Page 13 of Daring

"Finally, you say something intelligent," he smirks insincerely.

"Get our things from the car, Carla," Abigail tells Gretel, whose eyes widen when Abigail gets her name wrong.

The executive doesn't seem to care, and Gretel opens the door, pretending to grab something.

"Alright, I'll leave a knife in your hand, and you figure out how to free yourself. I hope you don't mind," Abigail tells him.

"A cautious woman, very clever," he nods.

Abigail approaches him, and instead of leaving something in his hand, she quickly places the tape over his mouth, not enough for him to violently shake off the deceit and hit her in the face with his head. Abigail staggers backward, completely stunned, and Gretel rushes to close the trunk. The man is half-sitting, resisting, but driven by fear and anger for what he did to Abigail, she hits him with the hatch repeatedly until he lies down, and she finally closes the trunk.

"Are you okay?" Gretel asks, crouching beside Abigail, who has finally lost her balance and ended up sitting.

"I think so," she responds, a bit dazed.

Gretel uses the flashlight on her phone to focus on her. That jerk has smashed her nose and reddened her cheekbone. They hear the muffled attempts to scream from the guy in the trunk, and the car rocks from side to side as if someone is having a romp inside.

"We need to go to the police, but if he follows through with his threat..." Gretel says, helping her up, "we won't have a way to prove he's lying. We've stolen a car."

She guides her to the passenger seat and takes a tissue from her purse to stem the bleeding.

"We're in deep trouble," Abigail whispers, dropping her head back.

Chapter 7

Gretel sits behind the wheel, overwhelmed by the situation and the incessant movements and complaints from the guy. Abigail pinches her nose with a paper ball and dries the tears caused by the blow. Then she turns to Gretel with determination.

"We have to find a way to turn the situation in our favor. Clearly, we can't go to the police. If he follows through with his threat, we're screwed, and I refuse to end up in jail for something I didn't do."

"Me neither," Gretel affirms, trying to sound as confident as Abigail.

"I have a beach house with a lot of land, the nearest neighbors are fifty meters away. We can go there, and once safe, we can calmly decide what to do."

"Agreed," Gretel concedes, starting the engine, grateful that Abigail is so decisive. If it were up to her alone, she's sure she'd be crying her heart out in front of a police station.

For a seemingly endless thirty minutes, Abigail guides Gretel to her house, both hoping there are no setbacks. They enter a residential area and practically drive through the entire place until they reach a massive wall with a sliding gate that starts moving the moment Abigail presses the remote button. As they cross it and it closes behind them, they feel safe for the first time since discovering they had an intruder on board.

Abigail swings open the garage door, and they slip inside.

"Now what?" Gretel asks. "We can't leave him there indefinitely; he'll need to use the bathroom and stuff."

The guy had stopped moving during the drive, but now he resumes complaining and banging, rocking the car. They exit and enter the house. Abigail switches on the lights and heads straight to her room, followed by Gretel, who observes everything with amazement, unsure of Abigail's intentions.

The executive opens a door, leading them into a walk-in closet that widens Gretel's eyes despite the sleepiness creeping in. There isn't much clothing, indicating it's Abigail's second residence. Still, Gretel is certain there's more here than in her sad two-door closet shared with Pol.

Abigail grabs a couple of hoodies, and Gretel notices almost all the clothes are comfy, suitable for lounging at home or exercising. She figures it's Abigail's sanctuary where she disconnects from the stressful life of an overworked businesswoman.

She hands Gretel a neck gaiter that they pull up to cover their noses. Abigail winces in pain, and a couple of tears escape.

"Damn it," she curses, irritated, scrunching her nose.

They put on the hoodies, tightening the hood strings to conceal their hair. There was little light before, but now, in the dimness, it's better for both of them.

"There's a storage room in the garage; we'll lock him in there," Abigail decides.

They spend the next few minutes getting everything ready. They drag a small mattress from the guest room, noticing it's brand new, suggesting Abigail's social life is almost as sparse as Gretel's. They bring a large water bottle, a pack of cookies, some juice, and leave an empty bottle for him to pee. Abigail steps outside, and Gretel follows like a loyal puppy; it's clear the executive knows what she's doing.

She removes the bike from a wall-mounted rack while the guy continues moaning in the car. Abigail grabs a climbing rope from a closet and, standing on a small ladder, threads one end through the vent connecting the storage room to the garage. She reenters and calculates leaving the rope hanging about half a meter above the ground. She heads towards the bike rack, skillfully tying a knot Gretel is sure is impossible to untie.

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