Page 2 of Beyond the Temptation: Vol 2

I have no watch, no phone, no clock in the room. There are no windows, either, so I don’t know whether it’s night or day.

I don’t know how I got here, but I do remember going to bed. I read for a while, and then I fell asleep as I always do, still holding my book. I was reading a new romance novel by an author I love.

That’s the last thing I remember…

“Help me!” I scream again. “Why am I here? How did I get here?”

The bed isn’t helping me feel any better, so I rise once more, pace around the floor in my bare feet. How did I get here? Someone must have taken me from my room. I live with an elderly woman named?—

Mrs. Brugler! She’s been like a grandmother to me—or what I assume a grandmother would be like, since I’ve never had one.

Is she all right? Did they do something to her? Surely she must have heard them come in.

I pace again and again, the creaking floor taunting me. Where am I? Why am I here? My thoughts are a jumble.

Until—

I gasp when the door opens.

I race back to the bed, huddle under the covers.

A person dressed entirely in black enters. By his height and breadth I can tell he’s a man, but his face is covered with what looks like a ski mask made of thin fabric. His eyes and mouth are all I see.

My heart pounds in my chest like a frantic drum that echoes in my ears with each thump. I struggle to catch my breath, but it’s no use. I can’t calm the storm of fear inside me. My palms are clammy with sweat, and the silence in the room is deafening. Even though the man makes no sound, just his presence thrums in my head along with my racing heart. My stomach knots in a mixture of dread and panic.

I’m defenseless. Wearing nothing but underwear in front of a strange man.

Exposed.

Unsafe.

Helpless.

“Who are you? Why am I here? Help me, please!”

He doesn’t reply. In fact, he doesn’t even look at me. He carries a tray containing a plate covered with a silver dome. Next to the plate is a bottle of water and a paper napkin.

I gulp, determined to speak to him again despite my fear. “What is that? You expect me to eat that? You probably poisoned it.”

Again he says nothing, and still he doesn’t look at me.

My stomach lets out a growl in protest. Already I know I will eat whatever’s on the tray. I have no idea when I last ate, and though I could puke at any time, I will force it down to keep my strength. And if it’s poison? At least I’ll die quickly. Much better than the slow and agonizing death of starvation.

The stranger still doesn’t look at me as he walks toward the door. He stops for a minute, his hand shielding the keypad from my view.

Then he turns, looks over his shoulder, and his gaze meets mine.

Even in the dim light, I can see the sparkling blue of his eyes.

They look…kind.

CHAPTER TWO

I breathe in deeply once he’s gone, I inhale the aroma of the food. I don’t recognize it, but the smell wafting toward me indicates that it’s something savory. Whatever it is, they clearly expect me to eat it with my fingers, as they didn’t give me any utensils.

Of course not.

Utensils can be used as weapons. That’s why the counselors—that’s what they were called, even though they didn’t do any counseling—at the group home where I spent my teen years counted our silverware after every meal.

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