Page 84 of Wicked Scorn
Mr. Bryant slams his fist on the desk, and I jump, thinking he saw what I did, but he’s still mid-rant. “Are you listening to me, Oakley?”
I manage a bitter laugh. “The only reality here is that you’re a pathetic old man who can’t get over a teenage fantasy.” I need to keep him angry and talking because the louder he is, the better chance I have of Jeremiah hearing what’s going on.
“Watch your mouth,” he hisses, stepping closer until his face is inches from mine. “Or I’ll make sure your little fuckboy sees what happens when someone gets in my way.”
“You’re not going to touch him,” I say, my voice trembling but defiant. “He’ll be here any minute. This is your last chance to walk away.”
“Brave words,” he mocks, his hand brushing a lock of hair away from my face. “But we’ll see how long that bravery lasts once your little hero is out of the picture.”
I flinch at his touch, nausea rising in my throat.Every second feels like an eternity, but I hold on to the hope that Jeremiah will come through that door at any moment.
“Until then,” he continues, his voice dripping with malice, “you’re all mine.”
I swallow hard, my eyes darting to the door. The seconds tick by like hours, and the air feels thick with tension. My breath hitches as Mr. Bryant pulls out a knife from his coat pocket. Its blade catches the dim light, reflecting a glint of madness in his eyes.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Get away with what?” He chuckles darkly, twirling the knife between his fingers. “All I’m doing is taking what’s rightfully mine.”
My skin crawls at his words. “You were always so nice. What happened?”
“Was I?” He steps closer, the knife now pointed at my throat. “Or was I invisible? A doormat everyone stomped all over?”
I ignore him because I have no idea what he’s talking about. “You’re wrong about him,” I say, though my voice wavers. “He’ll come for me.”
“Perhaps,” he concedes, his smile twisted, “but not before I have my fun.”
He grabs my arm roughly and drags me toward a chair. The scent of his cologne—overpowering and sickly sweet—fills my nostrils, making me want to retch. He forces me down, the cold metal of the knife pressing against my skin as he ties my wrists to the arms of the chair. The rope digs into my flesh, abrasive and unyielding.
“Just relax,” he croons, tightening the knots. “It’ll be easier if you don’t struggle.”
“Go to hell,” I spit, but my bravado feels thin, like paper against the storm.
“Such fire for a pretty, sweet-looking girl,” he mocks, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “It’s no wonder you’ve captured my heart.”
“Heart?” I laugh bitterly. “You don’t have one.”
“Maybe not,” he shrugs, “but I do have plans for you.”
“Plans?” A chill runs down my spine.
“Yes, plans,” he continues, his tone almost conversational. “I’ve watched you for so long, Oakley. Tick Tock, while I bided my time. Your every move, your every smile. And now, you’re finally here with me.”
“I’m going to enjoy watching Jeremiah gut you like the spineless bastard you are,” I say, clinging to the hope that he’s on his way even though I know he’s not nearby. I could have called 911, but I’m afraid if they roll up with lights and sirens that this psycho will take us both out rather than be captured.
“By the time he finds you,” Mr. Bryant’s grin widens, “it’ll be too late.”
“You’re wrong,” I hiss, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
“Your defiance is adorable,” he says, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath on my cheek. “But it won’t save you. Trust me, sweetheart. Nothing will save you from me. I’ve waited entirely too long.”
“Please,” I whisper, desperation creeping into my voice. “Don’t do this.”
“Shh,” he soothes, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “Just let it happen.”
My heart races, my mind screaming at me to do something, anything. But with each passing second, the reality ofmy situation sinks in deeper and deeper. I’m trapped, bound, and at the mercy of a madman.
“Just remember,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a sinister smile, “this is all because you chose him over me. I would have quit my job to give you whatever you wanted, but you always wanted him, even back then. Robert Blackwood’s heathens were always the bane of my existence. They never had to work for anything, just because of who their daddy is.”
