Page 1 of Cruel Devil

Chapter 1

The Girl

“Time to get up, love.”

There’s pressure on my shoulder as someone gently shakes me. That motion wakes up every bruise, cut, and scrape on my body. I gasp, eyelashes fluttering and mouth gaping in pain. The worst of it is at my ankles and wrists where the thick ropes wrapped around my limbs chafe and burn. The pressure of those restraints creates a throbbing so fierce and deep it’s radiating from my bones.

It’s dark in here. That hasn’t changed. But before, the darkness was so black I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed. Now there’s a faint glow behind me.

I’m still bound hand and foot like the day I first woke up here. Wrists lashed to ankles, so I’m contorted into a little ball. All I can do is roll from side to side and try to shuffle around on my butt.

But I didn’t do much of that, because I was too scared. It’s hard to motivate a daring exploration when you’re blind.

Instead, I’ve just been laying in the dark, trying to stop my imagination running wild. Sometimes I succeeded, but too often I was held captive by one awful thought after the other.

Do I have enough oxygen?

Why has no one come looking for me?

If they have, why haven’t they found me?

Am I still in the states, or have I been taken over the border?

When was the last time someone came to check on me? Do they still know I’m here, or have they forgotten about me?

Are there bugs in here with me? Spiders? Creepy crawlies? What if they crawl on me and I can’t shake them off? What if they bite me, and they’re venomous?

Why am I so hollow inside? When last did I eat something? Drink something? How long does it take to die from thirst?

What the hell do they want with me?

Hour after miserable hour, these thoughts have slammed into my brain like bullets. I think I’ve had about twenty panic attacks since those three men broke into our motel room after school. My jaw still aches where one of them punched me so hard I blacked out.

My eyelids flutter closed. I should be drinking in every detail now that I can see. The tiniest little clue could help me piece this nightmare together. But I’m just so damn tired. So, so tired.

“No, love. You can’t go back to sleep. We have to leave. Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Something cold slithers over the back of my hand and my eyes pop open in terror. Is it a millipede?

No. It’s something worse.

A knife.

I yelp, trying to jerk away from the blade as best I can, instantly setting every cramped muscle on fire again. The man behind me, above me, puts a large, warm hand on the side of my head, stroking my hair and cheek with a soft touch.

“Hush. I’m just cutting off these nasty ropes. You want them gone, don’t you?”

My heart thumps against my rib cage, but at least it’s not palpitating. Because this isn’t panic, this is fear.

I use every last bit of self control I have left not to flinch away when he brings that knife back to my hands. I watch, fascinated, deeply disturbed, as the wickedly sharp blade slices through my bonds.

He makes an angry sound when the ropes snap away to reveal ugly yellow bruises, blood blisters, and gray, peeling skin.

I whimper as a new kind of pain rushes through me. Cold, then hot, then a terrible aching. My fingers claw at the air. They went numb God knows how long ago—I have to make sure they still work. Hot prickles dance through my fingertips, but I push through and keep closing, opening, closing them to get the blood flowing again.

“Good girl,” the man murmurs. He grabs one of my hands, his dwarfing mine, and massages my palm. It makes me whimper again from the pain, but he doesn’t stop. “You’re being so brave for me, love,” he whispers. “Come, let’s sort out these legs of yours.”

Why is he being so nice to me?

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