Chapter 3

THREE

ELLIS

I’m jostled all the fuck around as the car heads off on its merry way. The only one who doesn’t seem to be merry in all of this is me .

No one seemed to care about my thrashing, and now Tavish is singing from the front seat of the car. I can’t help but wonder if his godawful screeching is one of those torture tactics they’d talked about.

It’s hard enough with my hands and legs bound, though I still try to feel the whole trunk over for an escape pull, but it’s either been removed or I’m really fucking bad at this… which could be a thing. I can’t say I have much experience getting abducted.

Now he doesn’t seem to even know the fucking lyrics as he starts tossing in words that sound semi similar but are so far off that it’s not even funny.

This is all one big joke, right? Like someone from my family hired one of those people who abduct you and take you to a birthday party. And even though it’s not my birthday and I feel like my family is at least mostly normal… it could be a thing. Like everyone knows it’s a really fucking horrible idea, but my family decided to do it anyway because I forgot to bring a side dish to the last family get-together.

I didn’t even fucking forget! I just didn’t want to make something… so is this karma?

Although… I have to assume most places wouldn’t stay in business long if they were slamming their clients’ heads into the side of metal dumpsters.

I’m being delusional.

He’s not really going to kill me, right?

The car stops and the trunk pops open as I look up in hope of a reasonable person being there, but nope, still the same guy as before. But I at least now know his name, so when I go to the police, I have all of their goddamn names…

Though doesn’t that mean he doesn’t plan on letting me live?

“Damn, look at this. You get the royal treatment,” he says. I question what part of any of this could be confused as “royal treatment” as I’m dragged out and come face to face with a jet.

That’s it.

I’m sleeping.

I’ve fallen asleep, and now I’m in some poorly written action flick where the screenwriter didn’t even try hard enough to make it unique.

Maybe it’s like the time I was holding the cap for the needle and the vet I worked under stabbed me with the needle instead of sliding it into the cap. Maybe she’s injected me with something, and I’m currently passed out on the floor as they laugh—because I’m positive they’d just laugh.

Ha.

That’s all this is.

I am just drooling on the floor, dreaming of some weirdly hot Scottish man abducting me. Most people dream of sexy men with accents fucking them, and I dream about them dragging me off on a jet while claiming I’m a murderer.

This is probably because my love life is nonexistent. The last person I romanced was a character in a video game and that was like a fucking year ago.

“You really fucked up, you know that?” Tavish asks as he starts dragging me toward the jet.

Instead of allowing myself to be dragged off, I flip my bound feet up and hook them on the edge of his car’s bumper, prepared to never get on that fucking plane.

A man rushes up and my eyes widen as I realize that maybe… possibly… he’ll save me, but nope, he simply helps Tavish unhook my feet and the two of them tote me off toward the jet like I’m some luggage.

“He sure is a wiggly one,” the man helping says, as though he thinks I’m just going to kick back and lounge here like I’m out for a fun evening stroll!

“This man has some stamina . He’s thrashed around in my trunk for hours. He’s probably quite fit from dragging all the bodies around.”

What fucking bodies?!

Maybe, instead of it being from these “bodies,” it’s from being dragged around by a rottweiler that the owner swears is just being “goofy.” Or from being dragged off by an unruly calf that is positive no one is going to look at its wounded leg. But it’s not from literal bodies .

I give one valiant shove and actually end up escaping, only to realize how bad of an idea this was as I fall face down on the tarmac, which fucking hurts when my hands are taped behind my back. But it’s finally a hard surface that I can use to scrape the tape down even just a little.

“Look at him flop,” the other man says, sounding amused.

“Right? I wish I had that much energy,” Tavish comments as he grabs my ankles and starts dragging me, which was not my plan at all . Thankfully—is it thankfully?—he doesn’t have far to go before the other guy helps him hoist me up the steps and into the jet.

“Well fuck me, I’m in the wrong profession,” Tavish says as he looks around at the most elite plane I’ve ever seen, making me more than positive I’m asleep. Really deep sleep, too.

It’s not set up like a standard plane with rows, no. Instead, there are a few plush swivel seats with their own tables, and then some couches clearly set up for entertaining. I’m pushed into one of the white swivel seats and sink into the plush comfort.

“You going to tape him down?” the guy asks.

“Nah, what’s he going to do? Flop around some more? I mean, he has nowhere to run,” Tavish says as he slides into a chair across from me and starts swiveling around in it like a child. “Ha. I’m fancy. Look at how fancy I am.”

The other guy shakes his head and goes back down the stairs leading up to the plane before they’re removed and the door is closed.

A beautiful woman comes out and smiles at both of us like I’m not bound and bleeding.

“We’ll be taking off shortly. Let’s get your seat belts on and as soon as we’re in the air, I’ll get you two boys something to drink!”

And off she goes, taking her cheery ass to the front where she will hopefully put on some motherfucking glasses and see that this situation is not normal .

Tavish buckles his seat belt before putting his feet up on the fancy table between us. “I should have brought Jackson. Shown him what real money could buy.”

But… he also doesn’t own this, so I’m not quite sure what that logic is, which leads me to believe… this man isn’t very smart.

So can I manipulate him?

I tilt my head and rub it against the seat as the plane starts to take off, and that panics me more than anything because not only have I been abducted, but now I don’t know where I’m going. Even if I get free, will I know where to go? How to find help?

The tape finally pulls free, and I give Tavish my most pleading look as he crosses his legs and watches me.

“I-I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not a killer. I’ve never even hurt anyone. You have the wrong person.”

“You think I’m that sloppy?” he asks before laughing.

“I… I don’t know what I think, but I do know you have the wrong person! Please! Just let me go.”

The woman comes back out.

“You want a whiskey?”

“Please, he has the wrong person, please, let me go,” I beg.

“Two whiskeys coming right up!” she says with clear delight on her face. She sets one in Tavish’s hand before seeming to realize that I don’t have hands to put it into and sets it before me. “Would you prefer a bowl you could lap it out of?”

What is wrong with this woman?

“Please, he has the wrong person,” I say, none of which she even acknowledges.

I turn back to my abductor. “Why the hell do you think I murdered someone?”

He sips his whiskey in the slowest and most obnoxious manner possible. He’s making me want to commit murder, which is definitely something I’ve never considered before.

“You go by Ellis, right? Now, Ellis, do you think any of the murderers I’ve ever confronted have gone, ‘You got me! Good job! I’m ready to face what I’ve done to all the innocent people I murdered previously. I can’t wait.’”

I stare at him as I realize that I’m really fucking screwed. “Well… okay… I see your point, and it’s… an irritatingly good point but I’m definitely not a murderer. I’m just a regular guy. And you seem like a really nice guy. So I bet we’d get along splendidly.” Then I toss him my best smile.

“Is that the smile you use on all of your victims?” he asks, crushing the very smile that got me out of trouble and left my sister Sienna taking the brunt of it.

“No… come on, man, I’m really nice. Like too nice,” I assure him.

“Nice people creep me out.”

“ Whyyyyy ? How can I prove to you that I didn’t murder anyone?” I ask.

“I guess by going back in time and not murdering them. That’d be a really good start.”

“But if I didn’t murder them then how would I unmurder them?”

Tavish stares at me, watching me closely with his vivid blue eyes. I realize I should get a general idea of what he looks like so when I go to the police, I can help the sketch artist out. He’s around my height of five ten with a muscular build that tells me I really don’t want to get in a brawl with this guy. Not like I’d win in a brawl with a little guy. The biggest brawl I’ve even been in was with a Chihuahua that thought his life was ending when I tried trimming his nails. The man’s probably in his late thirties, if I had to guess, with brown hair and an annoying smug look on his face.

He taps his finger against his glass to get my attention back. “Why don’t you share with me how you would do it?”

“I didn’t murder them in the first place, so how would I know? Like… do I look like a murderer?”

“Yes.”

“NO! I don’t! I look so boring. Like do you know how boring I am? I’ve never even been to a party before. That’s how boring I am. I… like video games and spend most of my free time playing them.”

“I see… you’re so numb from killing fictional characters that you started to kill real ones.”

“That’d be like saying every author who writes a book with a serial killer in it is a serial killer!”

“You sure know a lot about serial killers for not being one.”

I stare at this man in disbelief. “Is there someone smarter I can speak to?”

“Oh buddy, you’re never going to meet anyone smarter than me.” He waggles his eyebrows, and I become fully confident that I’m fucked.

Okay, no. Ellis, think this through. Figure this out. There has to be a way to prove I’m innocent.

“Don’t I deserve the benefit of the doubt? Please?”

“No.”

“You would condemn an innocent man?”

“You would grab a woman, take her off to your fucked-up little shed and dice her up piece by piece while she’s still alive, and expect that I should let you go free? Or maybe I should…” He slams a knife down into the table I’m facing, making me jump. “Maybe I should cut a few pieces off of you? How about I cut just a sliver off every time you complain? That sounds like fun. Maybe your poor victims will get some peace of mind then while I take a piece of you.”

“I feel like our ideas of fun are vastly different. My idea of fun is like… going for a walk in a park.”

“Is that where you find more women?”

Anxiety eats at me. “I’ve never?—”

Tavish raises an eyebrow. “Is this a complaint I’m starting to hear?”

“A statement. Not a complaint.”

“Well, your statements are fucking boring, my man. What about a board game? That sounds fun.”

I eye the man, unsure how exactly I’m expected to play a board game tied up and bleeding, but hey, maybe it’s like The Sims where I can fill up his affection meter—not to “Best Friend” level but at least to “Won’t Murder You First Chance I Get” level.

Really, is that too much to ask?

“Sure. I would enjoy that. Thank you.”

“Let’s see,” he says as he gets up and heads over to a stack of board games. “I wonder if these games were for his daughter that you murdered.”

“Still didn’t murder her, but… that’s a sad thought.”

“How about The Game of Life ?”

“Sounds good,” I say as he grabs it and places it in front of me. He merrily sets it up and then with a smile turns to look at me.

“I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you go first.”

“Great, thank you,” I reply as he sets my little guy down, tosses it on the “road” and “drives” over it a few times with his car before putting it in my own little blue car.

“Was that necessary?”

Tavish pulls out his knife. “Was that a complaint?”

“Oh hell, no. I was praising you for your assholery skills,” I assure him.

“Good,” he says, waiting as he apparently expects me to spin the dial.

“I can’t spin it.”

“You better fecking figure it out. I get a bit… stabby when I’m bored.”

“Ha, I read a book when I get bored,” I tell him before using my face to spin the dial. This is so ridiculous, and it’s proven by the way he laughs at me.

“Fuck, I love it,” he says. “You, my soon-to-be dead man, are hilarious.”

“Ha. Glad one of us is having fun.”

“Was that a complaint?”

“For fuck’s sake, man, you’d think you’d learn to tell the difference between sarcasm and complaints!”

“That was definitely a complaint,” he decides as he presses the tip of his blade against my chest, plucking the fabric with it. “Did you like it when those women cried and begged?”

I wonder if anyone’s noticed I’m missing by now. If they have, I bet they have no idea I’m currently being flown who the fuck knows where with an evil man who thinks I’m an even eviler man. And the sad thing is that if they kill me, the man they’ve mistaken me for gets to continue killing women. I wonder if, when they strike again, this guy will go, “Whoops, guess I did have the wrong guy after all. My bad.”

“I swear I didn’t do it,” I plead. “I feel absolutely awful for the families who have gone through this. But I promise I didn’t do it.”

“You going to complain again?”

“Nope, not at all. I love this. This is all so much fun. I’m having so much fun. The most fun ever. I don’t even drink but I’m sure as fuck going to drink this whiskey,” I decide as I grab the edge of the glass in my mouth and tip it up where I proceed to wear the whiskey instead of drinking it. It goes up my nose, burning my nostrils as I choke and drop the glass while Tavish roars with laughter.

“You are hilarious. Easily my favorite soon-to-be dead man.”

“Yay. I’m so glad. Definitely not complaining,” I mumble, miserable that I can’t even get drunk so I won’t remember any of this.

“It’s your turn again. Go on, spin.”

“So excited,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my words as I use my whiskey-soaked face to spin the dial.

“Oh look, you get to get married,” he says as he picks up a little pink person and sets it next to my car. “Just kidding. Serial killers don’t get happiness.”

And then he plucks her off into oblivion.

“Why’d you kill her? I thought you were the good guy.”

“I’m the motherfucking best guy.”

“Then why’d you kill that innocent woman?”

“Just be sad you’re going to die all alone.”

“I’m really fucking sad!” I say then slump down, head hitting the table. “Can I write a letter to my mom before you murder me?”

“Is it going to confess all of your sins?”

“No, it was going to be something like ‘Hey, Mom. I finally met a hot guy. He turned out to be a contract killer, but that’s okay because he’s taking me on a luxury jet. Don’t be foolish, not off on vacation but to murder me .’”

“You think I’m hot?” Tavish asks.

I glance up at him. “Don’t worry, it’s all overwritten by your absolutely dreadful personality.”

“Now that was definitely a complaint.”

I jerk back in horror. “NO! Observation! Observation! Ha ha!” I fling myself out of the chair and with no other way to get away, I just start rolling. This makes him smack his leg as he laughs.

“You are, hands down, the funniest serial killer I’ve ever gotten the pleasure of torturing. They’re generally real sadistic assholes or super weepy. That’s the worst. Like they think they don’t deserve it after all they’ve done. But you? You’re hilarious.”

I can only roll so far before I end up flush against the edge of the couch where I decide that I’ll become one with it. That is, until Tavish grabs my ankles and drags me back over to the chair.

“Come on, we still have a while and I’m bored.”

“Where the fuck are we going? Some rich man’s private island or something?”

“Damn, you’re good at this.”

“What is this? It’s like a poorly written action flick! He’s obviously the bad guy! The person who owns the private island is always the bad guy!”

“Come on, I need to absolutely smoke your ass in this game,” he says as he puts me back in the chair. When I flop back down on the table in defeat, I’m presented with a knife.

“I’ll set the knife pointy end up, so the next time you lie down and ignore me, you’re going to have one less eyeball.”

“But I like my eyes,” I whisper.

“You really don’t need two of them.”

I sigh and use my head to spin the dial, which pleases him greatly.

“Oh nooooo, you fucked up. You got scammed by a little old lady who takes all of your money and gives it to me.”

“I weirdly feel like the card doesn’t say that.”

“I weirdly feel like your shitty little house just caught on fire,” he retorts, adding my house to his pile as well. “The card says that. Do you want me to tack the card to your forehead so you can see it for yourself?”

“I’ve watched a lot of action movies in my life… and I have to say that this is the strangest torture technique I’ve ever come across.”

“Yet the good guy wins in the end.”

“Are you a good guy?” I ask, not quite sure.

“Eh, good enough. Better than you, at the very least.”

Oh fucking hell, this is the absolute worst situation I could have ever found myself in.