Page 96 of Brutal Obsession

Apart from a woman mopping in the corner, it’s empty.

The ground disappears from under my feet when I spot red streaks on the white floor by a row of sinks.

Blood splatters.

And Harper is nowhere to be found.

Harper

There’s something pounding on the back of my skull, and my mouth tastes like stuffy, stale air.

I wince when I fully wake, an aching soreness pulling at my arms. As I squirm around, I realize they’re bound behind something firm pressed against my back.

My ears throb and ring. Though it hurts like hell, I slowly manage to peel my eyes open and lift my head to investigate my surroundings.

Even with a sluggish brain, I can tell I’m sitting in a murder cabin, the type you see in so many slasher flicks.

Dirty, rotted wood comprises the floor, ceiling, and walls. I spot a grimy window to my left. Through the filthy, opaque glass—I feel as though I need a tetanus shot just looking at it—I can make out the copse of tall trees standing beyond the frame.

The shack is empty. I’m alone.

Abandoned and confined.

In the past, being alone in a cabin in the woods has been a peaceful, almost romantic idea. But now, with the blood drying in my hair, I’m doused with fear.

How many abductions is this for me over the last few days? Two? Three?

Unfortunately, this one may be my last.

I don’t know what day it is, how long I’ve been out, or what happened to…Riley, Finn.

Cian.

I just barely manage to keep the tears from streaming down my cheeks when a door behind me flies open. I freeze.

The light from the doorway brings the gruesome dilapidation of this place into full focus, and a huge shadow looms up the opposite wall.

Oh, god, who is it?

Sandpaper in my throat. Hands clenched into fists. Heart tolling like an ancient cathedral bell in my chest.

The door squeals shut hard enough to make the foundation of this prehistoric shack creak and shudder.

“Did I wake you?” A menacing voice wraps around a sweet question.

I don’t recognize it, but the way my skincrawlswhen I hear the voice has me wondering whether my body knows something about this man that I don’t.

Heavy, deliberate footfalls approach the back of my chair.

My muscles flex, aching to whip around to face my captor and back as far away from him as possible. The floorboards beneath me creak when I strain against the restraints.

“Come on.” Meaty, greedy fingers latch onto my right shoulder. It’s about as comfortable as a snake coiling around my neck. “I told them not to gag you because I wanted to hear your pretty voice.”

Slime drizzles down my spinal cord. My stomach roils.

I’ve heard perversion in a man’s voice plenty of times, but this is the worst. The clawing, painfully immediate urge to flee nearly chokes me.

My mouth remains clamped shut as this horrible man gives my shoulder a little squeeze and says, “Sing for me, little canary. Hmm?”

---