Page 19 of Twisted

She could hear the mocking note in his voice, and the illusion that this man could be anything more than an utter jackass faded from her mind.

“How would I fucking know?” she hissed, her hair falling forward. She was already sticky with sweat, regretting her stupid decision to wear so many layers. Of course this freak would make the connection—that she was trying to run, to survive out in the woods. Before they’d left, he’d stood above her in the kitchen, forcing her to scratch out a note, saying she was going on a hike. She knew what it meant; no one would ever find her. They’d taken her car, her hiking boots, everything that would lead authorities to believe she was just going for a jaunt when she was either attacked by a wild animal or she’d become hopelessly lost.

The man had scrutinized her words and writing for about thirty minutes before he’d been satisfied enough to leave. It had made Maisie roll her eyes; if she was going to die, she wished he would just get it over with. And if he was just going to use her…he would find out real quick that a woman with her kind of past could survive it, and his downfall would eventually come as well.

She was beginning to look at this as just another hurdle, one last hoop to jump through before she found freedom in solitude.

“Careful, Maisie girl. Been goin’ easy on ya, but my patience is about to run out,” he said, crowding her space, their eyes locked in battle as he reached behind her and gripped the cuffs, spinning her around and marching her forward to the trail. With a hammering of her heart and a lump in her throat, she turned her head to peer one last time at the life she knew she was being forced to leave behind.

The hike was relatively short, and each time he took a correct turn, Maisie’s hope was dashed even more. The forest here was dense, hardly any path save for game trails, but she recognized it all, keeping her eyes down. His hand never left her cuffs, and he didn’t speak.

She was burning up by the time he stopped, and dazed as she was, it took her a moment to glance around, to realize that right in front of her was charred ground, a pile of ashes and dust and the remnants of the hell she’d lived. Jostled, she was forced to move, off to the left and to a tree. He unlocked one of her wrists.

“You have ten seconds to take all that shit off. If you don’t, I do it for you.”

Realizing he was utterly serious, and with how stifled she was, she knew she had no choice. She threw off her boots, her second pair of socks, her jacket and shirt and thermal. By the time she was done, she was wearing jeans and a little black tank top, hugging her torso and eyeing the man. He seemed satisfied enough, spinning her around before he raised her arms and threw the empty cuff over a branch. Realizing what he was doing, she began to struggle, but his mite was impossible to contend with, especially with how dehydrated she felt. Clapping the handcuff back around her wrist, she stood straight, rising up slightly on her toes to accommodate the height of the branch she was chained to.

Hatred burned through her as he stepped back. With the tree at her shoulders and him in front, she had nowhere to go. Panic began to pulse through her, but she did her best to swallow it down.

“You get three chances, baby doll. I need one thing from you. You give it up, I can be courteous enough to help you.”

“Help me?” She spat, tilting forward with the force of her hatred. In a flash, he was before her, the front of his long body pressed tight to hers, pinning her between an ancient maple and a young stallion of a man. Their eyes locked briefly, and in his there was some level of sincerity, but it wasn’t enough for Maisie to trust him in any capacity; wolves were in every man. He was no different.

“Where’s the second hard drive, Maisie?” he said, his voice low, sinister.

How the hell did he know about that?

Keeping her face turned away from his to not betray the sheer shock she felt coursing through her, she twisted her lips into a sneer. Her answer was biting, a cornered dog defending itself with every last ounce of strength.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”

She was answered by a chuckle so dark it sent spasms of shivers up and down her spine, and she could swear the sun dimmed in the presence of his malice. So gentle it was a butterfly’s kiss, he traced his finger along her scar and pushed her face toward his. When their eyes met, she could see the deep rooted evil lying in wait there—a vibrant green snake about to devour her whole.

“Strike one, baby.”

Her eyes flew wide as his hand dove into his pocket and he produced a menacing blade. She bucked and struggled, whimpering in the face of that sharpened, glinting edge. She’d never been to therapy, but it didn’t take a genius to understand all the trauma she’d endured would become triggers in her everyday life.

“Shh, Maisie girl. Keep movin’ like that and it’ll hurt,” he swore, his voice husky as he brought the knife ever closer to her body. She pinched her eyes shut, her chest heaving in unrelenting fear. But nothing happened. She felt the tug on her shirt, and when her eyes flew open to stare downward, she could see the tip of his blade carefully slicing through the middle of her tank top, all the way to the bottom, flaying her open.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she was struck with the utter truth of all of this:

She deserved it.

She’d killed two people in cold blood, condemned another to a life of misery for something she hadn’t done. There was still goodness in Maisie’s soul, and now she understood that. She still couldn’t regret it, not really, but she could feel guilt so potent it burned her tongue like battery acid. Whatever this man was going to do to her, she figured it was her punishment to bear, and if there was a God, she supposed this was his own form of righteous justice.

A cool breeze caressed her bare stomach, and her nipples pebbled in her yellow lace bra. Understanding that the inevitable was upon her, and with her new revelation that this was her price to pay for the freedom she craved, she gave her body control, retreating deep into her mind. She felt his rough hands smooth up her sides, making her shiver at both their warmth and the steady strength that seemed to flow from his fingertips.

“Where is the second one, Maisie? I need it.”

Although she was resigned to allow him to dole out his punishments, his torture, she still couldn’t make her lips move. There was still so much that could go wrong, so much that she didn’t know, even now. Carter had told her things, threatened her, and it was impossible to decipher if those were all lies, all truth, or a mix of both to constantly keep her in a subdued state of fear so she would comply. There were things that would ruin her, money she’d diverted in her name on his commands—money Carter had stolen through her. There were videos—of Maisie, ones that would curl the toes of the strongest man. All collateral. All blackmail.

“If you ever think of leaving me, I’ll bury you with this,” he’d spat in her face one drunken night. So what was worse, now? Death, or torture?

She shook her head, obstinate as a sob choked her.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Strike two, baby doll.”

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