Chapter 31 Louise
LOUISE
The flashlight—the only light I had—dimmed to a dull, flickering orange somewhere between the third and fourth hour of being trapped inside the hidden room. I figured I had maybe one more hour before it gave out completely, leaving me in absolute darkness.
I hadn’t wet myself. Yet. That miraculous display of restraint had maybe another hour in it, too.
I still had oxygen—or I thought I did. But the more I thought about it, the more I questioned whether that was actually a good thing.
Was it better to slowly suffocate into unconsciousness…
or to be found by the man I now believed might strangle me with his bare hands?
I’d had three full-blown panic attacks. The kind that make your vision swim and your limbs go numb. The kind where you’re so terrified, so convinced of your own impending death, that you start rehearsing final words in your head—though no one will ever hear them.
It felt like waiting on death row.
Somewhere in the blur of hours, I’d abandoned the gut feeling that Ryder wasn’t a monster. Fear had taken over, sinking its teeth into my rational mind. I convinced myself that I’d been wrong. That Ryder T. Jagger was Kara’s killer. That he was the infamous String Strangler.
Maybe that was why he’d helped me. Maybe I wasn’t his first stray. Maybe I was just… next.
But then a different thought crept in. One that chilled me even deeper than the air around me.
Perhaps he preyed on young, helpless victims. Was that why he offered to help me? Was he only waiting for the right time to strike?
Then a more unsettling thought crossed my mind.
Maybe this was really all my fault. Maybe I was the kind of woman who did this to herself. Who broke into a stranger’s house. Who ignored every red flag and followed shadows because they offered warmth.
Maybe my death wouldn’t be because of him. Maybe it would be because of me. Because of how incredibly irresponsible I was.
I thought about my life. About the string of impulsive, shortsighted decisions that had led me here.
I thought about the fact that I was thirty-one, broke, aimless, and sitting in a secret safe room inside a convicted killer’s hidden lair, holding a loaded pistol and wondering if I’d ever see daylight again.
And part of me wasn’t even surprised. Isn’t that sad?
I’d never fired a gun before, so I studied his arsenal.
Rifles, handguns, one that looked like something out of a spy movie with custom sights and a terrifying amount of weight.
Then I fiddled with bullets, figuring out how to load each gun, assuming I was doing it correctly.
I picked the smallest pistol with the biggest rounds, hoping that size didn’t matter when it came to shooting a man in the face.
I wondered how many men, or women, Ryder had killed with these guns.
I couldn’t bring myself to open more folders. I’d seen enough. Enough to know that Ryder Jagger was not who he pretended to be. He was a man of many names, many lives—and too many secrets.
Suddenly—
A faint sound. Books shifting outside the hidden door.
My head snapped toward the muffled noise, every muscle coiled. My pulse shot through my veins like fire.
He’d found me.
It was time.
I whimpered, blinking away the tears threatening to creep up. Not tears of sadness… tears of terror.
The String Strangler had found me.
I gripped the gun I’d chosen for our reunion, a small pistol with big bullets. It was the only gun I felt like I could manage. Aiming at the door, I silently asked for forgiveness for my sins.
After a faint click the door slowly opened.
“Stop.” My voice shook along with the barrel I had pointed at Ryder’s face.