He rose slowly to his full height and turned as if to leave.
“I can’t eat like this,” Dani rasped, her voice hoarse, raw. “My hands…”
He paused.
Her hope shattered the moment his head snapped back around.
The blow came without warning.
His hand cracked across her face, whipping her head sideways into the metal pipe. Stars exploded in her vision. Pain radiated from her jaw as the coppery tang of blood filled her mouth. Her lip split.
She was still reeling when he grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back at a punishing angle.
From his belt, he drew a fishing knife—long, curved, razor-sharp.
Her breath froze.
She locked eyes with him, refusing to look away, even as the blade sliced through the strap binding her to the pipe. Her arms fell forward, aching and trembling.
He shoved her backward.
Before she could recover, he pulled a new strap from his pocket and fastened one wrist back to the pipe, yanking it tight. Too tight. The plastic dug into her skin.
He straightened and turned to leave.
“Why?” she whispered.
He paused at the door, half in shadow, and looked over his shoulder. His voice was soft. Almost casual.
“Because I can.”
And just like that, the nightmare she thought she’d outrun came roaring back.
She flinched when the door slammed shut. Her throat worked upand down as she fought back the paralyzing fear when the lock clicked.
Dani stayed frozen for what felt like hours, her breath ragged, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her cheek throbbed. The skin on her wrist was already raw beneath the strap. The taste of blood in her mouth made her sick to her stomach.
She reached up and touched her face, her fingers trembling.
He’s real. This is real.
She shut her eyes, willing herself not to sink into the gnawing dark.
Think. Think, Dani.
She patted her skirt pocket with trembling fingers.
Gone. Her phone—gone. But?—
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall as she ran her hand down along her right leg to her ankle. Her ankle bracelets were still there. Her fingers trembled as she felt along the beads before caressing the cylinder-shaped metal one.
Thank you, Gramps.
Her gaze shifted to the paper plate beside her. She ignored the sandwich—her stomach twisted at the thought—but reached for the water. She drained half the bottle in desperate gulps before capping it again.
Focus. Breathe.
The room looked as if it had been converted into a storage closet at some point. The air was damp. The walls were grimy. A single dirty window sat high above her, covered in a thin wire and too small to escape through. Still, she stared at it, willing a plan to form.
