Page 25 of Immortal Bastard

She gasped. Her memories came hurtling back and she sprang to her feet, her legs unsteady on the mattress as she scrambled as far away from that sick fuck as she could manage.

“Am I fucking dead?” she screamed.

“There’s no need for salty language—”

“What the fucking fuck!” Having the stability of a kid on a moon bounce, she wobbled and gripped the headboard. Her free hand inspected her body, frantically feeling her neck and shoulders for injury, certain he’d stabbed her. “Where am I?”

Was this a kidnapping? Her gaze zipped around the bare room. Absolutely no memory of coming here voluntarily. She touched her face, arms, hips, stomach, thighs, vagina, toes. Where the hell were her clothes?

He took a step closer.

“Stay back!” she snapped, holding out an unsteady arm, unsure how she could possibly protect herself against a man that size. “Where are my fucking clothes?”

He scowled at her. “No more foul language, Delilah.”

“Go fuck yourself!” She drew in another burning breath and screamed, “Help!”

Shaking his head, he crossed to a dresser in the corner, moving with such agility and grace, it was as if he walked on air.

Her eyes twitched. In the corner, a tiny spider slept on a web. Her focus zeroed in and she counted all eight of its legs then frowned. What the fuck? The thing was smaller than a pencil tip, but she had no problem seeing every detail of its miniature body from ten feet away.

A motored vehicle passed in the distance and her ear followed the sound, her gaze darting to the window. Her mind tracked the distant rumble, certain the car was miles away, yet she heard the engine, scented the exhaust, and even detected the music playing from the speakers.

Was that T-Swift?

She frowned at the faint trail of cigarette smoke.

He opened a drawer, the rattle of wood louder than a wrecking ball. Gripping her ears, she hunched down and flinched. Maybe she was hungover—or drugged. That made more sense.

“You’re experiencing heightened sensory. You’ll adapt in a minute or two. Just relax.”

The last time he told her to relax, he slit her throat open. “What did you do to me?”

He moved past the window and she hissed. Sunlight pierced her corneas and she covered her eyes. Squinting, she zeroed in on the dust motes drifting through the air and every fiber of woven thread sewn into the curtain.

She counted the exit points. One door, two windows. Somehow, she knew they were on the second floor. A shirt and hat hung from pegs on the wall. Was there time to steal clothes or should she run naked?

He poured liquid from a pitcher, the trickle of water interfering with her perception of other sounds. As soon as he stopped filling the glass she could once again hear the trill of insects chirping outside and the birds calling from the trees. There was way too much nature to be the city. Wherever they were, it wasn’t near home.

“Drink this.”

Shifting into a praying mantis slash Daniel son Karate Kid pose, she bared her teeth. “Don’t come any closer!”

“I’m only offering you water—”

“Ha! You think I’m stupid?” She kicked the cup out of his hand. The metal dish clattered to the ground.

His eyebrow arched, triggering a strange memory she couldn’t place. Pushing the sense of déjà vu away, she kicked the air again, warning him back.

“Perhaps I should remind you that you’re naked.”

“You think that’s going to stop me, you fucking psycho? I’ll go Hannibal on your ass if you get any closer. I want my clothes and a phone. Now.”

He sighed and took a step closer. She hissed then clapped her hands over her mouth. Hissing? Really? She wasn’t feeling like herself.

Retrieving a black shirt from the dresser, he extended his arm. “You may wear this.”

Hesitantly, she snatched the garment out of his hand with more force than intended. He kept his back to her as she unraveled the fabric and held it up. It wasn’t a shirt, but a dress, a hideous, plain, frock-like dress.

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