14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Z ara threw her elbow back into her attacker's side, but it had no effect on the brute. She reached for the concealed-carry compartment in her purse. She needed to get away. Get her gun. Get her phone. Get help.

The brute's other arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her backward. She struggled to keep her feet beneath her.

Her purse bounced against her shoulder. If she couldn't get her gun or phone out, she could at least use the whole thing as a weapon. Grabbing the strap, she swung it around and whacked it into the large man.

He grunted and loosened his grasp on her.

Never underestimate the weight of a Sig Sauer.

She stomped on his foot, but her thin sandal was no match for the boot it fell upon. She clawed at the hand covering her mouth.

Prying it away, she screamed until he choked the breath from her.

In a single powerful move, he shoved her forward into the wall between her dresser and the door to the living room and ripped the purse from her grip.

What was this lunatic planning to do to her?

Ernie's threats played in her mind. Was this Ernie? The height and build were about right.

He turned her to face him, pinned her arms above her head, and pressed himself against her.

The thug was dressed in all black, with a black ski mask covering his whole face. In the darkness of the room, she couldn't identify him at all.

She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't let this happen. Was this guy going to rape her? Kill her?

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Someone you shouldn't have crossed." The voice was familiar.

Was it Ernie?

He continued, "If you don't back off and leave us alone, you'll pay a price far worse than tonight."

A shiver trailed down her back. It didn't sound like he would kill her, but there were things far worse than death.

He leaned in. His hot breath smelled like onions. Or was that his sweat?

"Do you understand?"

"Yes." Childhood had taught her that if an angry man told her something, she had better listen and at least pretend to understand.

He moved both of her hands until they were pinned by only one of his. The hand that was now free, he moved back to her neck.

The pressure on her neck prevented her from getting all the oxygen she needed.

"I can cut off your windpipe long enough for you to pass out, then you can't scream during the part that happens next. Or you could keep your mouth shut and bear it like a good girl. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Which way would you prefer? Would you prefer to wake up not knowing exactly what happened?"

How was that a choice? If he was going to assault her, maybe unconscious would be the way to go.

"Wanna stay awake?"

She nodded.

"Good." He loosened the grip on her neck. "But understand if you start screaming before I'm done, I'll take care of you and then find that pretty little cop boyfriend of yours and make him pay for your mistakes."

Will.

He produced a roll of duct tape and bound her hands.

She struggled to hold the sobs inside, but she didn't want this jerk to see her fear.

Once her ankles were bound too, he raised her hands above her head again. The muscles under her arms screamed at the hyperextension.

He grabbed her dress at the bodice. "You humiliate me, you get humiliated." He yanked down on the fabric and ripped her dress off.

Her skin tore along with the seams of her dress.

A yelp escaped her lips.

He slapped her cheek. "I told you—not a peep."

Dropping her hands from above her head, he wrapped his arm around her, lifted her, and hauled her toward the back of the room.

A small pile of wood, along with an electric screwdriver, sat beside the door as if staged for whatever he was going to do next. This was completely premeditated.

He yanked her toward his face. "Remember. No screaming. At least not as long as I'm here. But I'm pretty sure your upstairs neighbor is gone, so it's going to take a while for anyone to hear you. But I don't wanna hear it. You scream while I can still hear you, your boyfriend pays."

She nodded a frantic, fear-driven nod.

What was he going to do with the wood? Trap her against the wall?

He shoved her toward the bathroom.

"No, not the bathroom."

"What? You're afraid of a small little space?" The laughter in his tone raised the level of sinister. "This is perfect. In you go." He chucked her across the little room so hard, she slammed into the wall. "Have fun!"

He slammed the door.

Without hesitating, she pushed off the wall, raised her bound hands above her head. With a quick downward motion, she ripped the duct tape from her hands. She stripped it off her ankles and dove for the door handle. It wouldn't budge. He'd reversed the doorknob. The lock was now on the opposite side.

She'd find a bobby pin and unlock it. Maybe she could get out before the panic set in. She could feel it closing in.

The screwdriver revved on the other side.

Wait, was that what he was doing with the wood? Trapping her in the bathroom? If he was screwing the boards into the door and frame, there would be no way she could get out on her own. She'd starve in here. And that was only if she didn't have such a severe panic attack that she died. Could someone die from a panic attack?

The world closed in on her.

Come on, Zara. How many times have you closed that door while you were in here and never thought anything of it? But this was different. She was trapped. Completely trapped.

The screwdriver zipped screw after screw into the door and frame. A few screws even came all the way through the door.

That meant the screws had to be at least four inches long. She'd never be able to break out.

She backed up until she was once again against the wall where her towel hung between the tub and the toilet.

The screwdriver continued to buzz. Screw after screw. Board after board. She was trapped.

She slid down the wall and pulled the towel down. Hugging the towel to her chest, she tried to slow her breaths. But she couldn't.

Her breathing was quick and shallow. Take a deep breath, Zara.

She fought the narrowing of her vision and managed to get a solid enough breath in, but her lungs ached.

The room felt smaller than it had ever felt before. The walls seemed to close in, threatening to crush her.

Breathe, Zara. She'd helped other people out of these attacks. Five things you can see.

She forced her eyes to look around the room. The blue rug on the floor. Her hairbrush on the counter. A sticky note that held a Bible verse on the mirror. The flowered shower curtain with its one missing ring.

She got her breathing under control, but her stomach churned and cramped.

Flashes of memory of the sun coming in through the slats of her closet door bombarded her mind. She'd felt so helpless when locked in that closet, and once again she was in that same position.

Alone.

At least this time, she had water and a toilet. But no one would know she was stuck in here. No one lived in the apartment above her, and she'd have to be really loud for her neighbor on the other side to hear her. And her throat was tight—her voice had already been fading earlier in the evening. She wouldn't be able to yell enough.

She wasn't expected at work for four days. Would anyone notice she was missing before that? Why would they? Will would probably think she got scared and was avoiding him.

Alone.

Why did it have to be like this? Why was she so afraid of relationships that she always kept people at arm's length? Maybe if she was connected with more people, there would be a better chance of someone checking in on her, but that wasn't going to happen.

She was alone.

Utterly alone.