Beautifully Destroyed (Beautifully Broken)

God help me.

Chapter 2

FINLAY

Checking my to-do list of things I have to get done before I leave Naperville, I tick off that I’ve given all my students notice.

Giving private guitar and piano lessons has helped me save up a healthy amount in my bank account. With Dad refusing that I pay for anything, most of my paycheck from the bookstore pads my savings even more. I’ve managed to save over eight thousand dollars already.

With Quinn opening the bakery, it’s made me think of opening my own business. A small music school? Maybe a record store? As long as it has to do with music, I’ll be happy.

It’s the only passion I have. When I’m writing a new song or strumming my guitar, I get lost for hours. It’s magical.

Eleven days.

Taking a deep breath, I glance over all the stuff I still have to pack.

Yeah, it can wait until tomorrow. Glad I took a shower earlier and put on my sleep shorts and tank top, I decide to call it a night.

Walking to the front door, I check all the locks and windows.

I reach for the switch to turn off the lights in the living room when I feel the air shift behind me. An eerie feeling creeps up my spine, and my heart stutters in my chest.

You don’t believe in ghosts.

The past couple of days, I’ve had a weird feeling that I’m being watched. That I’m not alone. It’s stupid. I know.

Just to prove to myself there’s nothing behind me, I glance over my shoulder.

The door to the basement stands open, and I could’ve sworn it was closed just a minute ago.

Nope. No such thing as ghosts.

Swearing I’ll sleep with every light on tonight, I walk to the open door, but just as I reach for the doorknob, something grabs hold of my wrist, and I’m yanked forward.

A lot happens all at once. I register the tight grip on my wrist. The door shuts behind me. My breath stalls in my throat, and a scream lodges in my chest.

Panic freezes every muscle in my body.

“Finally,” a man’s voice murmurs close to me. “I’ve been looking forward to our date all week.”

The words don’t sink in as my heart explodes in terror while I’m forcefully dragged down the stairs. Only when my feet hit the concrete floor of the basement does my body react to the danger. I yank back against the hold on my wrist, still unable to scream or even form a coherent word.

A feral fear burns through me, making me strain against the hold. I’m manhandled as my arms are yanked behind me, the man much stronger than me. Cuffs snap over my wrists, and as I try to rip free, soft fur presses against my skin, making my eyebrows shoot up.

Fur cuffs.

On my wrists.

A man.

The basement.

Danger.

Shit.

Then it hits me hard that there’s a man with me, the scream finally dislodging from my chest and tearing up my throat. Before the sound can escape, a ball is shoved into my mouth and fastened with straps around my head. No matter how I try to fight back, the man seems to have the upper hand.

OH. GOD.

No.

Panic and fear bleed through my veins, my body starting to tremble while I glance wildly into the darkness.

The man moves away from me, the light flickers on, and it makes it all become harrowingly real.

No. No. No.

I whimper at the sight of the stranger in my basement. He’s wearing a white expressionless mask that covers his entire face, making this a million times more horrifying and creepy as hell.

Dressed in black pants and a long-sleeve shirt, he’s easily twice my size. His head’s covered with a black hairnet. The kind used in the food industry. The type of gloves they use in hospitals cover his hands.

God.

My mind reels at the sight. My stomach bottoms out, and my heart stutters in my chest before slamming into my ribs.

God.

It only takes a second to take it all in, then my horrified scream slams against the ballgag, coming out a muffled sound none of the neighbors will hear.

Saliva gathers in my mouth, the gag making it hard to swallow. I yank against the restraints, darting toward the stairs to get away from the nightmare.

An arm shoots around my waist, and I’m easily lifted off my feet, tearing another terror-filled scream from my chest.

No. I’m only eighteen. I can’t die like this.

Quinn will only notice I’m missing when I don’t show up in two weeks.

Dad will find my rotting corpse.

No.

No.

No.

My mind keeps reeling with horror as I’m dragged deeper into the basement. My heels slam against his shins, trying to stop him. My eyes are wide and dry with shock, my muscles straining for release.

Terror whirls in my mind, conjuring up images of my dismembered body, chopped up like firewood and buried in a shallow grave.