Page 77 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

Turning my forehead so it was resting on the cold floor, I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe through the rising panic.

I needed a plan. Something. Anything. A clue that would help me get out of this.

When I opened my eyes again, I focused on the door with the shattered glass. Whoever brought me here had to break in. That wasn’t comforting. If they’d chosen a vacant house for privacy, did that mean there was no chance someone would find me?

A chill crawled up my spine, and I shifted uncomfortably, the bindings digging into my skin.

And then it hit me—those stupid life hack videos. The ones where people showed you how to escape if your hands were tied behind your back. I’d watched a few out of morbid curiosity, thinking,What are the odds I’ll ever need this?

Well, here I was. Odds beaten. Lucky me.

My mind raced through everything I’d ever scrolled through on social media in the middle of the night, trying to remember something useful.

I rolled my shoulders, testing the slack, trying to remember exactly how the girl in the video had done it. Something about friction. Or twisting. Or… something.

Another wave of nausea rolled through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut. First things first. Get your bearings. Figure out where you are. Figure out who’s here. And then?—

A voice, low and smooth, cut through the quiet. “You’re awake.”

My chest tightened, and I froze at the sound of footsteps behind me.

“You know where you are?”

Familiar. That voice wassofamiliar. But my brain wasn’t firing fast enough to match the voice to a face. Not yet.

And honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“I asked you a question.” He sounded closer now, and my pulse spiked.

I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze forward instead of craning to look at him. My eyes darted around the room, taking in every inch of it in the dim light—the slightly yellowed walls, the scuffed-up floorboards. The back door that appeared to lead to a screened-in porch.

My stomach churned, a horrible realization creeping in like ice down my spine.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

But it could.

A half-dozen things Hudson had said about the house flashed through my mind.It’s a fixer-upper. Nothing special yet, but it’s got good bones. Needs work, but it’ll be ours when it’s done.

The details I’d brushed off in conversation now painted a picture I couldn’t unsee. A picture of paint that peeled away in chunks, revealing raw wood underneath. Cracked molding, and the missing handles on the kitchen cabinets. Windows that desperately needed to be replaced with energy-efficient new ones.

And… the screened-in porch that he planned to turn into an all-season library—the perfect retreat for the bookworm he loved.

This was Hudson’s house. The one he bought forus.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the thought would disappear if I pushed hard enough.

It didn’t.

“Well?” The man’s voice cut in again, and the touch of amusement in his voice soured my stomach. “Do you know where you are or not?”

“No,” I said, the lie coming out more shakily than I wanted. “I don’t.”

His footsteps shifted against the floorboards as he circled me, and the second the man stepped into view, my stomach dropped.

“Derrick?” I said, my voice cracking. It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. “What… What are you doing?”

He stood there, a patient smile on his lips and his hands casually in his pockets like this was any old conversation. Like we weren’t in my boyfriend’s newly purchased house with shattered glass on the floor and my hands tied behind my back.

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