Chapter Six
The scrape of boots on the floor by my head snapped my eyes open even though I hadn’t been asleep.
“Get up,” Dawson ordered, kicking the mattress.
I’d been lying here straining for the sounds of anyone searching for me. For the thrum of a helicopter. People calling my name. The police. That’s what I really wanted—a police officer to show up at the door and rescue me from this nightmare. I was really hoping someone would’ve found me by now.
I didn’t want to talk to Dawson or even look at him, but I didn’t have any other choice. He hadn’t moved from his position above me. I stared at the floor while I tried to push myself up, but I couldn’t stand. Fear had turned all my muscles to mush.
“I said, get up!” He yanked me to my feet, making the world spin and move way too fast. His fingernails dug into my arm as he pulled me toward the door.
The gag around my mouth hung from my neck like a chain. I must’ve worked it off in my sleep. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.
He ignored me and kept dragging me across the cabin while I struggled against him.
But I was weak and he quickly overpowered me, twisting my arms behind my back.
He whipped open the door and shoved me outside.
The cold air slapped my face. Pine trees surrounded us.
He pulled me along in the direction of the truck.
“Where are we going? What are you doing?” I couldn’t hide the fear in my voice. I didn’t want to get back in that truck. But we weren’t going in there. He shoved me toward the back of the cabin.
It was hard to walk with my ankles tied together, and I tripped, sprawling onto my knees in the dirt.
Dawson bent over to grab me, and that’s when I saw the gun.
Something about the sight of it made everything focus, narrowing my vision to a pinpoint.
I could barely see through the throbbing pain and fireworks popping off in my brain, but seeing the gun was like a shot of Narcan straight to my heart.
This man might actually kill me.
He steered me away from the truck—it was definitely an LA city worker’s truck. The yellow sticker a telltale sign on both doors. Did he work for the city or had he stolen the truck the same way he’d stolen me?
We reached a clearing behind the cabin, and that’s when I spotted an orange Home Depot bucket sitting there in the dirt. He walked me over to it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. Fully aware of what we were doing out here now and what he expected to happen.
His shoulders stiffened, and he tilted his masked face toward me. “Sorry.” His voice was quiet. Nothing like his angry voice. He sounded . . . genuine. Almost apologetic. Like he knew exactly how humiliating this was and part of him wished he didn’t have to do it.
It threw me off balance.
I softened my eyes and tried to look kind as I looked up at him. “Why are you doing this?”
He just stared back at me and said nothing. The silence stretched out between us until I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he spoke softly, and it was barely audible. “It’s not about you.”
My heart skittered. Not about me. The words were supposed to be a relief, but they weren’t.
It was hard to believe it wasn’t when you were bound and gagged.
I took a shaky breath. “Please don’t hurt me.
I’m a good person. Really, I am. I have a dog.
Oliver. That’s his name. He’s like my child, I swear, and I’m all he has.
He probably misses me.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out.
“I just want to get back to him. Please.”
He shifted his weight. “Don’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it personal.” He was back to sounding angry again.
I swallowed and my pulse hammered. Maybe that was the key. He needed it impersonal and anonymous. It was easier for him to keep me a thing instead of a person that way, and much more difficult to hurt something that didn’t have any feelings.
“My name is Riley Fletcher. What’s yours?” I asked, even though I already knew. Maybe it was really going to be a good thing that I knew who he was.
He stiffened. I’d struck a nerve. I was definitely onto something. He stared at me through his hollowed, ski-masked eyes, and I held his gaze. The silence stretched between us as I stood awkwardly next to the bucket.
Finally, he muttered, “You need to go to the bathroom.”
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
His eyes glinted behind the fabric. For a second, I thought he might hit me. Instead, he shoved me hard toward the bucket. “Are you going to use that or not?” He pointed at it.
I staggered forward, nearly falling again. He stood watching me with his arms crossed against his chest and his fists clenched at his sides. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I tried to wiggle my running shorts down while I was still tied up.
I realized I was still wearing my running belt.
But that wasn’t the best part—there was a Kubotan tucked inside.
I never ran without it. Dawson didn’t know that I was wearing the belt.
It looked like part of my shorts because it was elastic and flat.
Just small enough to hold a couple of GUs, my Kubotan, and Advil.
I could probably use it to get out of my ties.
“Can you please turn around so I can have a bit of privacy?” I asked, adrenaline surging through me. “Can we at least try to make this a little less humiliating?”
He shook his head. “You already tried getting away once.”
“And look what happened,” I pointed out. “I’m in an even worse position now. Please, I have to go to the bathroom, like, really go to the bathroom, you know what I mean?” I shuffled side to side and tried to look uncomfortable.
He knew exactly what I was implying and didn’t seem to want to watch me poop any more than I wanted to do it in front of him, even though that’s not what I was doing. He tossed me a roll of toilet paper.
“Here,” he grunted. “Make it quick.”
My hands shook with the fear of getting caught, the moment he turned around. I reached behind me and fumbled awkwardly with the waistband of my belt. My fingers brushed the cool metal. Relief nearly knocked me flat.
The Kubotan.
Slim, black, and no bigger than a pen. It was sharp enough to punch straight through flesh if I needed it to. I’d carried it on every run for years. My little talisman against the monsters that lurked in dark trails and empty parks.
He had no idea it was there. The belt looked like nothing. It was practically part of my shorts, and he probably never considered there was anything in it. His back was still to me.
I eased it out, working it down into my bound hands. My pulse thundering in my ears.
Behind me, Dawson shifted his boots in the dirt. “Hurry up.”
I clenched the Kubotan tight and shoved it into the ties, hiding the long part with my fist. I just couldn’t drop it, no matter what. My knuckles whitened around it as I tugged my shorts back into place.
“I’m done,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
He turned around. His eyes were impossible to read behind the mask, but his body looked less rigid.
He grabbed my arm and I didn’t fight him this time.
I staggered next to him, pretending to be upset and embarrassed, but underneath my exterior, excitement coursed like fire throughout my entire body.
Because for the first time since he’d taken me, I wasn’t completely powerless.
My first chance at freedom was hidden in my fist.