Page 27 of Fire Island
Of course he does.
“Where are we going next?” I say quietly.
He ducks his head, studying my face as he replies, “None of your business.”
“I beg to differ, since you are taking me there against my will.”
He bolts off the chair and is squatting in front of me a heartbeat later. “I said, none of your business, Butterfly.” He moves to stand but decides against it as he turns back and closes in on me. I press my back into the stove. The harsh metal grates against my spine. “Just know that you will never see this place again.”
My face wobbles with emotions set to betray my facade of composure.
“That makes you sad, precious girl? Good, you deserve some punishment for all the trouble you’ve put me through.”
He coughs, and spit lands on my cheek. Refusing to gag, I harden my features to stone, not giving him a fucking inch.
“You won’t get away with this. People will know I’m missing. My editor?—”
“She won’t bother to track down a writer who can’t stick to a deadline to save herself. And those so-called friends of yours in the city weren’t plussed when you never called or emailed from the lighthouse for nine months. No one is going to miss you, Butterfly. Not one person.”
My chin wobbles, and I bite back a sob.
Softening just the slightest, he tracks a grubby finger over my jaw. “You’re better off with me, you’ll come to see that.”
I rip my chin away from his touch. “Over my dead body.”
Resting on his heels, he slides the gun from the front of his sweats. He points it at my forehead and smiles, like the fucking Joker. “That would be too easy. Besides, I don’t have any intention of living without you.”
Right. Because torturing someone and keeping them in captivity is love.
His kind of love.
The drone of a boat wakes me from a restless, pointless sleep. I jerk awake, the back of my head smashing into the stove door.
Fuck.
I groan before my consciousness can catch up to my current situation and shut it down.
Timothy is on his feet a second later, gathering his things. He tucks the gun into the front of his sweats again as he shoulders the backpack and moves toward me. Bending down, he unlocks the cuff from the leg of the stove. Pulling me to my feet, he secures the metal bracelet around my wrist once again.
“Our ride is here.” He tugs me along at his side.
“No!” I struggle against his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Move, Eve.”
“I—I... need to pee, please.” I tense up on the spot, trying desperately to hold my ground.
He looks around the old shack. The tin bucket Cal and I used for our hunting trip sits by the door. He swipes it up and pushes it into my chest. “You have one minute.”
Without a word, he walks outside and shuts the door, guarding it. I really do need to pee, but I also needed to buy some time to find the small knives I hid in the cupboard last time I was here. I place the bucket in front of the cupboard and tug my jeans and panties down. As I relieve myself into the old bucket, I slide my hands to the side into the small, weathered cupboard and feel for the old, rusted knives.
“Hurry up, thirty seconds,” he grunts from outside.
“Okay.”
My fingers find the handle of the larger knife. I grab it. As I pull my jeans back up, I slide it into the waistband at my spine.
Eve - 1
