The Ruckus

“What the fuck?” I shouted in between coughs. It took some struggling to sit upright without losing the tiny bit of modesty the sheet was affording me, but I managed it while glaring at him the whole time.

Randy just laughed. “Did I scare you?” He walked into the other room and came back with a hunting knife. “Are you scared now?”

Yep.

I sure was.

I wasn’t gonna show it if I could help it. I couldn’t see how looking scared would help me.

“What are you doing?” I gasped as he reached down and pushed me over again. I opened my mouth to scream but shut it again when the rope around my wrists loosened and then fell away completely. “You’re... letting me go?”

I looked back over my shoulder at him and did my best to mentally prepare for whatever fuckery he was going to try next. There was no way in hell he’d planned on setting me free, not after taking so much time and effort to drag me all the way out to his cabin in the first place.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he smirked. “And anyway, where would you go? You’re mine now, so you’d better get used to the idea.”

I brought my hands around to my chest and winced as I gently massaged the spots on my wrists where the rope had rubbed my skin raw.

For the first time since he’d pushed me into the small room, I took a really good, objective look around. There were two windows, but they were so small and up so high toward the ceiling that there was no way I could have used them to escape. The only other route I knew of was the way we’d entered—past the spot where Randy was standing and straight out through the front door.

But then what? How many miles were we from anywhere? And in what direction? It wasn’t as if I could just walk barefoot to safety.

“What do you want from me?” I was pretty sure I didn’t need to ask; I already knew the answer. Still, there had to be a reason why he’d freed my hands, and I wanted to hear him say it. “I’ll never willingly do anything with you. I hope you know that.”

He shrugged. “Never say never. It’s an awfully long time. And you’ll eventually change your mind.”

I shook my head in disbelief as much as in disagreement.

“Regardless,” he continued. “I’m not a complete monster. I don’t want to hurt you, believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe that at all.”

Another shrug. “Just because I don’t want to do something doesn’t mean it can’t happen anyway—accidentally or otherwise.”

It took a lot of effort to keep from rolling my eyes, but Randy didn’t seem to notice.

“I want you to clean up,” he said, pointing toward the wall opposite. “There’s a bathroom through that door where you can get yourself together. I expect you to be looking good for me when I come back.”

The thought made my skin crawl, but I was happy about the prospect of being left alone for at least a little while.

Now I had to figure out how to get out of the nightmare.

Chapter Thirteen

Micah Walsh

I wasn’t sure how long we’d been unconscious or how much longer it had taken to find Jasmine’s friends at the shelter downtown, alert everyone, and appeal for help to find her. But we did it.

They were shocked to see us; we looked like shit, all battered, bruised, and bleeding, but we horrified them with our story.

We were doing the best we could, but my anxiety and fear over what might have happened to Jasmine increased with every minute that passed.

And so did my anger.

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch,” I muttered, keeping my eyes on the road as Axel and I sped along the county highway leading out of town. “He’d better hope we don’t find his ass.”

It was strange to be driving my truck after spending so much time riding around in Axel’s newer, nicer pickup. But since that newer, nicer pickup was probably floating along halfway to the Gulf Coast by that point, it was either my ride or no ride at all.

“You can’t kill him,” Axel said, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he stared straight forward. “Because I’m going to kill him first.”

“I can’t believe his granny tried to pretend like he hadn’t gone and lost his damn mind.” I shook my head, remembering the way Randy’s grandmother, Molly, had reacted when we’d confronted her at the shelter. “As if we’d made the story up while we stood there bleeding all over the place.”

“Nobody wants to admit their own kin is a psycho.” He scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath, finally looking away from the road for a moment. “To her credit, she did finally give us some idea of where he might be.”