stomach clenching. Clammy hands wrapped around my only weapon. Dry throat working uselessly as I try to force words past the terror.
When he shifts, that beam of fluorescent light catches on his unibrow, on the too-wide grin that shows square, stained teeth.
Breathe, Rose. Breathe.
My only hope is getting him to move closer. Close enough that when I swing, I won't miss.
Making myself small, I scoot back against the wall, putting on a show I've perfected over five days of captivity.
"You afraid of me, little thing?" he taunts.
My skin crawls at the dark, eerie chuckle that follows.
When he licks his lips, ice slides down my spine, but I force myself to meet his leer with what I hope looks like challenge.
Steady, Rose. Keep your wits. You've got to save yourself.
For darn sure, no one else is coming. I wouldn't even have anyone to call if I had a way.
The thought should devastate me—the reality of having no one, of being utterly alone—but right now it just hardens something in my chest.
If I'm alone, then I have only myself to rely on. And that will have to be enough.
"That's right. You're scared as a little rabbit," he says, his toothy grin cutting straight into my knotted nerves. "I'm the big bad wolf."
More like warthog.
But I don't say it. Instead, I let my voice shake just the right amount. Fear mixed with false bravado. "Good thing I'm not little red riding hood. And I'm not scared."
I'm terrified. There's a difference.
"You're still a little snack and I've got big teeth." He snorts out a laugh, and the smell of his breath makes me want to gag.
"You're also a bad liar," he adds with a shake of his head.
A tossed bag of food lands on the floor, just out of my reach.
The scent of grease cuts through his body odor—almost a relief except it makes my empty stomach clench harder.
For a beat, I inhale and exhale with utter control, trying to tame my overcharged nervous system.
This girl is not cut out for this.
I'm made for quiet, white-noise filled labs. Good at drinking bad coffee all night when I'm working. Better at analyzing mineral samples than analyzing human threats.
But this situation calls for extreme measures. Courage I have to borrow from some deep well I didn't know existed.
This is it.
I pull myself up by my metaphorical boot-straps, saying a prayer to a God I'm not sure listens, and force my spine to turn to steel when it wants to melt.
The microscope is a comforting weight behind my back, hidden in the shadows of the corner.
"You're right. I am scared." I let my voice go soft, pleading. "I need to use the bathroom. Can you take me?"
The human time-bomb makes a frustrated sound. His humor vanishes like smoke, replaced by irritation. "Use the bucket."
"Please." I add just the right amount of desperation. "I'd like to wash my hands. Splash my face. The building is deserted today, isn't it? No one will know. I haven't had a shower since you guys kidnapped me."
Since Patrick Westerly—the man I thought wanted my expertise, not my imprisonment—decided I knew too much about the mineral sample Allison sent me.
Focus, Rose.
He shifts closer and the smell intensifies.
His unnaturally dark eyes are deep recesses of evil under that slashing unibrow, studying me like I'm nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Get up." He motions impatiently. "I'm supposed to be off duty tonight. Got no time for your bullshit."
My knees are weak when I stand. The pencil skirt I wore to the lab four days ago restricts my movement. I struggle to my feet, deliberately slow.
Not fast enough for him.
"Ouch!" The squeak escapes when he grabs my arm, jerking me the rest of the way up.
His ham-fisted grip strikes a nerve near my elbow. Lightning shoots up and down my arm, and for a second the microscope nearly slips from my other hand.
Asshole.
The surge of anger bolsters my resolve. My scientific brain catalogs the data about the man. He’s approximately 6'2" tall, 275 pounds heavy, with slower reflexes than he thinks.
He’s also arrogant, and hopefully underestimates me. I need that right now.
Standing in front of me, his breath huffs and puffs out of him, reminding me of an oversized dog. His gaze tips down to study my chest with undisguised hunger.
Predictable move, but still ick.
"Maybe I should take little scaredy cat with me," he says, voice gone thick and sickening. "They'd never know if I took you home for a little fun. Would they?"
The curveball freezes me solid.
All I can do is try to breathe through my mouth to stop the assault of his breath. Which also reminds me of a dogs.
"The guards would know," I manage weakly. "Mr. Westerly would be really mad if you hurt me. He needs me to do that special lab work. No one else knows how to—"
He cuts me off by leaning down. Drawing his nose along my cheek and into my hair where he inhales deeply, growling out a volcanic breath.
The alarm bell in my head isn't just clanging, it's deafening. I’ve never heard it so loud in my life.
"You'd still be able to work," he says with a harsh laugh. His hand tightens on my elbow until my fingers go completely numb. "You'll be able to work, but forget walking right when I'm done with you. You're small and I don't fuck easy."
With one hundred percent certainty, I will projectile vomit if this goes any further.
But I’m not going to let it.
"You know," I say, voice steady despite everything screaming inside me, "a man like you is a real prize."
The microscope swings in a clean arc and makes a satisfying clang of metal when it meets the man’s skull.
It’s a solid sound, exactly how I imagined it.
His grunt is an awkward, surprised sound.
Only when he should fall, he just sways.
Did I mess it up? Is one hit not enough?
He teeters, torso bending like a palm tree in a hurricane and I consider shoving him, but my heart decides it's done.
DONE.
The poor organ leaps completely up into my throat.
And I barely have the wits to jump back in time to escape his fall.
The impact is seismic. Limbs buckling. Face going slack, he slams into the floor.
Yes!
“No! Oh my god!”
I leap, but the door is just out of reach. Kicked closed by his leg when he fell.
The crack of thunder from it slamming shut is loud enough to alert every living creature in this godforsaken building.
I look down. A terrible realization making all of my skin prickle with goosebumps.
My new reality is bad. We're trapped inside.
We.
Oh. God.
"No!" The wail tears from my throat as I claw at the gray metal door. Tears blur my vision instantly. "No, no, no—"
This can't be happening.
This was it.
This was my chance. My one shot at escape.
Now Westerly will realize his man is missing. Maybe not tonight, but soon. And I'll be worse than screwed.
Or…oh my god.
If this asshole wakes up first? He'll be furious. And that threat he just made...
My heart shoves so far up into my throat there's no hope of breathing.
What am I going to do?
There must be something…
Remember plan B. That’s right! I made plan B, but almost forgot because of panic.
I scramble over him like I'm climbing fallen boulders, muttering prayers to anyone listening.
"God, I saw this in movies. Please let it work. Please, please—"
The shelving groans as I climb. I tested it before—three days of careful experimentation while stuck in this supply closet, but I never went all the way to the top.
It's a long way down.
Don't look. Don't think. Just climb.
A snore freezes my entire soul. When my shaky vision snaps to the man on the floor, he's still out cold. Face creased against a metal table leg at an angle that looks painful, he hasn’t shifted a single finger.
"Do. Not. Move," I command him, reaching for the ceiling vent. "Just a few more minutes and I'll be—"
Click.
The distinct sound shoots under the closed door, traveling down the tile hallway with perfect acoustics. Metallic, the sharp sound is unmistakable.
Only one thing makes that noise in this building: the stairwell door closing.
“No!” I breathe.
Someone’s coming. I memorized the sound the first day they held me. Noting the echo pattern, the slight squeak on the hinge, the way it bounces off the corridor walls.
Go, Rose. This is it. You've got to GO.