Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Madelyn
Apit forms in the bottom of my stomach. “How do you know my name?” My voice comes out shaking.
“A little birdie told me,” he says. I force myself to breathe as panic sets in.
He could either be one of Oliver's men and I neglected to realize it, or it's Jackson's twin’s hired help.
That's the only logical explanation, and the fact that he was sitting out here waiting for his opportune moment makes me want to throw up.
His face changes, as if calculating his next move. “It's slightly disappointing that luring you out here hasn't resulted in Jackson's presence. His twin misses him.”
There's my answer. It doesn't make me feel better in the slightest. "His twin doesn't need me to get Jackson's attention.
" I maneuver slightly so that my heels plant themselves in the dirt.
It's the grip I need in order to push my body away from Perkins.
This is a situation I need to get out of now.
The old man leans down so that his face and chest hover over my body. A small smirk appears. “See, that’s the problem. Jackson always needs a bit of persuasion, and his brother feels this is one of those times.”
My fingers grip against the mud and grass, hoping to escape this nightmare. "It isn't,” I whisper. I want so badly to tell him Jackson was on his way to fucking kill them all, but if I do that, it may mess Jackson’s plan up. Still, he shouldn’t be too much longer.
Perkins shrugs. "Not my call." He continues to hover as if waiting for my submission.
A cold sweat forms on my brow. There's no amount of talking or begging that will get me out of this. The only thing left is to run and hope I can make it back to the cabin. A distraction and a head start are the best I can hope for. Plus, the old bastard can't be that fast.
I situate myself to get a better view of the woods. “Jackson is coming,” I lie. Perkins falls for it and takes his attention off me. He turns toward the nearest treeline, searching. My legs push my body back enough to escape his immediate ability to snatch me back.
My nails dig into the ground as I crawl through mud, trying to get leverage.
“You bitch!” Perkins yells into the quiet dusk. I don't have to look back to know he's figured me out.
I force myself up, my feet finally hitting solid ground. It's now or never. I take off as fast as my burning muscles will allow.
My breathing becomes strained from effort and desperation. The cabin is still far away, but doable. I calculate I've made it halfway when I realize I don't hear Perkins at all. No footsteps, no heavy breathing, nor cursing. Maybe he's decided I'm not worth the effort after all.
I chance a look back, and that's when I realize just how na?ve I have been. Perkins has the fishing rod in hand, and the line is sailing straight at me.
I gasp and take off, only for Perkins to hit his target. The line hooks around my right leg, and I come crashing down to pain so terrible that light bursts behind my eyes.
A cry escapes my lips as my shaky hands find the source of the pain. Not only has the line wrapped itself around my calf, but Perkins also made sure his fishing hook did too. Not just any hook, but one with three metal prongs, all embedded in my skin.
“Fuck”, I cry out while my shaky hands try to detach both the hook and the line. Blood drips from the wound, making my attempts even more difficult. Whenever I pull the hook, my skin comes with it. I debate on yanking it off like a band-aid. That would certainly be better than getting caught.
“Don't do it, girl”! Perkins hobbles, closing the distance between me and freedom. Gone is the fishing pole. Instead, he now holds a spear with some type of four prong gaff hook on the end.
Grandpa taught me a lot of things about fishing, but probably one of the most important was don't fucking get pierced with one of those.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Band-Aid it is. My index finger and thumb wrap around the slippery hook and yank. I scream with as much strength as I can to pry the hook out of my leg. A bunch of skin goes with it, almost the size of my palm.
I gag at the sight, but refuse to let the disgust and pain keep me still. With leg limping, I force myself to flee.
Perkin’s wheezing breath is close. Too close for comfort. “Jackson's going to kill you,” I shout, thinking maybe that would be enough to make him reconsider.
A laugh catches up to me, the sound causing shivers down my spine. “We aren't worried about that wimp-ass son of a bitch.”
His hand grabs the ankle of my injured leg, and down I fall, face first in the grass. Perkins swings me around, allowing me to come face to face with his gaff hook. The prongs point at my forehead, and we are only a few inches apart.
My heart hammers so hard it hurts, along with the rest of me. Why hasn't Jackson come back? Maybe his words were bullshit after all, and this is his way to get rid of me.
Jamison wants to meet his brother’s latest obsession. Perkins moves the spear so that the tip of the gaff hook prongs touch my forehead. I cry out and try to use my hands to force it up.
“There's a lesson to be had today. Just because someone looks old doesn’t mean they are weak.” The old man doesn't change his hold in the slightest.
“Stop! Please,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from effort.
“Madelyn, I'd love too but you are making my job more difficult than it has to be. What can you do to remedy this?”
I force myself to swallow the bile in my throat. Waiting doesn't seem like an option anymore. With each passing minute, the pain in my leg gets worse. It's like a low-burning heat, working its way through where my flesh should be.
If I suffer more injuries, the likelihood of escape goes down to zero.
If I go now, I might have a chance. Still am I sick of these motherfucking bullies.
Clearly, Jackson is long gone. Going into another monster’s den is not something I want to live through.
Or, I should say, I won’t get to flee from.
This is my karma. I just didn't expect to get it so soon.
Tears form in my eyes as I look Perkins right in the face. “Kill me then,” I whisper. “Fucking do it. Jamison just needs my corpse to get Jackson's attention. If he even cares at all. I don't need to be alive.”
Perkins’ eyebrows furrow. “Oh, you naive girl.” He rotates his spear so that the handle is closer to my head than the hook.
“If it were only that easy.” The sound of air whooshing connects to my brain at the same time the handle of the spear hits my head.
I glance up at the dimming sky, stars dancing in my vision before my world turns black.