The words send ice down my spine. People who don’t want to hurt you don’t throw you into cars and tie you up.
He reaches past me. Metal rattles. Something heavy and dark drops over my head—fabric, thick and scratchy. He pulls it down, tight around my neck. My last glimpse is of his mouth pressed into a hard line, his hand trembling just barely as he adjusts the hood.
Then there’s nothing. No lights, no shapes, just the smothering black and the sound of my own wild breathing.
The SUV rocks as he climbs into the driver’s seat. The engine revs, then settles. Tires crunch over snow and gravel as we pull away from Frost Plaza, away from my car, my gate, the little world I thought I controlled.
I roll onto my side on the floor, helpless against the movement. Plastic cuts deeper into my skin with every jolt.
Through the pounding in my ears, I hear the radio click on. A crooner’s voice drifts back, smooth and cruelly calm:
“…I’ll be home for Christmas…”
A sob wracks my chest, but the gag turns it into broken air. I squeeze my eyes shut under the hood as tears soak the fabric, the Christmas song curling around me like something rotten.
Home for Christmas.
Not tonight.
Chapter Five
Nick
I’vespenttenyearsimagining what she’d look like bound and trembling in front of me, and reality is better.
I crouch in front of her, my heart thudding with dark anticipation as I reach behind her head to grip the knotted cloth gag. Meredith’s eyes are wide above the gag, shining with fear and defiance in the low light of the cabin. My fingers brush the back of her neck as I toy with the knot, and she flinches at the touch.
“Listen carefully,” I murmur, my voice calm but edged with warning. “I’m going to remove the gag. But if you scream or tryanything stupid, I’ll have to gag you again and sedate you until you learn to behave. Understand?”
Her breath hitches behind the cloth. For a moment, she just stares, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow, and tug gently on the gag to remind her I’m in control.
Finally she jerks a nod. Small, but there.
“That's it,” I praise softly. “Be a good, quiet girl for me.”
With deliberate slowness, I untie the gag. The fabric is damp with her saliva as I pull it free from her lips. She coughs the moment it’s out, sucking in a deep breath of the cool, musty air. Red marks mar the corners of her mouth where the gag bit into her soft skin. I resist the urge to run my thumb over those tender impressions, there will be time for gentle touches later, once she understands.
For a long beat she just breathes, gulping air and gathering courage. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, raw with confusion and hurt. When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse and trembling.
“Why?” Meredith whispers. It’s just one word, but it cracks in the quiet room. A tear slips down her cheek, tracing a shiny line through the grime on her skin.
My chest tightens at the sight of her tears—tears I swore I’d never see her cry again. I reach out and gently wipe the lone drop away with my thumb, my touch lingering on her cheek. Her skin is warm and satin-soft against my rough fingertips, and I savor the feel.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Don’t cry.”
Her chin trembles. “Why are you doing this?” She swallows, throat working. “What do you want? If this is about money—about the plaza—I can fix it. You have no idea who is on my payroll. Let me go now and I can make this disappear.”
There she is. Even tied up on a cabin floor, she tries to negotiate, to control the damage.
A humorless laugh slips out. “Money?” The word tastes sour. “I don’t give a damn about your money, Meredith.” I let my thumb slide along her cheekbone, slow, intimate. “All I want for Christmas is you, Sugarplum.”
At the old nickname, I feel her body tense up against the wall. Her eyes narrow in wary confusion.
“Don’t—” Her voice snags. “Don’t call me that.”
I lean in, bracing one hand on the log wall by her head, boxing her in. We’re a breath apart now; I can feel the heat of her panic against my skin.
“Why?” I ask softly. “Does it sound familiar?”
