8. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Not again.
I wake up in the same room as the last time I was taken. The first thing I notice is that I'm more alert than the first time, and recall what my captor said about giving me too much ketamine. Well, at least he learned the right dosage and my head won't be pounding for a week straight.
Just like last time, it isn't panic that takes me over. This time it's annoyance.
How did this fucker get the one-up on me again?
I remember nothing.
Not a single fucking thing about how I got here.
I look around the room to see if anything is different. It's exactly the same as I remember it. If he brings me to the same place every time, it'll benefit me. The more he keeps routine, the easier it will be to learn his next move. If only I could remember how the hell he's taking me at all. The memory of how he got me last time never came back, which I know is common. It just really fucking sucks.
I was prepared for this, though. I knew he was going to take me with the possibility of me not recalling how or when. It needed to happen because I need to learn from it. Though I don't remember how he took me last time, I did remember a few things from earlier that day. Like what I'd eaten and where I'd gone. The last thing I remembered was being in a bar, but there's no way he got me out of such a busy place without anyone seeing. Had I seen him in the bar, I'd have approached him. He's not the kind of person who can hide. He's too big, and too noticeable.
Was I at that bar again? Only time will tell, I guess.
A dull buzzing comes from behind me. Sounds like a cell phone. I turn my head as best I can to see behind me but can't see much. From getting out of here last time, I know there is a bed behind me to my right and the door directly to my back. Whatever is vibrating could be on the bed or maybe in another room. It's hardly audible, but since it's so quiet out here, I definitely hear it. It soon dies down, and I'm left in complete silence. It isn't long before that silence is broken by heavy footsteps. A chill runs up my spine at the sound.
He stops behind me, his presence like a storm. His scent overwhelms me, this masculine woodsy smell.
"Welcome back," he says.
"Welcome isn't the word I would use," I respond casually.
"I'm telling you you're welcome. Here. In my cabin."
"Right…"
The buzzing sounds again, going off for a few seconds before my friend speaks again.
"He's been calling for the last hour. Must be worried."
So it is a cell phone. Mine, judging by his comment.
"Who?"
"Your friend in the FBI. Perhaps something about the date you're supposed to be on right now." The disdain in his voice is confusing. Why does he seem offended by that? Oh, right. Because he's a serial killer narcissist and everything has to be about him.
He moves until he's in front of me, taking a moment to look down at me before stepping back and leaning against the desk. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he gets nice and comfortable. The first thing I notice is that his hair is down today. Thick, wavy, and dark. Shiny and looks soft as hell. It's tucked behind his ears messily. I hate that he looks better like this. Hate that he looks good at all. Dressed in all black again, he looks like a devilish rock god.
So, rock god meets Bigfoot meets Geralt? This man was made by the devil himself.
I ignore the way my heart picks up and focus on what he said.
The date. Meaning it must be Friday. Somewhere between six and eight, since I was supposed to meet Xander at six. It doesn't surprise me that this guy, this Piano Man, knows things about me. Of course he's been following me. It should concern me, right? Not sure why it doesn't. What does that say about me?
That I'm as crazy as he is.
He pulls me from my thoughts when he speaks again, this time all growly and bear-like.
"I don't share."
I frown. "Share what, exactly?"
"You."
I bark out a laugh. I can't help it. He doesn't share me? Since when am I something to be shared at all? Since when am I his to stake claim over? He stares at me with no expression while I get my laughing under control. It's been a while since I laughed like that, and it feels kind of good. Though, totally inappropriate considering the situation.
"I'm not yours," I finally say.
"You being tied to a chair in my cabin says otherwise. We're playing a game, remember?"
"A game I didn't agree to," I point out.
"But one you enjoy nonetheless. Don't be coy with me, Justin Lorenzetti. I know you're enjoying this. Know you're going to obsess over it the same way I do. It's going to eat you alive until you get one up on me. But I'll tell you a secret." He takes a step toward me and crouches to eye level, placing his large hands on my knees. His touch burns through my pants, but I ignore it. "You'll never get one up on me."
Even this close I can't make out his pupil's. Those eyes are like a dark abyss. Like the sky on a moonless night or the deepest parts of the ocean. His scent is overwhelming this close to me. It has my chest filling with warmth, the same way the smell of my uncle's tea does. Which isn't right. I clench my teeth when my dick twitches. I don't know what's worse—it reacting to the tea or this psychopath. And I refuse to acknowledge which one it is because I don't want to know the answer.
"You underestimate me," I say.
He smiles. Big and sinister. But he says nothing.
He stands, pulls his knife from his pocket, then reaches for my shirt the same way he did last time, tearing it open.
"Can you at least g—"
He gets to work carving the next letter, cutting off my words. I grit my teeth, biting back the groans as best I can, but the sharp blade slices into my skin with a fiery hot pain that's hard to ignore. I'm sweating and panting by the time he's done. This hurt way worse than the other one. He steps back, looks at it, and a rumbling sound of satisfaction comes from his chest.
This sick son of a bitch.
"This is more fun than I thought it was going to be." He flips his blade closed. "Good luck next time, Hawk."
He walks out.
I'm still panting. Hot blood trickling down my side, and here's yet another pair of pants that'll be ruined thanks to a blood stain. But that's the least of my worries. My biggest concern is why my dick is so fucking hard right now.
A door closes in the distance. Which is when I realize he didn't loosen the binds on my wrists this time. Shit. But as I fidget with them, I realize they weren't even tied.
I get out quicker than I did last time, snatch my phone from the bed and check the missed calls and messages. I shouldn't be annoyed by the number of them, but I am. Xan is too fucking needy. I hate when people are needy. I don't have anything to give to anyone. I hardly have enough to give myself. Xan should know that. We've been friends long enough that he should be able to see I have no eggs in my basket to hand him. Yet, he asks for them anyway.
A glance at the time tells me I was very wrong. It's later than I thought. Almost ten at night. By the look of the texts, Xander has been drinking and that's why he's calling me. Not because he's worried about me. Some friend. It's exactly why I don't have any.
Xander: Sucks you couldn't come!
Xander: Was really looking forward to it.
Xander: If you want to come now you still can.
Xander: I sound desperate. I'm sorry.
Xander: I was just hoping we could try to get back together.
Xander: Never mind. Ignore that. I'm going to jump off a cliff now.
I roll my eyes as I shove my phone into my pocket. Fucking Xander. On the way out, I look for a bathroom, which I find just outside of the bedroom. I scope out the new letter that's still trickling blood. E.
So there's a jagged pink S right beside a bleeding E.
S-E
What names start with SE? How much time do I have left? Will he use a nickname or a full name? For the life of me, I can't think of a single name that starts with those letters. The only word that keeps popping into my head is sexy, and I swear if this man is fucking with me and carves that word into my skin, I'll chop off his fucking head and shove it up his ass.
I dig through the drawers and find a face cloth that I use to wipe the blood off my skin and my jeans as best I can. There's nothing to bandage this up with, so I'll have to wait until I get home for that.
I get lost making my way through the woods and away from the cabin because of how dark it is. Once I make it onto a street, thankfully without being mauled by a bear or a mountain lion, I call a ride share to pick my ass up. The guy looks wary when he sees me with my torn, blood-stained shirt, but I make up some bullshit excuse about hiking in the woods and promise I won't get blood on his seat. He doesn't seem happy about it, but he doesn't tell me to fuck off. By the time I make it home, my head feels like it's going to explode. And of course, because today has already been shit, there's an awful fucking surprise waiting for me at my door that's just going to make it worse.