Chapter Nine
Thank you.
Even with the mask, I could tell the words affected him. I don’t know why, and as I stare at the empty plate of food, half wondering if it’s going to kill me, I ponder the reasons. Then again, there could be none at all. Maybe he’s just getting tired of me. Hell, I get tired of me pretty quickly, too.
I take a deep breath and scan the room. I don’t think the guy will be back—if he’s even left, but I do know I’m going to need the bathroom sooner rather than later. There’s no way I’ll be able to reach it with the chain around my ankle.
“Wait,” I call after him, not having heard the basement door shut yet. There’s no reply, and he doesn’t reappear, and so maybe in the middle of eating, I missed it. “I can’t reach the bathroom.” I almost throw out a plea, but the heavy sigh from him is enough. And just when I think he’s coming back, the basement door slams.
What the hell? So me thanking him pissed him off? I breathe out in irritation, feeling the urge to cry. After everything that had happened with Jared, I had rarely shed a tear, but this lunatic locks me in his basement and I’m nothing but waterworks. Ugh.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling beams above me. Would the guy still have chased me and taken me if I had let Jared in? I consider the thought, wondering if Jared would’ve been a buffer of some sort… Or if the big bad wolf, as he called himself in the woods, would’ve just killed my husband, too.
Almost ex-husband.
I roll onto my side, trying to tuck my leg underneath me, but I can’t, the chain hitting its limit. I let out a frustrated groan and tug at the quilt, pulling it up to my chin. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the scent of the blanket brings some sort of comfort. It reminds me of a familiar woodsy scent, and while I know the psycho holding me here smells similar, this time it draws me into my past.
I shut my eyes and let myself mentally escape, going back to a time when I was a kid, running loose on my parents’ estate in Vermont. The horses, who dotted the lush fields in color, provided me a way to feel like I could escape. I didn’t excel in the show ring, much to my mother’s dismay, but I loved galloping down the trails, breathing in the fresh forest air. I”d pretend like I was a royal, running away from the oppressive castle and its evil occupants. It never lasted, but it helped me forget how toxic my father’s drinking habits were.
The man blew through money on alcohol, and then subsequently medical bills. My mother had married into his wealth, and never complained about shielding me from his drunken rage—though in hindsight, I always wonder what she dealt with behind closed doors. He never touched either of us, but he’d shout and curse, his anger echoing through the halls of the house.
Until they suddenly didn’t.
My stomach tightens at the memory; my mother running down the hallway with wide eyes, turning me around and pushing me toward the door. I remember her screaming for someone to call for an ambulance, but I didn’t know what happened to him until a police officer slipped up and mentioned the noose.
But despite my father’s inability to cope with life, my mom seemed to change for the better. She inherited his fortune after my grandmother passed, and then she sold the place in Vermont. We moved to Georgia, where she was from.
And that’s when I met Jared.
Yuck. I pull myself from my memories. Everything with Jared was picture perfect, and it would only cause my heart to ache with grief and regret from my own changes. I roll onto my back and open my eyes.
My heart thumps unevenly as I register the surrounding darkness. Where did the lights go? I stare into the pitch black as I try to calm my nerves. Why would he turn off the lights like this? Is this how he’s going to kill me? Sneak up on me in the darkness?
I wrap my arms around myself, trying not to dive headfirst into a panic attack. I force deep, even breaths as the basement door creaks.
No, no… Please don’t kill me like this.
But then again, maybe it would be better to die in the dark. I tune my ears into the silence, picking up the gentle thump of his shoes. I think of the glowing eyes on his mask and shudder. I turn my head in the direction he’s coming from, expecting to see the blue neon x’s…
But there’s nothing—other than his footsteps of course.
Panic rages inside of me. I’m going to fight him. I will, even if I die trying. As he approaches the bed, my heart pounds harder than ever, rattling my entire body. I can smell him, his cologne lingering in the blackness as he leans forward. I brace.
The quilt rips off my body.
I shiver violently, holding my breath. What’s he going to do? The answer comes in a brush of contact against my calf, his fingertips like fire on my skin. Goosebumps follow his trailing hand, until he reaches the cuff.
Is he…
The cuff clicks and he removes it. I’m free. But…
“Why are the lights off?” I squeak out, sounding as terrified as I feel.
He chuckles. “Because I can’t let you have power down here. You might get creative with the appliances or something. I’ll turn on the stairwell light when I leave.”
I swallow hard, giving into the dare. “Why isn’t it on now?”
“Because then you might have to look into the face of the devil, Little Red.” His voice draws arousal from deep in my core, and I find myself ashamed of my reaction… But also, so incredibly intrigued by the man behind the mask.
I sit up on the bed, still feeling his presence close enough that I could reach out and touch him. A charged silence grows between us, and I don’t know if it’s the lure of attraction or just the dangerous darkness causing it. His shoes slide on the concrete, and I reach out, my fingers connecting with his bare arm. It’s the first time I’ve touched him on my own accord, and he draws a sharp breath.
“What’re you doing, Emma?” His tone is strained, sounding almost pained that I’m touching him. I expect him to pull away from my grasp, but he doesn’t—and I don’t either.
“Why are you keeping me here?”
“Because I have to kill you,” he answers flatly. “That’s why.”
“So, it’s not a ransom?” I can’t help but throw the question out there. I know it’s already been answered once, but deep down there’s still a part of me hoping for the best-case scenario.
He hesitates, leaning into my grip. “No, it’s not a ransom.”
“Why are you going to kill me then?” I pull at him, the gesture seeming less bold in the darkness. He gives to the tug, and before I can process it, his hand is threaded through my hair, and I feel something brush across my nose.
Now I can really smell him and feel the heat of his breath on my face. My captor is fucking inches from me, and I can’t see him in the blackness. An unsteady excitement pulses through my body, and without thinking, yet again, I reach up, feeling the face of the man who calls himself the big bad wolf and devil. My fingertips run along a sharp jaw, stubble tickling my touch.
“You’re making a mistake,” he growls, tightening his grip on my hair. “You’re not going to get what you want from me—and you’re not going to seduce your way to freedom.” He says them like they’re two different things…
But are they two different things? What I want from him and my freedom?
The ache between my legs says so. I shift on the bed, already squirming without him laying a hand on my body. It’s borderline embarrassing. Is this what Stockholm Syndrome feels like?
I trail my fingers to his lips, feeling the soft flesh of his bottom lip. “You didn’t answer my question, Devil.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Why? I think the least you could give me is the truth as to why you’ve chosen to kill me. I don’t stand out from the crowd, and if it’s about the money… You can get that from me without killing me. I haven’t seen you. I don’t know where we are.” I list the reasons, trying to make sense of them, all the while feeling the warmth of his breath.
“I don’t have the truth,” he rasps, a husky grovel in his voice as his lips move against my fingers. “But I’m going to kill you, Emma. There’s no question about it. I always finish what I start.”
I nod, feeling hot tears well up in my eyes. “Okay.” I drop my hand, disappointment heavier than fear. Whatever the tension in the air is that I feel, it’s not something he feels, too. I’d never kill someone that made me feel so… alive. But then again, maybe it’s the fact I”m flirting with my own death that”s got me feeling this way.
However, now that he’s answered the question, I know the bathroom window is my only shot at surviving this. No one else will ever know I’m gone. Not at this point anyway. I pull away from him, but his grip tightens in my hair.
“Let me go, or just fucking kill me already,” I snap at him, desperate to stop breathing in the same air as him. Surprisingly, he drops his hand away, freeing me from him. I roll away immediately, scooting until my back is against the wall, as far away as I can get in the moment.
His shadowy figure doesn’t move, and I can barely make him out in the darkness. “Who kidnapped your grandmother?”
I blink a couple of times. I guess he paid more attention than I thought, though the question was strange. “Um, some mobster… I can’t remember his name. They gave him the money and he went away.”
“What was your grandmother’s name?”
I shift on the bed. “Shouldn’t you know this?”
Silence.
“Eleanore Nightingale,” I finally answer anyway. “I don’t remember the year it happened. I just know that it was after my father was born.”
“And your father is dead now?”
Well, he’s not one to beat around the bush.
“He killed himself when I was fourteen,” I say blankly, staring at the dark figure. “My mother passed away a few years ago. She was sick.”
“So you’re alone?”
I wipe the tears from under my eyes, thankful for the cover of the darkness. “Yeah. I’m alone. No one will know I’m gone.”
He sighs. “I will.”
Of course, adding a part of me to your fucking trophy closet in celebration afterward, probably.
I let the sob slip on accident as he drifts away, and I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle it, embarrassed. A breakdown was bound to find me, but it feels like letting him win again. I listen to the basement door slam closed with more force this time, and I wait a few more seconds before I lose it, crying uncontrollably. And it’s not because he wants to kill me. It’s the loneliness preceding my death, and the lack of life I lived.
If I can slip through that window, I’ll never shut the world out again.
I swear.