His Hostage(36)

“Just kill me!” she screams in my face. Her words hit me like a bullet to the chest. Her face is red and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her eyes glassy with more unshed tears. Her voice lowers. “I know you're going to kill me, so just do it already.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Elle.” It’s true. I don’t want to. The fact that she’s telling me to kill her makes me sick to my stomach.

“So you’re going to let me go?” Her voice doesn’t hold any hope; she already knows the answer will be no.

“No.” She closes her eyes at my answer and turns on the bed to face away from me as best she can with me still pinning her down. I loosen my grip and let her go. I run a hand down my face and look around the room. It’s a safe house. So there’s no way she can get out of here. I need to go. I’ve got to get out of here for just a minute and figure out just how badly I’ve fucked up. And let my dog out before he tears the door down.

I open the door and check my key in the lock to make sure she can’t lock me out. She can’t. So that’s a plus, I guess. I look back at her lying limp and in the fetal position on the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I say it just loud enough for her to hear and take a step out into the hallway.

I shut the door and my fucking heart breaks as I barely make out her words. “You already have.”





Chapter 20: Elle





I have no fucking clue where I am. Obviously this is Vince's house, but where this is located, I have no idea. I didn’t pay attention this morning either. I just know it was a long drive. But I’m getting out of here. There’s no way I’m staying here. I don’t know how long he’s going to keep me here. I know they want me dead. They can’t risk me remembering whatever the fuck it is that I saw. But I really need to get the fuck away from here as fast as I can.

I finally get my ass off the bed and wipe the tears from my face. I need to do something. I can’t just wait here to die. For all I know he’s going to come in the room with a gun or something and kill me, or however the fuck they do it. I can’t just wait around. I won’t. I don’t want to die.

I walk as quietly as I can to the curtains in the room and open them wide. The windows are large. Really fucking large. Like they were meant to be used to escape from the bedroom. Good. 'Cause that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I run my hand along the top of the sill, searching for a latch, but I don’t find one. My forehead wrinkles with consternation, and my heart beats faster. I push against the top. I try pushing it up with everything I have in me. But it doesn’t budge. Fuck! What the fuck is the point of this window being so damn big then? I want to pound my fists against it, but that would be stupid. He’d hear. I have to be quiet. I have to figure out something else.

I tiptoe to the door. My heart’s trying to leap up my throat, but I keep moving. I have to try. I push my ear to the door and I can hear his voice, but I can’t make out the words. He must be downstairs. I twist the knob, but it doesn’t budge. I try again with both hands and it doesn’t give. I look at the knob and see it’s not locked, but then my eyes travel up. There’s a second lock. Motherfucker!

I want to scream at that asshole. He locked me in! I’m locked in here like a bird in its gilded cage. I huff in a staggered breath and walk backwards slowly until I’m against the wall. I lower myself to the floor. I have to wait. I raise my head and cast a glance around the room. I need to find a weapon. I’m quick to get up with this thought in mind.

I may not be able to run, but I’ll fight. I’ll do whatever I have to. I pull open the drawer of the nightstand. It’s empty except for a stack of papers. I go through his dresser, one drawer at a time. Nothing. Not a damn thing. I stare at the gun safe in the corner of the room. I can’t imagine he left it unlocked, but I have to try anyway. I pull the door, but it’s no use.

The bathroom. I race to the en suite, but keep my steps light. There has to be something in here. My eyes catch sight of a razor. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do. I grab the plastic handle and tilt it on its side on the counter. I need to crack the plastic so I can get to the blade.

My eyes search for anything that’s hard and heavy enough to do the job. I finally see the tumbler by the sink. The bottom is stainless steel. I grab the towel from the hook and lay it on the counter to absorb some of the noise. I smash the tumbler on top of the razor, hard, but not hard enough to make much noise.

My heart stills and my blood rushes faster, waiting to hear anything from downstairs. Nothing. So I hit it again and again until the plastic cracks. I try pulling the plastic back, but I need more give. I tilt the razor and try to angle it so it’ll be more effective. I raise my arm up and smash it down.