Part 40 (2/2)

”All grown up, aren't you?” He drained his gla.s.s of whiskey and grinned. ”Lucky for both of us, I'm feeling good enough to welcome you home nice and proper.”

Gooseflesh erupted over Evangeline's limbs.

Neal arched a brow. ”What's this? No tears? No pleading for me to 'just leave you alone'?”

No. She'd learned the hard way begging him to stop merely spiked his arousal. If Mama hadn't been there to protect her all those years...Evangeline's body tensed. Better not to think about those days. n.o.body was here to protect her now.

His legs bent until he nearly sat on his heels, face at her eye level, arms crossed over his knees. He tilted forward, licked her forehead, sniffed her.

She tried not to vomit.

He reached out and fingered the ribbon encircling her ribs. ”Pretty dress. Too bad it's all dirty. We'd better get you out of this gown and into my bed.”

Evangeline clenched her teeth and glared at him. He'd have to untie her to undress her. The moment her hands were free, she'd gouge out his eyes, and the moment her legs were free, she'd knee him in the b.o.l.l.o.c.ks and run out the door. She'd die before letting him touch her.

He rose to his feet, reached in a pocket, pulled out a ring of keys.

”I'd better go unchain a few servants. Cold enough to see my breath. We need a fire in here, a bath for you, more whiskey for me...Stay right here, darlin'. The fun will start the moment I come back.”

With a smirk, he was gone.

Evangeline struggled to her feet and hopped toward the front door. She was just turning around to twist open the handle with her bound hands when her stepfather strode back into the room, another gla.s.s of whiskey in his hand.

”Now, now,” he drawled. His brows arched. ”What did I tell you I'd do if I caught you trying to escape again?”

Oddly, it took her a long moment before she could recall his threat. She'd no doubt blocked the possibility from her mind. She'd rather he kill her right here and now than lock her up in that G.o.dforsaken pantry.

”Ah.” He smiled. ”I see you remember now. It's not so very terrible in there, is it? So very dark, so very small, so very tight? We'll have to see if you still fit inside. I wager you'll be begging for my company once you've spent a night locked inside. Perhaps two nights. Or three.” His fingers squeezed her upper arm as his voice dropped dangerously. ”You'll stay in the pantry until you're ready to greet me proper.”

”I won't go in there,” she whispered. ”I can't.”

”You will.”

When he pulled on her arm, Evangeline's knees gave way beneath her. She thudded heavily to the ground, legs limp, eyes wide with terror.

”Get. Up.”

Her lungs wheezed. Her body shook. Her pulse faltered. She couldn't move.

Neal bent down, hooked the fingers of his free hand through the rope binding her ankles, dragged her dead weight across the room feet-first. He hauled her down the corridor to a tall narrow door that haunted her nightmares.

He flung open the door.

An icy draft rippled across her skin. The gaping maw of the long-abandoned pantry yawned blacker than ever in the absence of both sunlight and candles. What if he lost the key? What if he never released her? What if he left her to die?

He tugged her toward the open doorway. ”In you go.”

”Not again.” She shook her head from side to side. ”No. No!”

He hauled her forward by her ankles, dropped her legs, kicked her shoulders inside with the heel of his boot.

She thrashed, ready to die before being confined in that tiny slice of h.e.l.l. When he reached down to shove her face into the darkness, she bit him. Hard.

”Little b.i.t.c.h b.i.t.c.h.”

He hurled his gla.s.s of whiskey over her head. It shattered behind her, sending a pungent spray of sticky liquid and tiny shards against the back wall. He kicked her the rest of the way inside, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to maybe break the bone.

No. He hadn't broken any of her bones this time. She was lucky. Ha Ha. Lucky. If she was lucky, he wouldn't shut the door and lock her inside. If she was lucky, he'd just kill her and have done with it. If she was lucky- The door slammed shut with enough force to blow strands of damp hair from her face. Keys jangled. The lock snapped in place.

Evangeline opened her mouth, but the darkness swallowed her scream.

It was worse than being lost in the walls at Blackberry Manor. So much worse. The pantry was darker. Smaller. Tighter.

Her limbs were bent. Cramped. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. The air was cold, dank, stale. The shadows smelled like sweat and liquor and fear. Or maybe that was her. She was a shadow now, too. She was nowhere. She was nothing.

Cobwebs clung to her cheeks and arms. Were there spiders in her hair? On her face? In her clothes? She yanked at her bound wrists. The twine dug into her skin until blood coated the bindings, but still she could not break free.

Something brushed against her toe. A rat? There. Skittering across the floor. She couldn't see, but she could hear them. Lots of them.

Rats could smell blood. Her wrists and ankles were wet.

They'd be on her soon. Sniffing her. Licking her. Biting her. She couldn't fend them off. She couldn't get away. She couldn't do anything but suck in great panting lungfuls of dry, dusty air and flail her bound limbs against the locked pantry door.

And scream.

Evangeline awoke in total blackness.

She reached out for Gavin and-couldn't reach, hands bound-pantry-Gavin just a dream. The back of her head thumped dully against the floor. She writhed in the dark, struggling against the twine that bound her bruised ankles and raw wrists. Strong. Tight. Impossible.

No. Never. She would escape even if she had to chew off her arm. Where were the rats? Perhaps they could chew her arm off for her. She bit back a hysterical giggle. No chewing. Rats must be asleep. Focus.

She rolled to her side. Twisted. Grappled for her ankles. The binding was too tight to slip more than the pad of one finger beneath the cord. Too tight. Too tight. Digging into her skin. Hurt. Pull anyway. Pull Pull.

Nothing.

Her heartbeat quickened. She tugged on the twine. Sweat dampened her skin. The shadows s.h.i.+fted. She couldn't breathe. Listen. Wheezing gasps. Her breathing was too shallow. Short, rapid, desperate gulps of air. Calm down. Try Try. No panting. No pa.s.sing out again. Must escape.

Her ankles throbbed. Her feet were numb. Her wrists were numb. Could she free her hands? Keeping her elbows tight together, she folded her arms until the back of her right wrist grazed her chin. Tight. Hurt. Ignoring the biting pain and the slick, tangy blood coating the cording, she bared her teeth and sawed at the twine, tugging and pulling and yanking and chewing.

She gasped. Recoiled. Spat. What the h.e.l.l was that? Cobwebs? Hair? No. Thread. A bit of the twine had unraveled. Good. Try again.

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