Page 11 of The Author

He put the bottle and lid on the bedside table.

“Now, you tell me how you got a hold of my manuscript and where you are hiding yours. It wasn’t on your laptop.”

I looked at him in confusion. All my work was on my laptop and backed up on my Dropbox. He had access to all my work.

I shrugged my shoulders since I couldn’t speak or gesture due to the duct tape.

His face changed within a millisecond as he went from relaxed to furious. I flinched and leaned into the bed and headboard. He glared at me before the anger eased off, and a calculated look came over him.

“Go use the bathroom,” he said.

I blinked at him and raised my hands, gesturing to the duct tape.

“That’s not my problem. Why don’t you use that creative little brain of yours?”

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, but it was the smug expression on his face that really got to me. He wasn’t going to leave until I did what he asked me to do. I closed my eyes momentarily, praying for strength to get through this dickhead’s sadistic thought process.

I pulled the covers up and struggled with my bound hands and butt to move off the bed. When I tried to stand up, the pain in my feet was too much for me to bear. Hopping was out of the question.

This fucking bastard.

I bent down, got on my hands and knees, and shuffled into the bathroom. When I got to the toilet, I knew I would need to stand up to use it. I paused, trying to compose what little dignity I had left.

I felt him push me forward with his foot, nearly knocking me onto my face. I wish I could scream and rant, but that would only drive him more crazy.

“Hurry up. I don’t have all day,” he said harshly.

I have never wanted to harm anyone in all my life as much as I want to kill this man.

When I finally got to the toilet, I was trying to figure out how I was going to stand up and take my pyjama bottoms down.

“Do you need a hand?”

I closed my eyes at his evil voice. How could someone look so wholesome with his blonde hair and blue eyes be such an evil prick?

Then again, there had been good-looking serial killers. Looks didn’t dictate deeds.

I used the toilet lid and tried to stand up, but the duct tape around my ankles was tight, and it made trying to balance with the pain too difficult.

I felt his hands on my arms as he lifted me up.

“You owe me for helping you,” he said, leaning into my ear.

Fuck him. I never asked for his help.

When I felt his hands on my waistband, I tried to struggle, but the pain in my feet stopped me again.

I shivered as he pulled my pyjama bottoms and knickers down my body. He turned me around, and I felt him move behind me to lift the lid.

Once he had sat me down, he leaned against the wall and watched me.

I looked down at the floor as I tried to relax enough to pee. Once I was finished, I glanced up at him again, and this time, he had a thoughtful look on his face.

When I reached for the toilet paper, he stopped me and began to unravel the toilet paper.

I gulped.

I didn’t want him touching me down there, especially since I had peed. I cringed, thinking of my wax appointment. I had been so busy with my book I hadn’t been for a while.

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