Maybe it’s the familiarity of cooking, maybe it’s the knowledge that as tough and independent as I like to pretend I am, none of this would’ve happened if I’d been brave enough to leave my house this last year. If I’d been able to go to the store, Tom would never have gotten my groceries, and I’d never have given him the impression that anything like this would be welcome.
Maybe it’s just exhaustion.
I have to believe that I will get out of this, that someday I’ll be safe again, but stories of kidnapped women shove themselves to the forefront of my mind. Women forced to be men’s “wives,” held captive only five minutes away from home. Ican’tlet it happen to me, because if I couldn’t leave my house after my attack, surely I’m not strong enough to survive something like that. No, I have to find a way to get out of here, quick.
Movement in the forest catches my eye, but when I turn to look, there isn’t anything there. Wishful thinking, I suppose.
The eggs are done, so I reluctantly turn off the stove, though I do note that it’s gas and perhaps that could come in handy at some point. I slide them onto the plate and pick it up. I turn, and then frown, because I could swear I heard something coming from the front door. A scratching, maybe?
Tom must have heard it, too, because he shoots to his feet.
The scratching is followed by a loud slam that I can feel reverberate through the house. Seconds later, Henry comes bounding into the kitchen, making a beeline for Tom. He might be old and lazy, but none of that is evident right now. Instead, he knocks Tom to the ground like before, and stands on his chest, dripping saliva onto Tom’s face.
I shift, ready to flee and then call Henry after me, but I’m stopped by a voice in the hall.
“Ready to go, Princess?”
The plate falls from my hand, shattering on the ground. My knees buckle like I’m in an old-time movie.
Seth steps through the archway, and he has to duck his head to make it. In the context of Tom’s kitchen, it’s obvious how massive he is, head nearly hitting the ceiling. Just as I remember, he’s wearing that white and red mask, one I’ve come to love, if I’m honest. He doesn’t carry a weapon; between his size and the wicked claws that tip his fingers, heisa weapon. I stare up at him from where I kneel on the ground, because my brain is having trouble computing reality.
He’shere.
He’s real.
I’m safe.
“You came,” I gasp out, rocking back to standing.
“You needed me.” He holds out a hand and pulls me up, tucking me behind him. The soft fabric of his jacket is cold against my cheek, and I breathein the crisp, comforting scent of him. Crisp balsam and bright cranberry, he makes me feel immediately safe.
From the floor, Tom blubbers, and I can’t understand any of what he’s saying.
“Henry, heel,” Seth says, and he cracks his knuckles.
Oh shit. Giddiness rises in me, because his voice is cold enough to make ice.
My nightmare’s back, and you’re in big, fat trouble.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
She’s alive.
She’s okay.
The thoughts play on repeat in my mind, making everything else disappear until Henry’s growl brings me back to myself and I call him over.
If this fucker hurts Ada’s dog, I’ll kill him.
Ada wraps her arms around the lab, and he peppers her with sloppy kisses, while I replace the dog’s weight with my boot on Tom’s chest.
“P-please don’t hurt me,” Tom whimpers as I loom over him. “You can take whatever you want, j-just please don’t… If it’s the girl you want, you can have the bitch.”
Snot and tears slide down his face as he begs and trembles beneath me. He’s even more pathetic than in his dream.
I’m going to enjoy this.
