Page 11 of This Thing of Ours

She shivered, either from the chill in the air, her plight, or, most likely, both.

Standing, she made her way to the stairs, gripping the handrail before slowly climbing them. She strained her ear at the door, trying to make out any sort of noise, but all she could hear was her harsh breaths and the thumping of her heart.

She’d known it would be futile before she reached a hand out, but she tried the doorknob anyway—locked. Of course, it was, but she had to know. Had to be sure it really was a prison. She turned on her heel, plopping her ass on the top step, looking down on the barren room, fighting off panic.

She might not know who her captors were, but what she did know?

They’d just declared war.

Chapter Five

Gabby heard thedoor open at the top of the stairs, and a few seconds later a man came into view. He held a plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. But even as hungry and thirsty as she was, she still feared his arrival.

Sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the stone wall, she tucked her knees under her chin and hugged her legs, making herself smaller. The storeroom was cold, and she already had the only blanket they’d supplied wrapped around her shoulders, but she still pulled at it, covering her body more completely.

The man’s looks were deceiving. She’d naively discovered that firsthand. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, good-looking, and young, he had fooled her into letting her guard down.

And that’s when he’d pounced.

She would never make that mistake again.

Forgoing all pretense this time around, he gave her a sinister smile when his feet hit the bottom of the stairs. “Hungry?”

He didn’t have an accent, which had been another one of her pitfalls that first day. Add that to his good-old-boy attitude, and he’d made it easy to forget how dire her situation was. He’d told her to call him Peter. Gave her food and a blanket. Kept asking whether she was comfortable. Even apologized for the crappy accommodations. He’d stayed with her for over an hour that first time before he’d left, apologizing again for having to lock her in, but telling her to knock on the door if there was anything she needed.

She hadn’t been nervous to see him when he’d shown up hours later.

She should have been.

Her mistake.

Peter set the plate down on the floor beside her, and she visibly cringed from his nearness. His smile widened. He liked her fear. “I asked if you were hungry, and I expect an answer.”

Growing up surrounded by dominant men, she knew better than to antagonize him. Taking a shaky breath, she replied, “Just thirsty.” And she hated to admit even that.

She kept her eyes on her feet, but his hand came into view, the water bottle clenched in his fist. “This what you want?”

She wasn’t stupid enough to reach for it. Knew doing so would come at a cost. A cost she wasn’t willing to pay.

Tauntingly, his hand moved from view, but she kept sight of it in her periphery. It wouldn’t be smart to lose track of his hand—a lesson she’d learned that first day.

“Look at me.”

She raised her head but refused to look him in the eyes, training her vision on the bridge of his nose, instead. Something in his eyes wasn’t quite right. She’d been stupid not to have seen it.

“You didn’t answer me, again.” He held the water bottle higher, and her eyes flicked to it before landing back on his face. “This what you want?”

Conflict made her tongue-tied. She shouldn’t have admitted she was thirsty, but her tongue was so parched, it felt like a piece of leather in her mouth. If she had any saliva left, she’d be salivating.

“Tell you what, I’ll make this easy for you.” He set the bottle on the floor just out of her reach. “You stay nice and quiet, and you can have that when I’m done.”

He lunged for her, and she scrambled. But she wasn’t fast enough. A vice-like grip surrounded her right ankle. She kicked out with her left leg, connecting with his shoulder but sadly not doing enough damage to break his hold. In fact, the move only managed to get her left ankle captured, as well.

She screamed.

He yanked her away from the wall by the ankles, and she fell back, smacking her head, thankfully not hard enough to black out. The blanket fell from her shoulders, exposing her already torn shirt. A memento from the last time he’d visited.

He pulled her closer, and her shirt rode up, the cold concrete scraping her back. She screamed again.

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