Page 16 of Bound to a Killer
Without angering him further, I hurry and do as he commands, lowering my cotton panties and relieving myself behind one of the trees nearby.
It feels degrading, the mortification sharp and consuming, but basic human function persists. I’m grateful for the sliver of privacy, even as the audible stream exposes just how little control I have left.
With clumsy hands, I pull my underwear back on, not quite sure what to make of this or what comes next. As if sensing I’m finished, he turns back around, his eyes catching on the few drops of urine still clinging to my inner thighs. Even in the cold, my face heats up.
He tosses my shorts over to me, but I miss catching them. “Back on,” he says, nodding toward the ground where they fell.
The flimsy silk is damp when I pick it up, but I hurry and put them on, thankful for whatever little coverage they can offer. The winter breeze from this morning pales in comparison to now. If I’m lucky, I’ll freeze to death before any real torture begins. My body thrums from head to toe, violent shivers wracking through me as I fold my arms across my waist, my gaze refusing to meet his.
Abrupt ringing cuts through the silence from his jeans pocket. Exasperation crosses his face, but he answers with a heavy sigh.
Now would be my chance to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Only trees and cold envelop us. My legs are far too stiff to move, let alone break into a sprint. Besides, he’d catch me before I could even make it around the trees behind us. If I run, it has to be at the right moment.
After a beat of stillness, the car roars back to life the second the headlights dim. With his free hand, he guides me back inside, and I let him, desperate to escape the cold and with no other choice.
He grits his teeth as he slides back into his seat, his other hand holding up his phone to his ear before he finally speaks into it. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out,” he grumbles to the person on the other end, then hangs up.
The silence thickens once he starts driving again, his words echoing in my head. I want to ask what he needs to figure out, but stop myself, unsure if I really want to find out. Within a couple more minutes, I spot a small wooden cabin in the distance, and although I’m feeling weak, my muscles are still tense as he drives toward it.
Through my peripheral, I catch him shifting the gear into park as we reach a small cabin. He says something, but I can’t make it out over the buzzing in my ears. It doesn’t really matter, though, because just like before, he climbs out of his seat and comes around to drag me back out.
5
LEDGER
The scent of rotten oak hits me as soon as I step inside. It’s dark, cold, and damp, but I can work with that. I grip the ropes in one hand and flick on my phone’s flashlight with the other, sweeping the beam across the room’s dark interior, searching for the firewood Tanner said he stashed here for emergencies.
He didn’t sound thrilled when I called to say I was stopping here. Getting the location out of him was like pulling teeth, but eventually he coughed up the coordinates.
He’s always made sure we have these “safe zones” tucked away across the country as fallback spots in case anything goes sideways, but I’ve never stepped in one until now. Judging by the condition inside, I don’t think he expected either of us to actually use it. The air’s stagnant, holding the kind of silence that wraps around your throat, heavy and suffocating.
No one else in The Ringer knows about this place. Just him and me. He’s always been cautious, the kind of guy who expects things to implode at a moment’s notice. I used to scoff at his efforts. Now, I’m just relieved one of us thought things through.
I follow the beam of light to the stone fireplace in the rightcorner, then spot an old rack filled with logs nearby once I’m close enough. Dropping the ropes and my phone, I begin arranging the wood into the rusted metal grate, working by the faintest sliver of light illuminating the place.
After I’ve lit the fire, I pocket my phone and reach for the extra bundle of ropes I brought in from the trunk before coming inside.
The glow from the flames brightens the room enough to reveal layers of dust and cobwebs that have accumulated in all of the tight corners of the cabin.
Hope she’s not afraid of spiders.
I turn to face the quivering girl I’ve dragged with me. It’s a miracle that she’s still upright, dressed in nothing but barely-there shorts and a thin-strapped tank top, lace running along the collar. Stupidly underdressed. Distracting in a way she shouldn’t be. Just like the morning I saw her.
The slippers on her feet are in horrible condition now. The fur’s matted and tinged brown.
Cold and equal parts fear keep her shivering violently. She needs to get out of those clothes if she doesn’t want to get sick. But something tells me she’d rather freeze to death than be told to strip them off again.
There’s nothing she can change into, anyway. The heat from the fireplace should be enough to last us through the night.
I chuck the ropes onto the twin-sized bed tucked beside the fireplace. She’s not going to like this arrangement, but it’ll keep us both safe overnight. I move toward her, where she’s stiff by the door, her grip locked tight on the knob, though tremors still wrack her body.
It doesn’t bring me any joy to add to her distress. Not when she thinks I’m going to harm her.
Except I already am harming her.
“Please,” she cries again, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. The knob starts to rattle in her grasp, but herknuckles are frozen stiff, unable to twist it open, or maybe she just knows she won’t make it. “I’ll give...you...anything...you want,” she stammers, stepping back.
“There’s nothing you could give me,” I tell her.
