Page 10 of Killing Emma

For a few moments, I wonder how I got here, but then my memory returns. I should be dead. I take another deep, pained breath, my lungs burning. Where is he? The man with the creepy-ass mask and leather strap? Is he holding me for ransom?

It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened in my family. My grandmother loved to tell the story of the time she was kidnapped in the seventies, held until her parents paid an overwhelming price of fifty-thousand dollars. I don’t know what that would amount to in the present day, but it doesn’t really matter. The only person with access to my inheritance is, well, me.

And who will even know I’m gone? Kyle?

I nearly laugh aloud, shaking my head. If I have to rely on my divorce attorney to report me missing, I might be in for a long wait. I avoid his calls more often than not—and then there’s Lydia. She might notice. No, she will notice, but I don’t know how long it will take. I haven’t been great with communication lately.

Ugh. I should’ve done better. I should’ve called her more. Tears well up in my eyes as the realization hits. No one will miss me for a long time—and it’s my own fault. I’ve been shutting people out for the last five years since I lost my mom.

That’s why Jared cheated. The intrusive thought takes hold and I blow out a sharp breath. I know it’s the truth. My fucking therapist even said it was. I’ve been difficult since I lost my mom, but I didn’t know how to function without her…And I still don’t.

Thuds above my head draw me from my thoughts, and I gaze upward, taking in the steel floor beams above me. I’m in a basement.

“Okay,” I breathe out in a whisper. “Better than a shallow grave somewhere.” Maybe. I still don’t know what the guy wants from me—other than to kill me. He didn’t make good on that though.

I shift in the chair, glancing down at my bare legs, covered in scrapes, bruises, and dried blood. My feet instantly begin to throb, and as I wiggle my toes, I whimper. The glass shards are more than likely still there.

The sound of laughter erupting above, muffled by the floor, jars me. Even dampened, I still recognize it. A shudder rolls down my spine, but my mind quickly reminds me of the way he touched me—and the excitement returns.

Gross. Stop it, I think, like somehow my body will obey. The thud of footsteps return, and I follow the sound over my head, my eyes following it until it grows distant somewhere in front of me. I sigh, wondering how long I’ll have to sit here.

But my question is answered by the sound of a door unlocking.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. I straighten up, a dose of panic finally showing up in the form of an unsteady heartbeat. The creak of hinges pierce the silence, and the thud of heavy footsteps come soon after.

I try to breathe as a figure steps out from the stairwell. I know it’s him based on the build and the freakish mask. Though, I have to admit his build is rock solid, and the tattoo on his neck is now visible. A skull, wrapped with a snake peers back at me.

“So, you’re awake, Little Red.” His dark, deep voice rasps from behind the mask.

I stare at him as he stalks toward me, and it’s then I see his gloved hand wrapped around a small black duffel bag. His other holds some sort of bowl. I want to ask what the hell he’s going to do with it all, but I remain silent, my mouth feeling as though it’s full of cotton.

He’s not wearing a hoodie, and I rake my eyes over his thick, bulky biceps covered in more ink. His white T-shirt is tight, accentuating the muscles beneath it. His black jeans fit his quads as well, and I realize if it comes down to brute strength I’ll be dead in a matter of seconds.

“I’d tell you to wipe the drool from your mouth, but that might be a little difficult,” he antagonizes me, dropping the black bag at my feet. Still, embarrassment floods my cheeks, and I know my entire face is probably beet red.

“What’re you going to do?” I croak as he looms over me, the scent of his cologne reminding me once again of the ecstasy he brought to me in the woods.

He doesn’t answer, dropping to his knees in front of me. “I don’t like filthy women.” Reaching into the bowl, he pulls out a towel, ringing out the excess water. I can’t help but snort in response. He pauses, looking up at me. “Something funny, Little Red?”

I shake my head. “Not at all…” Asshole.

He lets out a heavy sigh and runs the towel over the top of my thighs, more gently than I expected him to. I shiver at the damp warmth spreading across my skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I long to wrap my arms around myself, and as I tug against the restraints, pain sears through my shoulder blade.

“Can’t you just let my arms free for a while?”

He doesn’t respond, continuing to wipe away the blood and dirt from my legs. It stings as he crosses deeper cuts, and I catch my breath, tensing my body. I take in the black material covering his head, attached to the mask. It’s impossible to make out any details about him. I don’t know the color of his hair or eyes, but based on his olive complexion, I would guess he had dark hair. Maybe dark eyes, too.

“If you’re not showing me your face, does that mean you’re going to let me go?” My question is stupid, I know, but as he works past my knees, the pain intensifies, and I need a distraction. There’s more damage done to my shins and calves.

“You talk too much,” he grunts.

I frown. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.” I swallow the knot in my throat, thinking back to Jared. Back when we first got together, I was a different person. I was bubbly and outgoing. He always told me that I talked too much—and that he loved it.

Just not enough to stay out of his secretary’s vagina.

Masked Man pauses as he reaches my left ankle, tossing the rag back into the bowl. My gaze follows his movements as he reaches into the black duffel bag and pulls out a pair of pliers. I freeze, my mind recalling the time I read about a mafia guy plucking the fingers off someone using a pair of those…

But instead, he cuts the zip ties binding my ankles.

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