Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Colby would.
That wasn’t good.
Him saving me wouldn’t really help with the narrative I was trying to create between us. The narrative being that there was no us.
But getting killed by a serial killer was kind of worse. I’d deal with the consequences of my deception after I got myself out of this situation … safely.
A metal clanging sounded, a door opening and shutting. Much too soon. Since only a handful of minutes had passed, I had not yet figured out how to get out of the situation safely. All I’d done was open some pretty nasty wounds on my wrists, trying to wrench my hands from the cuffs.
I watched Elijah saunter across the cavernous warehouse space. He walked unhurriedly, confidently. Why wouldn’t he be confident? He had me chained up in a warehouse that I was presuming was in the middle of nowhere, and he had a perfect success rate.
“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised,” I said when he made it to me. I forced myself to sound comfortable, cocky even. In reality, I was fucking terrified. The way he was staring at me was … inhuman. It made me feel cold all over, fighting to stop my teeth from chattering.
“You know the bad thriller, where you guess who the killer is in like … the first five pages?” I asked. “Well … you, sir, have worked up a good twist.”
Though in hindsight, it did kind of make sense. The weird, eerie feeling I had on our ‘date.’. His knowledge of the security and layout of the club—he’d just stormed in, arresting Elden a few months before. Yes, the small details added up now that I’d been kidnapped by him. I wondered how long it would take the club and their hackers to connect the dots.
Elijah didn’t say anything, just knelt down, his knees cracking as he did so. I hadn’t noticed he was holding a large piece of fabric that unrolled to…
“Oh, a big package of torture implements,” I jeered, swallowing past the knot in my throat. “Is that meant to scare me?”
There were knives. A lot of them. They weren’t stained with blood or rusty. No, they were gleaming, spotless, well-tended to. That was almost worse than the cliché, bloody torture implements.
“Yes,” Elijah replied, fingering the weapons lovingly. When his eyes found mine, I stifled the urge to recoil. “It should scare you because you know exactly how I intend on using them.” He tilted his head, assessing me. “You know how I use them because you’re infatuated with the morbid. You’re impressed by me.”
I rolled my eyes, sicked by how close he was to the truth. I’d never been impressed by him, but I was infatuated with his crimes.
“How about disgusted, you cowardly piece of shit?” I snarled. “You really think you’re anything to be impressed by? You’re misusing power and strength against vulnerable, young women to trap them, then you murder them while they’re chained up and defenseless. There is nothing impressive about that. How about you unchain me, and then we’ll see how you fare when your victims can fight back?”
My bravado was entirely unfounded, but I believed that I at least stood a chance against him if I could get out of these handcuffs. And if not, I would make sure to get a lot of his skin under my fingernails. There was no way he was getting away with this. Whatever happened here, I was going to be the last woman who wore these chains.
“You’re here because you deserve to be here,” he replied, squatting down so he was at eye level with me, so I could see cruelty and madness dancing in his gaze. “Loose women deserve to be punished.”
His passion was horrible. He was utterly unhinged from reality, madness leeching off him like sweat. I didn’t understand how he’d managed to keep the veneer of sanity on for so long without anyone noticing.
It scared the shit out of me. But I wouldn’t let it show. Couldn’t.
“Oh, let me guess…Your girlfriend cheated on you?” I decided my best bet was to get him talking, try to figure him out. “Or you fell in love with a sex worker who drained you dry?”
His cheeks flushed in fury. “I would never stoop so low as to be with a whore,” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.
“Okay, so no girlfriends,” I mused, settling my back against the cement wall, my chain clanking as did so. I was getting to him. “No girlfriends … so maybe your mom?”
I may not have graduated yet, but I’d taken enough psych classes to understand that he had some deep-seated issues with women.
And more often than not, when men had issues like Elijah obviously did, it started with the woman who birthed him.
His eyes blew wide when I said that, his posture changing. “Shut the fuck up.” His tone was calm now. Measured. Which somehow was even more terrifying.