Chapter Five
What the hell…
My head throbs as my eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim lighting around me. My neck aches as I lift my head, cramping from the weight of my skull hanging, my chin resting against my chest. I wince as I straighten it, taking a ragged breath. I blink, and as my vision clears, I realize I’m sitting in a chair, bound to it.
I search the room around me, the haze keeping the panic at bay. It looks like I’m in some sort of studio apartment? Only, it’s missing windows. There’s none in my viewing range, and the place is bare. Nothing hangs on the putrid dark green walls, illuminated by a warm glowing lamp. It’s musky, and the air is stale.
For a few moments, I wonder how I got here, but then my memory returns. I should be dead. I take another deep, pained breath, my lungs burning. Where is he? The man with the creepy-ass mask and leather strap? Is he holding me for ransom?
It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened in my family. My grandmother loved to tell the story of the time she was kidnapped in the seventies, held until her parents paid an overwhelming price of fifty-thousand dollars. I don’t know what that would amount to in the present day, but it doesn’t really matter. The only person with access to my inheritance is, well, me.
And who will even know I’m gone? Kyle?
I nearly laugh aloud, shaking my head. If I have to rely on my divorce attorney to report me missing, I might be in for a long wait. I avoid his calls more often than not—and then there’s Lydia. She might notice. No, she will notice, but I don’t know how long it will take. I haven’t been great with communication lately.
Ugh. I should’ve done better. I should’ve called her more. Tears well up in my eyes as the realization hits. No one will miss me for a long time—and it’s my own fault. I’ve been shutting people out for the last five years since I lost my mom.
That’s why Jared cheated. The intrusive thought takes hold and I blow out a sharp breath. I know it’s the truth. My fucking therapist even said it was. I’ve been difficult since I lost my mom, but I didn’t know how to function without her…And I still don’t.
Thuds above my head draw me from my thoughts, and I gaze upward, taking in the steel floor beams above me. I’m in a basement.
“Okay,” I breathe out in a whisper. “Better than a shallow grave somewhere.” Maybe. I still don’t know what the guy wants from me—other than to kill me. He didn’t make good on that though.
I shift in the chair, glancing down at my bare legs, covered in scrapes, bruises, and dried blood. My feet instantly begin to throb, and as I wiggle my toes, I whimper. The glass shards are more than likely still there.
The sound of laughter erupting above, muffled by the floor, jars me. Even dampened, I still recognize it. A shudder rolls down my spine, but my mind quickly reminds me of the way he touched me—and the excitement returns.
Gross. Stop it, I think, like somehow my body will obey. The thud of footsteps return, and I follow the sound over my head, my eyes following it until it grows distant somewhere in front of me. I sigh, wondering how long I’ll have to sit here.
But my question is answered by the sound of a door unlocking.
Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. I straighten up, a dose of panic finally showing up in the form of an unsteady heartbeat. The creak of hinges pierce the silence, and the thud of heavy footsteps come soon after.
I try to breathe as a figure steps out from the stairwell. I know it’s him based on the build and the freakish mask. Though, I have to admit his build is rock solid, and the tattoo on his neck is now visible. A skull, wrapped with a snake peers back at me.
“So, you’re awake, Little Red.” His dark, deep voice rasps from behind the mask.
I stare at him as he stalks toward me, and it’s then I see his gloved hand wrapped around a small black duffel bag. His other holds some sort of bowl. I want to ask what the hell he’s going to do with it all, but I remain silent, my mouth feeling as though it’s full of cotton.
He’s not wearing a hoodie, and I rake my eyes over his thick, bulky biceps covered in more ink. His white T-shirt is tight, accentuating the muscles beneath it. His black jeans fit his quads as well, and I realize if it comes down to brute strength I’ll be dead in a matter of seconds.
“I’d tell you to wipe the drool from your mouth, but that might be a little difficult,” he antagonizes me, dropping the black bag at my feet. Still, embarrassment floods my cheeks, and I know my entire face is probably beet red.
“What’re you going to do?” I croak as he looms over me, the scent of his cologne reminding me once again of the ecstasy he brought to me in the woods.
He doesn’t answer, dropping to his knees in front of me. “I don’t like filthy women.” Reaching into the bowl, he pulls out a towel, ringing out the excess water. I can’t help but snort in response. He pauses, looking up at me. “Something funny, Little Red?”
I shake my head. “Not at all…” Asshole.
He lets out a heavy sigh and runs the towel over the top of my thighs, more gently than I expected him to. I shiver at the damp warmth spreading across my skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I long to wrap my arms around myself, and as I tug against the restraints, pain sears through my shoulder blade.
“Can’t you just let my arms free for a while?”
He doesn’t respond, continuing to wipe away the blood and dirt from my legs. It stings as he crosses deeper cuts, and I catch my breath, tensing my body. I take in the black material covering his head, attached to the mask. It’s impossible to make out any details about him. I don’t know the color of his hair or eyes, but based on his olive complexion, I would guess he had dark hair. Maybe dark eyes, too.
“If you’re not showing me your face, does that mean you’re going to let me go?” My question is stupid, I know, but as he works past my knees, the pain intensifies, and I need a distraction. There’s more damage done to my shins and calves.
“You talk too much,” he grunts.
I frown. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” I swallow the knot in my throat, thinking back to Jared. Back when we first got together, I was a different person. I was bubbly and outgoing. He always told me that I talked too much—and that he loved it.
Just not enough to stay out of his secretary’s vagina.
Masked Man pauses as he reaches my left ankle, tossing the rag back into the bowl. My gaze follows his movements as he reaches into the black duffel bag and pulls out a pair of pliers. I freeze, my mind recalling the time I read about a mafia guy plucking the fingers off someone using a pair of those…
But instead, he cuts the zip ties binding my ankles.
I sit still for just a moment, the thought of kicking him in the face crossing my mind. However, I’m still bound to the chair by my wrists, and I don’t think I could get very far dragging it with me.
“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing my ankle and lifting my foot into the air. “Stupid girl.”
I raise my brows. “Excuse me?”
His shoulders rise and then fall. “You shouldn’t have run into all that glass.”
“And you shouldn’t have chased me into the woods, kidnapped me, and then tied me to a chair.”
He chuckles. “Alright.” He drops the pliers and fishes out a pair of needle nose tweezers. “This is going to take a while.”
“Well, it’s not like I have anything to do,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Except try to avoid my death, I guess.”
“Hmm.” He holds my foot out as he begins to dig out the shards, and I wince as he works.
“My grandma was kidnapped for ransom in the seventies,” I tell him, desperate to make myself into a human being. “They asked fifty thousand for her.”
“Wow,” he says flatly.
“Yeah, she used to tell me the story when I was a kid. She always said to keep an account with easy access in case it ever happened to me. So, I can pay you.”
“I don’t need you to pay me.”
My heart sank. “But I can buy my freedom. I can pay you whatever you want.”
“Why? So you can go back to drinking a bottle of wine a night and sitting in your big house alone? Sounds like a hefty price to pay for being miserable.”
My cheeks flush with heat. “Fuck you.”
“You would’ve liked to,” he snaps back, digging into the ball of my foot. I yelp out in pain, my foot kicking forward out of reflex. His grip tightens painfully around my ankle, and he digs them in deeper.
“Stop!” I cry, trying to break my foot free from his grip.
“Don’t try to fucking kick me then,” he growls. “Just shut up and let me finish this. You’re not going to talk your way out of anything. Not worth the effort to try. You’re going to die whether or not you run your mouth.”
“Well then, I guess I should go out being as annoying as possible,” I snap, glaring down at him. He tilts his head upward slightly, and I’m certain that if he didn’t have on a mask, I’d be looking him dead in the eye.
“Your existence at this point is annoying enough.”
My jaw drops. “You act like you know me.”
He shakes his head, going back to plucking glass from my feet. “I know you drink too much. I know you never go outside. I know you come from a wealthy family, and you’re the last one alive—unless your estranged husband counts—but he doesn’t, does he?”
The mention of Jared makes my stomach sick. “Do you know him? Are you doing this to scare me?”
He grabs a tube of what I think is Neosporin and covers the bottom of my foot with it. “I don’t know him, no. But I know he must’ve been something else to put up with you.”
That hurts, pain reaching in deep into my insecurities and twisting at my heart. I blink back the tears and look away.
“Can dish it out, but can’t take it, huh?” He laughs nefariously and starts on my other foot, plucking with much less gentleness.
I don’t answer him, choosing silence as I grit my teeth. I endure the next few minutes of agony, refusing to look down at the man in the mask. Instead, I find a spot on the bare wall, staring at it until my vision blurs. Whoever my captor is, he knows enough about me to hit me where it hurts…
Or at least, that’s how it appears.
But I can be strong. He might think I’m weak because I drink too much wine and spend too much time inside, but that’s just an assumption. I’m broken, sure, but we all are—and the longer I’m bound to this chair, the more I realize I’m not going to die like this. I’ve learned to bend and flex when needed, and if there’s one thing I’m good at…
It’s surviving. Because God knows I wasn”t ever thriving.
He cleans up the rest of my other foot and then stands to his feet, towering over me. He’s intimidating, but there’s something in his demeanor that strikes me as being uncertain—like he’s not sure what he’s doing. I latch onto that as I watch him walk away. He might be able to exert my weaknesses, but I’ll figure out how to do the same to him.