Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Eloise
Two hours…
I have no idea how long it’s been since that clock started. Seems like six hours, but I know that’s not true based on how high the sun is.
Pete keeps pacing. That’s all he does. Pace, mumble, swing that gun around, and glance at his phone. I have to assume his wife has not responded to his text. That means nothing.
There are so many possibilities. She could be on her way here now. She could have ignored his text and thrown her phone in the river. Perhaps she never saw the text at all.
Quite frankly, the worst possibility is that she called the cops and they’re about to storm into this house and save me. I’d rather take a bullet to the head than be rescued by the police. That’s a fate worse than death.
I’m scared out of my fucking mind. My thoughts are all over the place.
Now that time has gone by and I’ve had a chance to think, I’m beginning to hope the clock runs out and no one shows up.
I wouldn’t wish for his wife to trade her life for mine.
Not in a million years. She left him for a reason. He’s an unhinged lunatic.
Just because the time is up, it doesn’t necessarily mean he will kill me. He tied me to this chair to stage my predicament for his wife. He might have lied to her and me about killing me.
I really don’t want to die today. But I’m also tired. I’ve been on the run for six months. It’s no way to live. My money ran out a long time ago. I never stay anywhere very long. I find jobs in places like diners, work for a few weeks until I build up some cash, and then take off for the next town.
I’m exhausted. I’m out of steam and ideas.
Living on the run is harder than I imagined.
When I escaped my hellacious life, all I could think about was lying low and staying under the radar.
All I did was trade one problem for another.
Now I can’t sleep because I have to keep one eye open and look over my shoulder.
No matter what town I’m in or what diner I’m working at, I flinch every time the door opens, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin as I look at the door to make sure no one has found me.
It’s not rational. No one knows where I am.
I took very little with me. The clothes on my back, a few dollars, and a backpack that contains my few mementos.
When I got away, I was lucky. Someone helped me get to the bus station.
I bought my ticket with cash and headed as far away as possible.
Seattle. When I arrived, I bought my car at a used dealership, and I’ve been holding it together with duct tape ever since.
Ha. Duct tape. That’s what’s keeping me from telling this asshole to go fuck himself. I’d almost like to beg him to shoot me and put me out of my misery.
But I’m not quite that desperate yet. I want to live. I pull my shoulders back and stare at Pete. Maybe that’s not even his real name, but it’s all I have.
I flinch when he looks at his phone again and cusses.
He lifts his head to look at me and narrows his gaze.
“You bitches are all the same. You think you’re so fucking important, but you’re not.
You’re just cunts who don’t know your place.
Can’t even keep the fucking house clean and get dinner on the table on time. ”
I inhale sharply as he stomps closer to me and leans in.
Spittle comes out of his mouth to spray my face as he continues his rant as though I’ve personally failed him. Does he think it’s a lecture I’ve never heard before? Because it’s not. I could write a book on this topic.
“Where’s my fucking dinner, Eloise?”
“Why are there dirty dishes in the sink?”
“Where are my favorite shirts?”
“Couldn’t you at least manage to get the laundry put away?”
“Have you never used a fucking stove before?”
“I’ve shown you ten times how to fold my damn socks. It’s a mess in this drawer. Were you raised in a barn?”
There’s nothing Pete can say that will shock me. I’ve heard it all a hundred times. But he keeps talking anyway. “You better start praying, Eloise, because when the time runs out, you’re dead.”
My eyes widen. Why the fuck would he have to kill me just because his wife doesn’t show up?
I don’t have a damn thing to do with his beef with her.
If my mouth wasn’t covered, I would try to negotiate with him.
Maybe if I agreed to get dinner ready or fold his clothes, he would let me live another day.
Maybe I could sweet-talk my way into his world until he let his guard down.
I could make a run for it at the first opportunity.
That’s not going to happen with the duct tape on my mouth, though.
Pete cackles. The sound raises the hairs on my neck.
“My fucking wife probably thinks I’m bluffing, and it’s just your damn bad luck that you’re the first bitch I’ve brought back here to lure her home.
Bitch has a fucking soft heart. So I’ll have no choice but to kill you.
I need to send her the pictures so she learns a lesson.
How many women do you think she’ll let me murder before she comes crawling back?
One? Two? Three? She’s too much of a sniveling cunt to let me slit the throats of very many. ”
I gasp behind the tape. He plans to slit my throat? Jesus. The gun would be much faster. Tears run down my cheeks again. I can’t stop them. I’m panicking.
He laughs. “Yeah, I’ll make sure you’re scared when I get ready to do it.
Perhaps I’ll set my phone up and make a video.
That will be more effective. Don’t worry.
I’ll sharpen the blade so you’ll hardly feel it.
My wife will be horrified when she watches the blood drain out of your neck.
I’m sure it’s a fairly quick way to die, though. Don’t you think?”
Pete rises and starts pacing again.
I struggle against the ropes all over again.
I wish I were stronger. I wish I could ignore his words and not let them affect me.
He’s trying to terrorize me, and it’s working.
I rock the chair forward and backward and then from side to side.
We’ve reached the stage in this scenario when it doesn’t matter if I get injured falling on my head, face, or shoulder.
Pete spins around and holds his gun up again, aiming it at my head. “Sit still, you fucking bitch. I will shoot you if you keep up that racket. Do you think I give a fuck if you die?”
I stop moving completely. My heart is racing. My vision is blurry from the tears. Snot is running down my face again. I might die of fright and save him the effort.
He resumes his pacing, in and out of the kitchen. I can see most of him through the archway at all times. Even if I couldn’t, how would that help? Falling over onto the floor won’t cause me to be suddenly untied. It would just injure me.
Suddenly, there’s a blur of movement. I gasp as it all happens at once. The front door opens, followed by two men entering the house. Someone rushes in from my left, and someone comes from behind me.
Four men come out of nowhere.
It takes them about three seconds to pin Pete to the floor and secure him with zip ties. One of the men puts a foot in the middle of his back.
Pete starts shouting, “What the fuck? Get the fuck off me. Who the fuck are you?”
Someone grabs the duct tape from the kitchen table and uses it on Pete, wrapping it around his entire head.
My heart pounds. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Who are these guys? SWAT or something else? I don’t see anything to indicate they are with the police. No badges. No logos. Nothing.
One of the men squats in front of me. “I’m going to take this tape off your mouth.” He reaches for the edge and slowly peels it back while another man cuts away at the ropes around my wrists.
The moment the tape is gone, I gasp for oxygen. My arms and legs are free a few seconds later, and I slump forward, unable to support my own weight.
The man in front of me catches me and pulls me against his chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
I’m shaking so badly I can’t pull myself off this man. “Are you with the police?” I manage to ask.
“No, angel. We’re with a private agency. You’re safe.” He stands, helping me to my feet at the same time. “I’ve got you.”
“He was going to kill me. He said so. How did you find me?” I wail. My panic hasn’t ended. Who are these guys? There’s a good chance I’m not one bit safer now that they’ve rescued me.
The man holding me is muscular and huge. When I sway, he easily lifts me off my feet and cradles me in his arms. He holds me protectively, even covering my eyes until he carries me out the back door, presumably to keep me from seeing one more second of the action.
I struggle. “I’m good now,” I argue. “Put me down.”
He tips his head to frown at me. “Angel, you’ve been through hell. You can barely stand up. Let me get you out of here.”
I panic further and look around as he hurries through the backyard and into the tree line. What the hell? My panic resumes full force. “Where are you taking me? Who are you?” I try to get free of him, but I’m too weak and tired. So drained that I can hardly hold my head up, let alone walk or run.
“My name’s Cannon, and I’m taking you to my SUV. It’s hidden a few houses from here. I promise you’re safe with me.”
Those words are like cold water doused on my face. “No. God, no. Let me go. Please.” I’m wailing again.
Cannon pulls me closer to his chest so my face presses against his neck and runs with me.
Ohgodohgodohgod. What I have now is a new captor.
Why? I don’t have the energy to fight him off, so I go limp in his arms. I’m running out of will.
Even if I managed to get away from him, I would likely stumble and land on my face.
There’s no way I could run for help. Any possible adrenaline rush I might have had is zapped. I’m out of steam.