Page 20 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

Once I’m absolutely positively sure that Stryker isfullyasleep for the night, I slowly slowly slowly uncover myself, careful not to move my handcuffed arm. I sit up as quietly as I can and gather the chain link by link, pausing to check on Stryker at every too-loud clink of the metal. This entire operation is nerve-racking to the nth degree.

It takes way longer than I would have liked, but eventually I gather enough of the chain to make my way off the bed in mostly silence. I tiptoe my way around to Stryker, gathering metal links as I go. When I reach him, I gently put it down – one link at a time – to free up my hands. It takes an internal count of one hundred.

I lean over Stryker, looking at his thick neck for a glint of the necklace that holds the key to the handcuffs – and my freedom. I have to tilt my head back and forth several times before I see it. A little sparkle right against his neck on the side furthest from me. I reach over with my uncuffed hand and oh-so-gently pinch it between my thumb and pointer finger, making sure I don’t pinch his skin in the process.

Okay, Millie. Now it’s time for the hard part.

I tug on the necklace at a snail’s pace, hoping and praying that Stryker isn’t a light sleeper. I have about six inches of the necklace uncovered when a large arm wraps around my waist and pulls me downward. I land with a huff on top of Stryker, and he flips me over, him above me. He’s got me pinned. Again! What iswiththis guy?

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, voice gravelly with sleep. He puts a portion of his weight on me, shoving his head into the crook of my neck.

“Nothing!” I squeak. Nothing he needs to worry about, anyway. He hums.

“You wouldn’t be tryin’ to take this key from me, would you?” he asks, nuzzling my neck. I gulp.

“Ha! Of course not! What a silly idea that would be!” I lie. I was so brave when he was sleeping. What happened to that? Buck up, Millie!

“Even if you did get the key, you can’t get off the property,” he grumbles tiredly. Yeah, okay. We’ll see about that. I pout at the ceiling.

Stryker lifts his head up to look at me when I don’t respond. He sighs.

“Go back to bed,” he orders, rolling to his feet. I get up too, bypassing the hand he extends to help me, and reluctantly crawl into my bed. This sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks.

Stryker sighs again, then settles back onto his cot. What right does he have to sound so weary? So sorry your kidnapping scheme isn’t working out how you’d hoped, crazy abductor man. Maybe next timejust don’t.

We lay in silence for a while, me thinking through what my next steps should be and Stryker doing whatever it is that the mentally unstable do in the middle of the night. Plotting future crimes, I’d bet. He’s probably having better luck with his scheming than I am.

“Go to sleep,” Stryker says, voice hard. I ignore him. He doesn’t get to trap me here, foil my escape plans left and right, then tell me when to sleep. I have to draw the line somewhere. I have chosen my hill, and if I die on it? Well, so be it.

He heaves yet another sigh.

“You should really get your lungs checked,” I sass him. He sits up, poking his head and shoulders into my sight.

“If you don’t go to sleep, I’m going to get rid of the cot and make this an only one bed trope. Is that what you want?” he asks me.

“How do you evenknowabout that trope? I didn’t think they marketed rom-coms to the criminally insane,” I retort. He moves to get up.

It turns out that hills are not my thing, and dying on them is stupid.

“Okay, okay!” I make a show of settling further into the bed. “I’m going to sleep. Stay over there!” He lays back down, and I close my eyes, comforting myself with the thought of tomorrow. I can regroup. I can strategize. So what if I didn’t get the key today? I’m not a quitter. Tomorrow is a new day, full of possibilities and hope.

Tonight, I’ll rest. Tomorrow, I’ll run.

Chapter Seven

I wake up to the sun in my face and Stryker complaining.

Ugh. Not this again. I roll deep under the covers and groan, then send out a muffled, “Let me live!”

Does he listen? No, of course not. Stupid crazy man. He uncovers me, lifts me up, and drops me by the bathroom. The door shuts, and the lock clicks.

Déjà vu to the max.

I huff as I take a seat on the floor, eying the duffel bags lined against the wall. Hmm.

I glance toward the bathroom. He was in there for a while yesterday. I bet I have time.

With a shrug, I grab the closest bag and pop it in my lap. I open it slowly in an attempt to minimize the zip noise, and am disappointed to find only clothes in it. Several black t-shirts, athletic shorts, a couple pairs of pajamas, some socks, and underwear. Nothing interesting. I rummage around in the pockets and come up with a whole lot of more nothing. Boo. I zip it back up and reach for the second bag.

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