Part 3 (1/2)

”Mmm, I see.” His eyes rake over me. ”I untie you and you try to kill me. You see the problem I have with that?”

”I wouldn't try to kill you. I'm not a murderer,” I huff.

”You'd be surprised what people will do to survive,” he says quietly.

He crawls toward me, the gun clasped in his hand, which makes me nervous to say the least. His lips kick up in a smirk. He's like an animal stalking his prey, toying with it.

”You really should look at this particular situation like this, I'm your saviour. I didn't kidnap you. I'm most likely gonna f.u.c.k up my own guy for busting those pouty-a.s.s lips of yours.”

My saviour! Is he serious right now? My temper flares. I have been bartered in exchange for a b.l.o.o.d.y debt to this man, who clearly has the morals of an alley cat. I'm not a f.u.c.king object to be traded and exchanged at will!

”Oh, spare me your chivalrous bulls.h.i.+t,” I interrupt him. ”You're going to beat the s.h.i.+t out of your guy because he's an idiot.” My hands are trembling as I attempt to scramble back away from him. I know I should be careful how I speak to him, but honestly, if he wants to kill me, he will.

He sucks in an agitated breath and continues, ”...and I haven't killed you, although I probably should seeing as how you just tried to steal my gun.”

He's moving slowly, stealthily. All I can think is how much his movements resemble a big cat. This d.a.m.n room is so dark, which doesn't help. His cold eyes lock with mine, making me recoil even more. For every inch I move backward, he seems to move forward two. The last thing I want is him anywhere near me.

I laugh nervously. ”Don't you think you're being a bit over-dramatic?” I try to keep my voice level, but it wavers under that murky green gaze. Honestly, I wouldn't even know how to shoot a gun. One look at his expression, and I know I've said the wrong thing.

His eyes narrow as he growls. I can smell the whiskey on his breath as it blows across my face. I panic. I don't know why I do, but out of instinct I lash out, slapping him across the face. His head snaps to the side slightly before his gaze swings to mine, and a sick grin twists his lips. ”Wrong f.u.c.king move, sweetheart.”

Oh, G.o.d. I think I'm going to throw up. The look on his face tells me that I'm in for a whole world of s.h.i.+t right now.

”I'm sorry!” I blurt, but it's too late. I thought he was an a.r.s.e yesterday, but that's nothing compared to this. He's going to kill me. I know it. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and the next thing I know I'm flat on my back. He violently slams me to the floor, his large body pinning me to the ground. His hand wraps around my throat, pressing me mercilessly into the wooden floor boards. I gasp and panic, fighting against his hold. The more I struggle, the more his fingers threaten to tighten.

”You have no idea who you're f.u.c.king with, little girl.” He inhales, the air hissing through his clenched teeth. Those icy eyes of his bore into me, and he leans in until his face is inches from my own. ”If you did, you'd learn I'm not a person you want to provoke.”

I feel his fingers press into my throat a little more, and the weight of his body lays over me, nearly suffocating me. I gasp desperately as my lungs start to falter.

My pulse quickens, hammering through my veins as fear consumes me. He's going to kill me, right here, right now. I'm going to die in his bas.e.m.e.nt and no one will ever find me. My senses are heightened; I can hear each labored breath I manage to pull in echo through my ears, and all I can smell is him. The earthy scent of his sweat and cologne mixed with a touch of whiskey, it makes my stomach churn. All I can think is that I'd rather he shoot me than strangle me. I'd rather bleed out than have the life choked from me.

He moves until his lips are almost on my ear. ”I am that guy your father warned you about.” he hisses, the heat from his breath touching my neck, making me tremble underneath him as sheer terror grips me. ”I am that man that you pray you never run into in a dark alleyway on the wrong night. Do not mistake my pity for weakness. I will put a bullet in your skull without a second f.u.c.king thought. Do you hear me?”

I buck underneath him, trying to throw him off me as my basic desire to survive kicks in. His fingers constrict around my throat, and I claw at his arms, trying to pull him away. Of course it's pointless. He must be at least three times my weight, but my survival instincts are determined to give it a b.l.o.o.d.y good shot. His eyes lock with mine, unyielding, unforgiving, and ice cold. As adrenaline floods my veins, my breathing grows shallow, my vision swims.

”Do you hear me?” he snarls in my face. I gasp and cough under the pressure of his fingers, managing a small nod. He tightens his hold again, and dark spots skitter across my eyes as a low hum rings through my ears. I'm about to lose consciousness. Suddenly, the pressure releases, and his weight is gone.

I roll onto my stomach, dragging oxygen into my lungs. I choke and cough violently. My eyes are streaming, as tears pour down my face. My throat is screaming in pain, and my chest hurts. I've never been so scared in my life. For a second there, I really thought he was going to kill me. It takes a certain type of person to choke the life out of someone. Shooting someone is one thing, but being that close, watching the panic in their eyes....I'm dealing with a monster. Lifting my head, I find him leant over his desk with his hands braced against the wood and his head hung. He looks so calm.

”s.h.i.+t!” he shouts, making me jump.

I crawl away from him until my back is against the wall. I watch him warily, my chest heaving as he starts to pace in front of his desk.

He raises his head and moves toward me, stopping directly in front of me. ”Come on.” He gestures for me to stand, and I do, but I keep my back to the wall the entire time.

He eyes me carefully, his gaze flicking down to my throat before he stalks away from me. ”Come on I said,” he shouts. I do as he says, because honestly, the last thing I want to do is p.i.s.s him off.

I push off the wall and gingerly follow him out of the office. All I can do is stare at him. He's so large, his frame seeming to fill the hallway. His shoulders are rigid, his steps hard as he storms through the house. When his hand reaches to his pocket, I tense, fearing he's changed his mind and is going to shoot me.

He pulls a phone to his ear. ”Get down to the guest rooms, now!” he snarls. I suddenly feel very sorry for the person on the other end. Apparently his treating me like s.h.i.+t isn't personal.

I have to almost run to keep up with him as he navigates a set of stairs, and then along another corridor. At the end of a hallway, we reach a door. He slams it opens, stepping aside to let me in. I keep my eyes trained at the floor, unable to look at him.

Oh, G.o.d, is this going to be a torture chamber or something?

I peer inside the room and find a double bed, a chest of drawers, a TV. It's just a bedroom, or maybe a prison cell.

Hurried footsteps tromp down the hall, followed by a deep southern male voice. ”Hey, what's up?”

”I have a job for you besides bringing me my f.u.c.king whiskey,” Jude barks.

I keep my head hung, but peep up through my hair at him. His jaw is clenched as he narrows his eyes at me.

”You're gonna watch her.” He points at me. ”Don't let her escape. No phone calls. Don't f.u.c.king trust her. Got it?”

”Her? A girl? You want me to watch a girl? Why is a girl even here?”

”Problem with that?” His tone is clipped.

”No,” the other man responds quickly.

I hear the door click shut. Knowing he's gone, I raise my head and find a young guy standing just inside the door. He looks up at me from beneath his long brown hair.

”Hey.” He smiles shyly and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. He's not like Rich, or the other guy. He's just a kid. He can be no older than twenty.

”Hey.” I say quietly. If I am going to be locked in a room with one of these guys, I'd much rather it be with this kid.

He stands in front of the closed door for a long time before he speaks.

”f.u.c.k!” The sound of the psycho screaming is followed by a loud thud that shakes the wall. I jump and this kid remains completely unfazed.

”Uh, I'm Caleb,” he tells me. He's staring at me like he's never seen a woman before...and maybe he hasn't.

I stare at him, study him, really.

I swallow. ”Ria. I would say it's nice to meet you, but, well, you know, kidnapped and all.”

He frowns, looking utterly confused. ”Wait, what? Jude kidnapped you? Jude?” He shakes his head and then resumes glaring at me like he has no idea what on earth to do with me. ”That's f.u.c.ked up,” he mumbles, and his eyes dart to the floor.

This guy may well be my only hope....

I shut the door, groaning as I rub my hands down my face. I nearly make it to the end of the hallway before my anger gets the better of me. ”f.u.c.k!” I scream, pulling my fist back, and slamming it through the sheetrock. Pain splinters up my arm, and I watch the flurry of debris settle. I shake my head and suck in a lungful of dust. This is some f.u.c.ked-up s.h.i.+t Richard's gotten me into, and I'm going to beat the ever-loving p.i.s.s out of him for it.

On every f.u.c.king level, women are a weakness of mine. And that is something most people who know me are aware of.

I tromp up the stairs to my bedroom, fuming. I kick open the door and rip the black t-s.h.i.+rt over my head. I grab the edge of the dresser, lean in, and stare at my reflection. There's an angry handprint on my left cheek and several raised welts on my arms from where she clawed at me in a pitiful attempt to get me off of her. The look of absolute fear plastered to her face when I pinned her down by her throat flashes through my mind, and I have to close my eyes.

She f.u.c.king hit me and I lost my s.h.i.+t. What did she expect? I grip the edge of the dresser so hard my knuckles fade to bone-white.

I pull my s.h.i.+rt on, straighten it out, then grab my Colt 45 on the way out of the door.