Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
D ella got down on her knees like a sinner in church, but she knew she wasn’t about to be saved.
How could she be? She was trapped in a fake bathroom inside a fake hotel room with a psycho, and the only person she could count on to save her hadn’t come.
It was starting to feel like he never would.
“Lean forward.” Lester’s hand on her back guided her into the position he wanted.
She gripped the side of the tub so hard her knuckles turned white as she bowed her head. She didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t. Closing her eyes made everything so much worse.
Fear gripped her so hard that her teeth chattered.
“You’re cold.” Lester rubbed her shoulders and neck like a lover.
She suppressed her urge to cringe as his touch sent slivers of awareness down her spine. He believed they were a couple. She didn’t want to break his fantasy.
“I’m sorry there’s no way to heat the water.” He actually did sound apologetic. As if his failure to provide running water actually meant something. “I didn’t know they’d ruined your hair. If I had, I’d have planned this portion of our trip better.”
“It’s…okay.” Della clamped her teeth together. She’d never felt so bone-chillingly cold in her life, but the last thing she wanted was for him to try to warm her up.
“It’ll all be worth it when I’m done.” His hand moved from her neck to her hair. “My beautiful blonde will look like herself again and then we can get on our way. I can’t wait to show you our new home. You’re going to love it.”
A tear dripped from her cheek to mix with the murky water in the tub.
Lester smoothed her hair with a gentle hand. “Close your eyes, sweet thing.” When she didn’t, his hand tightened around her neck. “Now.”
Della did as she was told.
The sickly sweet smell of his cologne magnified a thousand times with her eyes shut, and the heat of his body where he pressed against her back made her stomach threaten to return the crackers he’d forced her to eat while the dye processed.
Water cascaded over her head as he caressed her hair with firm fingers.
The wave of tingles his touch created felt…good.
It shouldn’t feel good.
Why did it feel good?
It was wrong. All of this was so wrong.
She hated him. She’d never thought that about anyone in her entire life, but she hated this delusional, entitled, warped psychopath.
How could she enjoy any part of him touching her?
She wanted out of this nightmare, but at the same time, she hoped it never ended because after he finished with her hair, she’d have to deal with whatever came next.
Just the idea of what he might want…what he might do…
Her belief that Ward was on the way, that he would find her, was the only thing keeping her sane.
Lester poured more water over her head, rubbing spots here and there.
She felt the suppressed rage underneath the fake tenderness. His fingers were too hard despite the gentle stroking, and every now and then he let out a low sound of frustration. He’d hated her red hair so much he’d vibrated with the need to change it.
The water trickled to a stop.
“This is wrong. This is all wrong.” She startled as the empty jug rattled across the tile floor. “On your feet.”
Dread glued her to the floor. “Is there…a towel?”
“Get up.” He pulled her to her feet like she was a doll, then turned her toward the mirror. “Look at this.”
Lester’s eyes were wide and unhinged and hypnotic. What she saw in them terrified her so much she couldn’t breathe.
He shook her shoulders. “Look at your hair!”
She ripped her gaze off him and onto herself. Her white robe was stained with dye, and her red curls had not turned magically back to blonde. They’d turned an unmistakable, unnatural shade of anime orange. The color vibrated against her skin and made her flushed and blotchy.
She wasn’t Lucy anymore. She wasn’t Della Bellamy either.
Horror crept up her back, along her scalp, and into her brain.
If she’d been alone and this had been a normal day, she would have burst into tears. But she wasn’t alone, and this was so much worse than a bad dye job.
“What the hell?” Mad rage twisted his face. “What the hell is this? What did you do?”
“N-nothing.” She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat refused to budge. “It always looks d-different when it’s wet.”
“Bullshit. You fucked this up on purpose.” He shoved her into the counter. “Didn’t you.”
Della caught herself on the edge of the sink. “No. I’ve never dyed my own hair before, but I did what it said…except…there’s no shampoo. Maybe?—”
“You think shampoo would fix this?” He fisted her hair and twisted, yanking her head back with a sharp tug that brought tears to her eyes.
“I’ll do it again. I’ll get it right this time. I promise.”
He pulled out his phone and growled. “We don’t have time. This has already put us off schedule. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
He stomped out of the bathroom, absorbed by his phone.
She tugged off the robe and gripped her pendant. She pushed it again and again and again. Was this thing even working?
If it was, wouldn’t Ward be here already? And if it wasn’t…
If it wasn’t…
Where are you, Ward?
More tears fell. She couldn’t stop them. Della picked up the new clothes Lester had bought for her from where he’d left them on the counter. He’d selected a rhinestone-studded T-shirt and ripped, baggy jeans. She put them on in a blurry, terror-filled haze, careful to tuck the panic button inside the shirt where he wouldn’t see it.
She didn’t know what else to do.
A bell dinged in the bedroom. The absurdly cheerful sound made her flinch.
Lester swore. She heard his footsteps stomp toward the bathroom and shuffled away from the sound on instinct.
He appeared in the doorway, all fury and frustration.
“Come with me.” Lester grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him. His grip was so tight she thought the bones in her arm would break.
“My shoes.” She tried to drag her feet, but it was pointless. He was too big. She couldn’t slow him down.
He shook her arm. “Leave them.”
She tried to grab the chair in the living room as they stormed past it, but missed.
He slammed her into the wall beside the front door. It shook with the force of her body. “Keep quiet and move.”
He flung the door open and pushed her through. She stumbled. Something sharp cut into her bare feet, and she cried out in pain. She had enough time to register that she wasn’t outside as she’d expected to be, but in an enormous space with metal walls and movie-set spotlights. Then Lester was dragging her toward a big black truck a few feet away, the kind with intimidating-looking bars along the front.
She didn’t want to get in that truck.
Her protest started in the back of her throat and grew until it echoed off the metal walls. “No, no, no, no!”
“Get in the damn truck.” Lester picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. Air whooshed out of her.
“No!” Della kicked and wiggled, trying to escape his grasp. “No! No! No!”
None of her self-defense classes had prepared her for this. She couldn’t break his hold. She flailed and kicked and scratched, but she might as well have been a fly attacking a big dog.
The lights went out.
“Fuck!” Lester hissed as he rushed forward in the darkness.
He fumbled with something…a door…and a light flared. It had to be inside the cab of the truck.
He threw her inside. Her head hit the top of the doorframe on the way in, and for a second all she saw were lightning bolts of pain.
Metal screeched and screamed over Lester’s shoulder.
Lester whipped around.
Della kicked him, hard.
He stumbled, and she scrambled out, head ringing.
She knew—absolutely knew—who it had to be. Hope exploded in her chest, pushing out the pain. She sucked in a deep breath and screamed, “Ward!”