Valerie continued to lean into Igor’s hold and throw in an occasional stumble as he led her across the kitchen. She let her head hang forward as if she was too weary and stoned to hold it up. Doing so allowed her to dart her eyes swiftly around under the cover of her long hair as she searched for a possible weapon, or chance at escape.
There was nothing. The kitchen counters and table were clear of anything useful. There were no knife handles sticking out of a handy knife block, no glasses or cups sitting about that she could shatter and use as a weapon, not even a coffee machine or toaster. It could have been an empty house.
Valerie continued forward, eyes searching as he led her into a hall and up another set of stairs to the top floor of the house. She wasn’t surprised when he steered her left at the landing, urging her toward the back of the house. She’d been this way before, but had been drugged at the time. Her recollections of the hallway, the renaissance portrait on the wall, the paneled walls, and the blue carpet were all slightly distorted in her memory.
The hallway ended at a large bedroom. She refused to look at the old-fashioned four-poster bed as they walked past it to the en suite bathroom. The house was probably over a hundred years old, but the bathroom spoke of a renovation at some point. She’d guess it had taken place in the fifties or sixties. It was green; the walls were painted green, the toilet was green, the sink was green, and there was a green tub with small green tiles covering the wall around it.
It was incredibly ugly, Valerie thought as Igor urged her to the side and moved past her to bend over the tub and start a bath running. Valerie knew what came next, but refused to panic. Her gaze slid around the small room, settling on a collection of items on the sink counter: a towel, a washcloth, a bar of soap, shampoo, conditioner, and a clean white robe. All of it was meant for her, set neatly on the sink counter to “prepare her for dinner,” as Igor called it.
Valerie had started to look away from the collection when she had second thoughts. Igor was straightening from setting the stopper and turning on the taps. He would turn his attention to her next. With no time to lose, Valerie snatched up the shampoo, popped the lid, and squirted it at Igor’s face as he turned toward her. When the man gave a startled cry, fingers reaching for his eyes, she followed up with a roundhouse kick to his abdomen.
Valerie had hoped to send him tumbling backward into the bath, but either he was more steadfast on his feet than most, or she was weaker than she’d expected after four days without food. He did stagger back a step, but that was it, and even as he did, he lashed out with one arm, hitting her in the chest.
The blow was like an explosive charge going off in front of her. Valerie was sent flying through the air, and out of the bathroom. She landed on something with enough impact that it collapsed beneath her weight with a clatter, and then her head was bouncing off the floor. Valerie was left gasping for air with stars exploding behind her closed eyes.
Fighting off the pain radiating through her head and body, she sucked in great drafts of air, relieved when her lungs expanded. For a moment she’d feared the wind had been knocked out of her, which would have left her temporarily helpless, and she didn’t have time for that. Igor was even now stumbling out of the bathroom, wiping the shampoo from his red, angry eyes.
Valerie turned onto her stomach, intending to push herself to her feet and start running, but she paused when her hand came down on a shaft of wood. It was the better part of one of the legs from the dressing bench that had sat at the foot of the bed.
So that was what she’d landed on, Valerie thought as she noted that the once rectangular leg had splintered diagonally as the bench had collapsed. It left a rather pointed tip. A stake of sorts, she thought, grasping the item just as Igor’s hand clamped onto her shoulder. His fingers dug painfully into skin and muscle as he jerked her over onto her back.
Valerie didn’t fight. Instead, she used the momentum to help her stake the oversized bastard in the chest. They both froze then and simply stared at each other, but then Valerie glanced down to his chest to see where she’d got him. It had all happened so quickly, she hadn’t had much chance to aim. Luck had been with her, however, because she’d hit him dead on in the heart. If he had a heart, she thought grimly, refusing to feel guilty for what she’d just done.
A raspy breath from Igor drew her eyes back up as he released her. He stumbled back a step, gaping at the makeshift weapon in his chest, and then he suddenly fell back. Igor hit the hardwood floor with a solid thump that didn’t cover the sound of his head cracking on the wood.
For a moment, Valerie allowed herself the luxury of simply staying where she was. Her chest was burning where Igor had landed the punch that had sent her flying, her head was pounding like crazy from its meeting with the floor, and the rest of her body—her back especially—was complaining about the abuse it had suffered when she’d landed on the bench. But she’d felled the monster who had subjected them all to such rough treatment and humiliation.