I’d seen a few lacy, frilly things laid out in the bathroom, but fuck that. And fuck him if he really believed I’d get all dolled up for him. I was not going to make this easy for him.
If he wanted me, he’d have to take me dirty and bruised with tangled hair and the scent of my guys still on my body.
Unfortunately, Randy seemed to have other ideas. With my back to him, I didn’t have time to move or dodge away. When he reached down and grabbed my arm, he dragged me roughly to my feet.
“Ow,” I hissed. I tried to jerk my arm away, but he held on tight and marched me into the bathroom without another word. “What the fuck are you doing? Let go!”
He finally did loosen his grip once we both stood in the small, grimy restroom, but he still hadn’t taken his hand completely away.
“You can scream and yell all you want,” he said with a smile that was at odds with his words. “Nobody will hear you, and you’re just going to make this harder on yourself—not that I should be surprised. You always were a stubborn girl. Obviously not too bright, either.”
Obviously?
Whatever. I didn’t even want to ask. In his upside-down, nonsensical, crazy-ass world, he probably believed it was foolish to want to get away from him.
He also probably considered himself a pretty good catch. On paper, he might have seemed that way. Rich family, important connections, new vehicles, fancy clothes—the list went on and on.
No amount of money would compensate for his shitty personality. Or his lack of sanity.
I clutched my sheet around my body as he pointed to the stack of clothes in the corner. “Go through those things and find something pretty to wear for me. There’s some makeup in there, too.”
I blinked. “Makeup? Seriously? How long have you been planning this?”
Kidnapping me clearly hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment idea after all. If he’d gone to the trouble of buying outfits and shopping for makeup, for God’s sake... A shudder went down my spine as I pictured him at the drugstore in town, lying to the clerk while she helped him pick out some cosmetics for his fake girlfriend.
A girl who, unfortunately, wasn’t a figment of his imagination anymore. I was that girl.
“Oh, I started putting this plan into motion as soon as I heard you would be in town for Chrissy’s wedding. And do you wanna know how I was sure it would work?”
I did not want to know.
But every single second that he attempted to impress me with his sparkling conversation and great wit delayed whatever came next in his diabolical scheme and stopped him from hurting me for a while.
“How did you know?” I swallowed back the rising bile as I took a step toward the pile of clothing and the plastic shopping bag full of makeup. “And can I at least have some privacy to get ready?”
He snorted. “Nope. Keep going. I won’t watch. Much.”
Not surprising, but still. He stood far too close to me in the small space; the thought of dropping my sheet and putting on those clothes while he literally breathed down my neck made my skin crawl.
Ugh.
So disgusting.
I crouched down to go through the makeup bag. If he wouldn’t leave me alone, I could at least start with the slowest part first. And if it meant delaying him another hour or so, I’d stand there and cake on more makeup than I’d ever worn before in my life.
“You never finished telling me about your perfect plan,” I said, trying and failing to keep the sarcasm from my tone. “About what made you so sure the plan would work?”
“Oh, right,” he grinned. “Thanks for the reminder.” He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing.
“I knew it when I heard that weather forecast. When they said this big storm was coming right for us, it felt like a message from God. It felt like it was meant to be—that we were supposed to be together, you know?”
No, I do not know.
All I did know was that he was Crazy with a capital C.
Something caught my eye as I picked through the bag of new cosmetics and half-listened to his rambling, delusional explanation for why he’d kidnapped me.
Something small and shiny and metal. Not one thing, but two. Three.
A tiny metal nail file, eyebrow tweezers, and manicure scissors.
He really must have had help to pick out the stuff in that bag, because what man even knew about manicure equipment?
I said a silent thank you to the drugstore clerk as my fingers wrapped around the tiny, sharp scissors. The plan I’d formulated in my head wasn’t a great one, but it was probably my best chance to get out of that cabin before he tried anything with me.