Page 64 of Fatal Attraction

“Not unless she gives him a reason to.”

Twenty Six

Charlotte

Knocks pounded in the distance, and I sat up straight, hope blossoming through my soul when I heard a familiarmale voice yelling, “Perry Welch! SPD!”

“HELP,” I hoarsely screamed, my vocal cords burning. “I’M IN HERE! I’M IN HERE!”

The bedroom door opened then, and in stepped Perry with my gun in his hand, his chest heaving as he panicked, his face beet red with tears rolling down his cheeks.

“They’ve found us,” he rasped, scratching the side of the gun against his temple as he began to pace.

“Just let me go, Perry. It’s over. Let me go. Please.”

“I… I can’t.” He stopped pacing, facing me with the weapon raised high, trained at my head.

I tried to curl what I could of my knees into my chest, shaking my head as I begged him not to shoot me.

“If I can’t have you, thennobody can.”

The shot fired, and I screamed, jumping awake and panting hard, sweat dotting my forehead. Sunlight barreled in below the black curtains in the white room, indicating it was daytime, and I whimpered in agony when I tried moving my arms, the clamps around my chafed wrists cutting yet another wound deep into my scarred skin.

One week.

It had been seven long, miserable days since Perry Welchkidnapped me.

I was alive, for the most part—if one could truly call this living. I was confined to this one room, always bound, and I wasn’t able to shit, piss, or shower without him attached to my hip, pointing a damn gun at my head. The clothes on my back were his. For days Perry had been dressing me in nothing but old T-shirts and baggy gym shorts, minus my undergarments, which I frankly hadn’t seen since he’d told me they were in the washing machine five days ago. I wasn’t allowed to feed myself and as punishment for my defiance these last three days, I hadn’t eaten or drank anything, not even water. And you want to know the worst fucking part? I could only address him as Master. If not, then…

Let’s just say the bruises on my torso and face hadn’t quite healed yet.

My stomach distressingly roared, and my bladder was full, ready to explode at any moment. As the bedroom opened, revealing Perry holding a tray of food in his hand, I couldn’t hold in my cry.

“Please,” I pleaded, desperate not to soil myself and the bed. “I have to use the bathroom. I-I can’t hold it anymore. Please.”

“Please, what?” he asked with a dull cock of his head, his brows knotting.

I scowled at him in utter disgust, my jaw tight, trembling as I fought back tears. “Please,Master.”

He grinned, then gleefully sat the tray on the bed before pulling a set of keys out of his back pocket, taunting me by dangling them in front of my face. My throat tightened with fear as I caught a glimpse of my gun tucked securely under his belt loop.

“You know the rules,” he growled as he unlocked the first clamp, freeing my left hand. “Right, Charlotte?”

I frantically nodded. “If I try anything, you’ll shoot me.”

He hummed, pleased, and then opened the right clamp, freeing me from the bed.

Before I could dare move or so much as attempt to sit up, the gun was in his hand, and the barrel was just a breath away from my head. As I slowly raised my palms, he stepped back, nudging his head for me to stand.

“Come on then. Get up.”

I wanted to fucking punch him, but I had no strength in me thanks to being cuffed to the bed all hours of the day and night, and the last thing I wanted was to get shot. So, I slowly climbed out the bed, my legs wobbling a bit, and stood upright. Perry came forward, grabbed my arm, and then led me out of the room and across the hall into a bathroom.

I pushed down the baggy shorts he’d loaned me the night before and sank down on the toilet, hurting so badly I hissed. Once I was done emptying my bladder, I wiped and then got up with his guidance, securing the shorts back over my waist. He said nothing while he led me back to my prison, nudging my head with the barrel so I’d move faster. Once I was in bed, I raised my arms and straightened my spine against the headboard. My jaw trembled as I helplessly allowed him to strangle my left wrist in metal, and a tear snaked down my cheek when the other clamp clicked in place, sealing my fate.

“You must be starving.” He pulled a chair closer to me, depositing the gun on the floor beside it and leaning over to grab the tray before he sat down. “I made eggs, bacon, and toast.”

He picked up the charred bread and brought it to my mouth, sighing when I refused to eat.

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