Page 3 of Better Run
He shrugs. “Prick bastard, according to you.”
That flashes a memory in my mind. Struggling. Pain. It all rushes back and a surge of rage fills me.
“You mother –” I jerk forward, seeing my hands wrap around his throat in my mind. My body abruptly stops with my ass on the edge of the bed. Sharp pain jerks my right hand to a halt. I look down. I’m cuffed to a short chain that is wrapped around the bedpost.
“Yeah, sorry about that. My eyes are pretty, and I wanted to keep them.” The man stands and leans in with a sneer. “Mary Jo, 29 years old. Makes videos reviewing food. Got popular by creating meals under five dollars. Just paid off your Honda Civic, used to work at a few factories, now an influencer. Two loving parents, Steve and Heather, no siblings, best friend Carissa, and a boyfriend who works for Knight Security. Your favorite color is blue, you masturbate every night because your deadbeat boyfriend won’t get it up for you, and you have no pets because he won’t let you.” His dark eyes stare into mine.
I simply stare at him. He has long dark eyelashes that contrast with an otherwise hard and masculine face. I have no idea how he knows all that. Fear tries to break through the anger. My heart flutters, and I pull in a breath.
He must see the shift. He smiles deeply. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Good. Now there are a few rules. One. If you try to attack me again, I’ll hurt you. Two. I won’t hurt you if you listen to my rules. So listen to my rules.” He leans closer and instinct tells me to back up. I glare at him instead. He’s inches from my face.
“Three. If you run, I’ll punish you.” His breath brushes my face and smells of mint. “We’re miles into the hills with no cell service and no neighbors except for black bears and coyotes.”
Miles into the hills? How far from home did he take me? We only had cornfields and beans where I was from. So many questions bounce in my brain.
He waits, watching my eyes.
I focus on him and narrow my eyes in return.
“So…no Doordash?”
Something flickers in his expression then he returns to his blank stare.
I should be afraid. Fear is battering at my anger, trying to take over. I don’t let it. Not right now. Not in front of him.
He steps back and straightens. He’s a tall motherfucker, at least 6’2”. And built. He could easily fold me in half and break me.
“Think about the rules, Mary.” He walks to the door on the right side of the small room.
“Hey–”
He walks out and slams the door.
I sit stunned for a second. Then I scramble up on the bed again and examine my right hand which is shackled to the frame. The metal cuff is snug against my wrist but not enough to pinch. The other end is secured to a thick chain which is padlocked firmly to the bed frame. I have about a foot of slack. I hop off the bed and see the metal frame bolted to the floor.
What the hell?
I look around again. Near me is an empty plastic bucket and two bottles of water. The rest of the room is empty besides the chair he was sitting in. No nightstands, no lamps. Just the door and the bed. I turn to the window and look out the blinds. It’s daytime. The sun is shining on a small clearing, maybe fifty feet from the window, and then woods. I crane to see to left and right. Just out of view to my right is what looks like a shed or garage. To the left is a dirt driveway that extends into the woods. I feel around the window as best I can, with limited movement from my right hand. It’s small but big enough for me to crawl out of. The latch opens but when I try to push it open it doesn’t budge. I look around more and see it’s been nailed shut.
Fuck.
I turn back around. What the hell is going on? Is he going to rape me? Why did he keep calling me Mary? I don’t know this man from Adam. I’d definitely remember him. Did I piss somebody off recently?
I stare at the door and think back to my recent videos. None were controversial. I got the normal hate comments but my moderators take care of most of those before I see them. Fuck. Had this man been one of those commenters that got blocked and removed before I saw it? Also, how did he know so many things about me? I fiercely guard my personal information online.
I rub my face. Little dark flecks fall into my hand. Blood. His blood from the struggle.
Holy shit he knew about me masturbating. What the actual hell?
My heart races.
He was in my home. While I slept. Is Kyle okay?
I look down at my clothes. I’m in the same leggings and pink tank top that I fell asleep in. I have no shoes or socks. With massive relief, I realize that I don’t feel sore anywhere but my head. Not that that means I’m safe.
I sit on the edge of the bed.
