Page 40 of Savage Sin

“ARGH!” I scream when it doesn’t work the first time.

Deep breaths. I’m trembling all over so I have to work on focusing.

I try again and with a little more force, I feel more than hear the pop of bone slipping out of place.

I grunt and bite down on my lip to keep from screaming.

“Oh, God, the pain,” I murmur and grit down on my back molars. Wiggling past the knot takes effort and my whole body breaks out in a sheen of sweat. Finally free, I send up a silent thank you that the one thing I got from my mother were tiny wrists.

I set to work loosening my other wrists and then my feet. This time, instead of hauling ass, I take it slow. Muscles scream with lack of use and I can barely walk to the bathroom without panting. Loss of blood, lack of sunlight and proper food don’t help.

I reach into the bathroom and fumble for a light. White light highlights the fact I direly need a hairbrush. The bathroom is massive, with a deep sauna bathtub and a shower facing a large window. I go there first, drag off my borrowed T-shirt and take my first shower in days.

I grab the soap but skip the conditioner. I’m more worried about Rage coming home and catching me loose than tangles and knots.

I flick on the cold water only. Five minutes is all I allow myself before I jump out, dry off and go in search of clothes. I open the only other door in the room that isn’t the bathroom to find a walk-in closet. There’s a wall of men’s clothes to the left. Jeans. Lots of them. Shirts too. Shoes. But nothing in my size. I head across the hall and fling open another door. I find the light switch and head to the closest door in this room.

“Bingo!”

Rage has to be married or indulge in a fetish for women’s clothing. No judgment by me. I’m just grateful that the track shorts and T-shirt I find fit. I’m not into using other people’s underwear or bras, so I skip those and opt for a pair of slip-on sneakers. Facing the mirror hanging on the back of the door, I do a twist with my hair to keep it out of my eyes before hitting the stairs.

The second I reach the first floor, I hunt for a phone. From the looks of it, the man with the scary scars and tattoos does not like landlines. No shocker there. He has to have communication with people in the outside world, but there are no spare cell phones or sets of keys to be found. I head for the back of the cabin and find myself in a dark kitchen. There has to be something here, but all I see are empty countertops.

I flick on lights as I pull open cabinets and grab the first thing that isn’t the freaking loaf of bread the man has fed me one slice at a time for days. My sugar is tanking fast with all the effort it’s taking to walk after so long after being bedridden. My stitches hurt, but the pain is tolerable.

I rip open a tin foil packet and moan into the empty kitchen when strawberry goodness hits my tongue. The breakfast pastry is gone in three bites and I start on the second one in the pack as I continue my search for keys or a phone.

I head to a door with a large metal handle off the side of the kitchen, but it’s not the home office I’d hoped for, I quickly discover. No one is keeping a phone in here. Cold air brushes over my skin when I walk into a room-sized refrigerator. Overhead lights flicker on to reveal multiple shelves fully stocked with fresh produce.

Son-of-a-bitch! “The bastard has every intention of keeping me here for as long as it takes to get what he wants.”

I drop the remaining pastry to the floor. Screw eating. I can get food some other time. I need to get the hell out of here. My heart lurches into my chest. I take a step back and then another. When I hit something metal and cold, I spin and come face to face with….

I scream. Sweat breaks out all over my body and my ability to breathe suddenly stops. My heart pounds against my chest.

I clutch at my chest at the set of eyes staring back at me through a glass jar.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!”

I bolt left and don’t bother closing anything on my way out. I get about three paces outside the large refrigerator when pounding comes in the direction of the living room.

Rage wouldn’t knock, so who the hell is at the door? I track the heavy footfalls as they round the cabin on what I think is a wrap-around porch.

He said there were no neighbors.

The rubber tread of my shoes catches on the polished floors and my knees lock, causing me to windmill my arms or fall flat on my face. More pounding. I cast around to find another exit. Behind me is a large sliding door. But what is on the other side of that has me rooted in place. Rage could be out there waiting to pop me off the second I slide it open. Didn’t he say he’s hunted humans before? My stomach heaves at the thought.

“Shit! The light!”

I hit the floor and freeze behind a kitchen counter.

“Rage, come on. Open up, man.”

A faint alarm goes off to my right. Lights flicker from beneath a door.

“What the hell?” I crawl in that direction. When I get within reach of the kitchen lights, I pause, hand over the switch, but think better of it. They probably think someone left the light on, but if I turn it off now, they’ll know someone is in here. Any friend of Rage’s is not a friend of mine. I hold no hope of getting help from whomever it is banging on the door.

Without making a noise, I make my way to the door with the lights coming from beneath. I slide a lightweight door open to find a security system that shows me every angle of the cabin. I push to my feet and start pressing buttons. Screens flicker and it doesn’t take me long to figure out how to scan through the different angles. It’s like Jurassic Park out there. A large gravel parking area takes up the front of the house and beyond that is a dense tree line. That is about all I can tell about my location. My borrowed shoes will come in handy, but I should have gone for some jeans.

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