I slammed the trunk shut, closed my eyes, and counted to five a few times before I was calm enough to jump into the driver seat and chauffeur her into my personal hell.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Juliana
I woke in a haze.
I broke free from the grasp of a nightmare only to find myself in hell. My arms were tied to the headboard. My legs may as well have also been shackled because they felt weighed down and immobile. The room was cold, my eyes were cloaked with a thick blindfold, and my dress was hiked up too high. I wanted to pull it down—wanted to yank the blindfold that kept my world darkened so I could see something, anything that would explain what was happening to me.
Someone was in the room. Not only did I feel it, but I could hear their movements.
“Who’s there?” I was cautious for fear of the kind of monster that might be lurking over me. No one answered, but I knew he was there. The creak I’d heard had to be from either old floor joints or a rickety chair. Besides, I smelled him. The blinders over my eyes heightened my other senses, and there was a strong masculine musk in the room.
“I know you’re there.”
It was not my imagination. His presence was palpable. I could suffocate from the mere stuffiness he created in the room even though it was actually cool, temperature-wise. The unknown presence caused a ball of nerves to form in my throat.
“My name’s Jules.”
“Makes sense you’d call yourself something so precious.”
Fuck. He responded. Okay, good.
I hadn’t expected him to ever say anything. I’d just thought if I made myself more personable, I’d have a better chance. He didn’t sound like I expected. I’d expected an old, growly man, but he sounded young, almost pubescent.
“Who are you?”
No response.
Okay… he was more responsive when I talkedabout myself.“If you let me go now,I’ll never say anything.”
Silence.
“Do I know you? What do you want from me?”
Come on give me something.
I pretended to be calm, but my heart was pounding and my hands clammy. I was scared, but I didn’t want to show that fear. Fear excited people like him. People who dragged a girl off the street and tied them to a bed. I wouldn’t even allow myself to consider the bed and the bonds. Rape was an almost inevitable outcome, but in my mind, he wanted ransom. It was the only option I could handle at that point. I pulled on the chain and growled in frustration.
And if I kept talking, I could stall for time.
“My dad will give you anything you want.”
“He should’ve done that to begin with.”
Oh, shit… another response, this one laced in venom. So this was about my dad. Good. Great. Dad would fix this. Whatever he’d done to piss this man off could be fixed.
“He’ll do it now. I promise.”
He snorted. “You’re making big promises, Jules.”
“I know he will. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.”
“Cute…”
What?
“It must be nice walking around with those rose colored glasses on. You might be an angel, but your daddy is no saint.” He was moving again. His footsteps neared the bed. “It’s nice he chose not to corrupt you. All dads should be that way.”
The floorboards creaked, then a door slammed. I was alone. If I thought him being in the room was suffocating, being alone, shrouded in the darkness with no use of my hands was horrifying.
Juliana
Pain shot through my shoulder and tore at my wrist. My fingers were numb, my lips dry, and my throat raw from calling out all night. I’d cried so much, the blindfold was cold and wet and plastered to my face like a second skin.
I’d given up on calling for help and crying. Those things hadn’t even brought my kidnapper back into the room. I was sure no one could hear me. For all I knew, I was in an abandoned factory or a soundproof room. Without the ability to see anything, there was no way to gather clues other than asking questions and seeing if he’d slip up.
The soft squeak of the door opening caused my heart to pound. I tightened my fingers around the ropes that hung from the bed, digging my nails into the thick cord. A cool whoosh of air hit my skin as the door swung shut. Goose pimples rose on my arms and legs from the sudden coldness or the instant fear, I wasn’t sure. Maybe a combination of both. All my senses were on edge anticipating his next move or his next words.
Soft footsteps accentuated by the creak of old wood floors. A clatter from a spoon hitting against a plate as it was set down to my right. A shift on the bed as his weight left a lopsided dip in the mattress. My other senses became hyperaware from the lack of sight.
I could almost picture his every move by listening to my surroundings. It was a horror movie on replay in my head, only the killer was wearing a mask, and I so desperately needed to see his face.