Page 7 of Tempted By Sin

The sleeves of my long-sleeved blouse are rolled up to my elbows, exposing me to the chill in the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I find the coat I was wearing when I left work folded neatly on the floor.

My eyes snap up to gaze around the rest of the room lit only by a single bulb hanging overhead. I fear if I make any sudden movements, whoever brought me here will come barging into the room. The boarded-up window above the small bed I lie on is almost mocking me—a reminder that it’s my only way of escaping this small room.

Heavy breathing sounds from across the room, and at that moment, my heart almost slams through my rib cage. Without so much as moving a muscle, I drag my eyes away from the window to the single chair situated in the corner opposite the bed, beside the only door to the room.

The masked man I have been seeing the past few days sits in the black leather chair silently, his long legs spread out in front of him. He’s so silent as he regards me, his hands clasped together in his lap. I feel his gaze upon me from behind the barrier he uses to keep his identity hidden.

A cold chill races down my spine. Just like every other time I have encountered him.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my dry throat, unable to make their escape. My throat works to relieve the dryness as I swallow hard. I’m unable to take my eyes off the masked man for fear that if I let him out of my sight, he might attack.

“Wh-who are you?” My voice is small, barely above a whisper. But he heard me. The slight tilt of his head gives him away. “Why d-did you take me?”

The memory of him cornering me in the alleyway on my way home from work blasts through my mind like a home movie, replaying the moment he caught me, his strong arms wrapped tightly around my waist as he dragged me into the depths of darkness I couldn’t escape.

I had no real chance of getting away from him. But I had hoped someone would save me. Anyone. And now I’m here, chained to a bed, while he watches me intently, not saying a goddamn word.

“Please let me go home.” My hands shake more and more with each word. I manage to push myself into a seated position, ignoring the way my bones creak with the simple movement. “I have a fiancé who will be looking for me.”

The masked man snorts, the sound deep, but doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, inky curls spilling around from behind the mask. Waiting. Watching. The silence is almost suffocating, squeezing my lungs so tightly I’m unable to force air into my lungs.

What does he want from me?

Who the hell is this man?

Dampness stings the hairs in my nostrils, and I have to force back a gag at the terrible scent. The room smells wet like it’s been flooded previously and the odor hasn’t been removed. It’s a vast contrast to the floral candles I burn every night at home because Liam says he likes the light fragrance.

Liam.

Oh, God. I’m sure he’s worried sick about me. At least, I hope he is. When I was taken from the alleyway, Raya was still on the phone, so I’m sure she has informed Liam about what happened. He would have gone to the police right away when I didn’t come home. I’m sure of it.

Knowing that people are out there searching for me gives me a small moment of comfort. But it’s ruined by the masked man staring silently at me. The muscles in his biceps flex slightly as if he’s clenching his fists momentarily. Despite the slight chill in the air, he’s still wearing a black T-shirt with his black jeans. It’s as if the cold doesn’t affect him at all.

“Are you doing this for ransom?” I ask, my voice raspy. My heart pounds in my chest with each second ticking by without hearing a single word from my kidnapper. “Are you going to kill me? Sell me into sex trafficking? What do you want from me?”

Panic seeps into my pores at the thought of either of those scenarios happening. This could go either way; I could live, or I could die, and the thought of the latter terrifies me.

What if I don’t make it home alive?

The masked man keeps his mouth shut. He stands from the chair and cracks his knuckles, his eyes searing into my skin from behind the mask. At the sight of the scars on his knuckles—an indicator that he uses his fists quite a bit—I cower against the metal frame headboard, hoping it’ll put some distance between us.

But instead of moving in my direction, he turns to the door, unlocks the latch, and steps through it. When the door closes behind him, I hear what sounds like a lock clicking into place, trapping me inside.

Even though my head is spinning and my limbs are heavy, I know this might be one of my only chances to find an escape route. He could come back with a decision about my fate—one that doesn’t allow me to see the light of morning. I take this moment of silence as an opportunity to spring from the bed.

The wooden floorboards squeak beneath the weight of my feet. I cringe at the sound, hoping the masked man didn’t hear it from wherever he has gone. I could be locked in a little cabin in the middle of the woods or a basement in a house on a suburban street. The possibilities are endless. Either way, I need to get the hell out of here.

I try to explore the space around the twin bed, but the chain around my ankle only lets me get so far before I’m helpless to move anywhere else. But the small give in the chain does allow me to inspect the window above the bed. It’s boarded up with old planks of wood, not allowing so much as a sliver of light to peek through it. Which means I’m unable to inspect the surroundings outside.

“Goddamn it,” I groan, frustration prickling my skin. “This is useless.”

The lock on the door sliding open sends my heart plummeting to the bottom of my feet. I whirl around just in time to see the masked man entering the room with a tray of food. The scent of cold deli ham wafts through the air, mixing with the damp smell. The odor of food instantly makes my stomach growl with hunger, reminding me I have no idea what day it is or how long I’ve gone without eating.

He sets the tray on the end of the mattress with easy strides before turning to stand in front of the closed door. I feel his eyes on me as he clasps his hands together in front of him, his body straight and rigid.

I look between him and the ham sandwich and bottle of water on the tray. “Is that for me?”

He doesn’t so much as give me a nod, but the tilt of his head is answer enough.

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