How much did I want my freedom?
Enough to fight a man I’d come to care about? Enough to break my promise to him not to flee in exchange for the places he showed me? As wonderful as these weeks had been, I was still his prisoner. I’d been given toys for my cage, been taken on walks to sniff around, but in the end I was put away at night on the mattress in his truck where he used me for his pleasure—and for mine.
Carefully, I scooted down in the bed and rolled over, pulling the sheet up over me. After a minute, I felt the bedsprings shift.
“That’s it?” he said, and I knew I’d surprised him.
It wasn’t hard to sound tired. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”
He chuckled softly. “Are you shutting me out like we’re an old married couple? Should I go sleep on the couch?”
I ignored him, snuggling deeper against the pillow and tugging the sheet up to my chin.
He muttered somethi
ng I couldn’t understand. The bed dipped, and then I heard his steady footfalls creaking the wood across the floor. He reached the small bathroom where he’d grabbed me earlier—and gone down on me.
The door closed.
A squeak and shudder as the shower turned on.
He’d already taken a shower—we both had—but he’d seemed agitated. Just like he had at the diner when he’d left me inside. His past was his vulnerability, an Achilles heel on a body otherwise flush with armor. Even thinking about it, talking about it, made him need to be alone. He left me alone.
Last time I had made a run for it and it hadn’t worked out, because the people were too afraid of Hunter and whatever retribution he might hold for them. Would James and Laura be scared of him too? No, they seemed completely unafraid, but that was because they didn’t know what he’d done to me—what he was truly capable of. They had more to lose, considering Billy.
I didn’t believe Hunter would take retribution on Billy or any of them. But it was a gamble and for once, the stakes weren’t only my life.
It isn’t muscles that make you strong. It’s how much you want it.
I threw back the sheet and stood, glancing wildly around the room for something to knock him out…or lock him in. A couple of wooden dining room chairs were piled in the corner of the room. Out of place in a bedroom but most likely kept in the basement for storage. I hooked one under the doorknob, hoping he didn’t hear the thump over the water, praying it would hold.
The shower kept running, so I tugged my dress over my head, covering my panties and tank top. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. Like before, there was a moment of doubt: was I doing the right thing? Maybe I could have reasoned with him. But like before, it was too late. I had crossed the Rubicon. I was committed.
I climbed the stairs and emerged in the darkened hallway. I crept into the living room, scanning the side tables for a phone to call the police. Nothing. Creeping along the walls, I moved toward the kitchen. Walking through the darkened doorway, I ran into a warm chest. My scream came out muffled.
“Hunter?” I breathed.
“Evie?” It was James. “Are you okay?”
“Oh God,” I groaned, slumped back against the wall. The kitchen light flickered on, blinding me for a moment.
James stood there in his robe, holding a glass of water. “Are you okay?” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I would have to tell James. I had hoped to avoid this part, even though they would certainly have found out when sirens pulled up outside their house. Maybe it was better to give him a warning. Was there etiquette for escaping from a kidnapper inside someone else’s house?
My mouth opened, mute against painful, confusing words about a man I’d come to care about. God, it was true. I did care about Hunter. There were very few people in this world who had ever bothered about me, and between him and my mother, he was preferable.
Pitiful.
“I—I’ve been k-k-kidnapped,” I said.
He stared at me. “What?”
“I’ve been k-kidnapped. B-by Hunter.” Deep breath. “He kidnapped me two weeks ago and has been k-k-keeping me in his truck with him. I need to c-c-call the police.”
He stared at me intently and then ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up at odd angles and adding a comical edge to the situation. Or maybe that was just my hysteria.
“Please tell me you’re sleeping,” he finally said. “This is some sort of waking dream or…something. I don’t know. Jesus.”