Chapter 33
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
I blink hard, praying this is a nightmare, that I’m seeing things because of the sedative, but I know better. He saw my neck tattoo the moment we met. He’s known all along that I was running from them.
I stare at the tattoo like I might be able to change it until he puts another shirt on and turns out the bathroom light.
My eyes close and I do my best to keep my breathing even while panic thrashes in my chest. The other side of the bed dips slightly and I have to force every muscle in my body not to tense.
It feels like he’s staring at me. That could be my imagination because there’s no way to know without opening my eyes and I can’t risk it. With my insides trembling, I count in my head, trying to calm myself as well as get an idea of how much time is passing. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen.
At twenty minutes, he begins to snore lightly. After another five minutes, I can’t bear it anymore and open my eyes. His back is facing me. That’s a relief.
I can’t wrap my head around it. I wasn’t rescued from the storm by a lonely, psychotic man who doesn’t want me to leave.
He’s a Guardian of His Natural Order. From a different sect, obviously, but he would definitely know what my tattoo means.
He has to know I’m marked as withered and belong to the cult.
He may not know which sect since it appears there are more of them than I thought. I’ve never heard any talk of one in Kentucky, but I didn’t know about the one in Iowa until they joined us. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find out which one I’m from with a few phone calls.
Has he already made those calls? Did he do it the day I showed up before the phones went down?
The worst case scenario is that he knows where I’m from and he’s holding me for them. Or that he plans to figure out where I’m from and return me. Either way, I end up killed by Hearth and Vine.
Another likely scenario is that he knows since I’m an escapee, there’s no family or friends looking for me. He can keep me for himself for sex or whatever he pleases. One thing I know about the stewards and governors is they always put themselves first if they can get away with it.
I think about how nice he’s been, not hurting me even when I know I pissed him off.
It feels like he wants me to like him for some reason.
It doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me, but maybe he hopes he can condition me to stay and serve him.
As a male member, he’d definitely be confident that he could do that.
Haven’t they done it to plenty of women?
As horrific as it is, being kept by him is my better option for now.
If I can survive long enough, I still have a chance to escape from here.
If Keeper or the governors from Hearth and Vine show up, it’s over.
I need to convince him I want to be here before the phones come back on.
If he hasn’t called them, maybe he won’t.
Other things begin to make more sense as I consider them.
Another woman is being held in the next room.
Is she his wife? Wives are usually allowed to have one mirror in the bathroom, and he’s taken them all down.
I think about the nice women’s clothing in the closet, which is far better than what wives are given at Hearth and Vine.
Are wives treated better in his sect? Then why is she locked away?
Maybe she’s a servant who displeased him.
I don’t know. I don’t know what he plans to do. I don’t know what I should do.
I spend most of the night weighing my options and arguing with myself. Finally, I have to accept that I can’t be sure what his plan is. All I can do is come up with one of my own.
By the time he wakes up, I’ve made my choice.
He rolls over and blinks when he sees me staring at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Starving,” I add.
“Me too,” he chirps, and hops out of bed.
“Want me to cook breakfast?”
He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at me, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “How about cereal?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I quip with a shrug. “Can I have some coffee?”
“Absolutely.”
He goes to the kitchen and brings our coffee, then returns again with a tray holding our breakfast. He frees my hands, sets the tray over my lap, pours us both a bowl, then takes a seat in the recliner.
“The power is back on,” I remark, before taking a bite.
He nods and swallows. “It popped back on late last night. Phone and cable are still out.”
We don’t talk much as we finish eating but he doesn’t seem angry. Once I’m done, I set the tray aside and look him in the eye.
“Alex, I’m sorry for yesterday. For throwing the food and…everything.” Yeah, we’ll just let everything take the place of admitting I was looking for a knife to kill him.
A soft smile grows on his face, and he leans over to put his hand on mine. “It’s okay. I know this is difficult.”
I swallow hard, keeping my gaze locked on his. “Please, don’t give me back to them. I can do better. I promise.” I flip my hand over, interlacing our fingers.
He stills and stares at me like he’s not sure what to say.
“I know you recognize my tattoo,” I mumble, looking away from him. “Please don’t send me back.”
His hand releases mine and he reaches to trace a fingertip over the ink on my neck. “I’m not sending you to anyone. You’re mine.”
A shiver of revulsion runs through me, but I force myself to look him in the face. He seems pleased with my silent nod. Groveling and submission, that’s what they always want.
With a wince, I put my hand on my stomach. “I’m sorry. That coffee hit my stomach like a brick. I need the bathroom.”
“It was a little strong,” he says, and moves to unbuckle one of my ankles.
“Please hurry,” I whimper. “I’m going to have an accident.”
As soon as the other ankle is free, I’m on my feet, bending over slightly while I hold my stomach.
He starts toward me to help, and I take two running steps at him, dipping lower.
It takes every ounce of strength I can muster to slam into him, ramming him in the abdomen as hard as I can with my shoulder.
He’s completely caught off guard, but he’s too heavy, and I only manage to knock him off balance, not tackle him.
He takes a stumbling step back until his ankle hits Clover, sending him falling backward.
His head bounces off the side of the dresser as he lands on his back.
It happens so fast. I’m shocked that it worked but I’m far from safe.
I run past him and scream, jerking my leg when he grabs my ankle. Clover barks, then lets out a deep growl that sounds odd coming from such a sweet dog. She snaps at his hand, and I see a little blood as he releases me.
“Clover! Damn it, I’m not hurting her!” he shouts.
He’s not going to get the chance to either. Now free, I dart through the bedroom door and into the hall. I have to get to the kitchen and find a weapon. After days of sedation and being confined to bed, I’m not at my strongest, but I’m at my most desperate and that’s enough.
I tear down the hallway, my palm landing on the wall to keep my balance. Halfway through the living room, the sound of the bedroom door slamming is followed by Clover’s muffled bark. Nothing exists but adrenaline and terror. He’s going to catch me.
My bare foot snags on the leg of the coffee table, yanking my little toe back so hard I feel it pop.
The pain comes from a mile away and doesn’t slow me down even though I hear myself cry out.
I make it into the kitchen where the block of knives sit on the counter.
One of my fears was that he might’ve put away anything dangerous, but of course he never thought I’d escape his bed.
Hands land on my waist to pull me back at the same time I yank a knife from the block.
Spinning around in place, I thrust it forward as hard as I can.
The blade sinks in deep but not easily, and my hand slips forward off the handle.
It slices across my palm and three of my fingers, but I barely feel it.
Alex freezes, his mouth open and eyes wide.
He looks down at the knife between us, still sticking out of his abdomen.
One thing I learned from reading over the years is that it isn’t the blade going in that ultimately kills someone.
If you want them to bleed out, you can’t leave the knife in.
Looking him in the eye, I jerk it back out. Besides, I might need it again.
He slaps his hand over the gushing wound and sits down heavily on the tile.
“I’m not yours, you piece of shit.”
When he scoots back to lean against the wall, I rush out into the living room, taking the knife with me. His keys sit on the end table. Snatching them up, I start trying them in the locked door beside his bedroom. I’m getting us both out of here.
There are only three keys on the ring to try, but my hands tremble, and I keep looking to make sure he isn’t coming after me. The last key turns and I push the door open, stepping inside.
He said this room was an office, and I pictured a bedroom with another victim tied up. It’s neither. The room is stacked with boxes and some unfamiliar looking electronics. A storage room? I search frantically, but it’s clear there’s no one in here. Whoever was crying is gone. I’m too late.
A scuffling sound gets me moving again. It sounds like he’s trying to get up. Keeping the keys, I dart out the front door to his truck. No running on foot this time. The engine starts right up, and I steer it down the driveway, only glancing back when I get to the road.
The house stares back, unassuming and beautiful in the morning sunlight. No one would ever guess what’s happening inside. The phones are out and I’ve taken his vehicle. He’ll bleed to death before he can get help.
I’ve left two bodies in my wake now. I’ll leave a pile of them if it gets help to Troy in time.
The road has been plowed, and pavement shows through in patches.
The drive to the county road only takes a few minutes.
It isn’t until I turn onto it that I realize I’m shivering so hard that my teeth are chattering and turn on the heater full blast. If Alex is part of the cult, I can’t trust local police aren’t involved here too.
I’ll have to get farther away before asking for help.
Barefooted and in nothing but pajamas, I drive toward the highway.