“Yes. It’s a nice one. I’ve eaten there plenty of times.”
“Maybe you could just drop me there? If you don’t mind.”
“Of course. No problem.” He backs up toward the passenger door and opens it. “Climb on up.”
While he rounds to the other side of the truck, I head for the open door.
It’s fine. He’s just a man. It’s not like he’s going to drag me to a cabin in the woods and murder me.
As soon as Pete pulls onto the road, he glances at me. “Where’re’ya headed?”
I chuckle. “Well, to be honest, the diner.”
He laughs. “Long-term goals are always good. Thinking too far out is overrated,” he jokes. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Yeah. I’m just passing through.” This man doesn’t need details about my life. I like the fact that he’s from this town, though. He can’t possibly be a serial killer.
A minute later, I’m confused when he turns off the highway. I kind of figured the gas station and diner would be right on this road. And then he makes another turn…
My heart rate picks up. I’m sure I’m being paranoid. But now we’re on a street with homes. A rundown street with sparse homes. “Uh, where are we going?”
“Oh, fuck. Sometimes I forget I didn’t speak out loud. I just need to stop and grab my checkbook. I was actually on my way to town myself to get a part for my truck. It’ll just take a second, and then we’ll be back on the road.”
I try not to react. I assume all the blood has left my face as I try to keep breathing while gripping the arm rest. He could be telling the truth. But why do I know he’s not? For some reason, I’m quite certain this will be the worst day of my pitiful life. Probably the last.
He pulls into the driveway of the last house on the road. It looks ordinary enough. Do serial killers own regular homes and do their killing on site?
Pete turns off the engine, pockets the keys, and jumps down from his side of the truck. I hope he’ll jog toward the garage or front door, run inside, and be right back.
But that’s not what happens.
Nope. Because my fucking life sucks.
Instead, he comes around to my door, opens it, and reaches a hand out. “Come in. Promise I don’t bite.”
“Uh, I’ll just wait here. You’re only grabbing your checkbook, right?” Who uses a fucking checkbook these days anyway?
“Yep. Might as well come inside.” He doesn’t move.
“I’m good here.” I realize I never even buckled my seatbelt. What’s wrong with me?
Suddenly, Pete—if that’s even his name—steps closer, grabs my arm, and yanks me out of the truck. Before I can scream, he has a hand over my mouth and he’s hauling me toward the front door.
Fucking fuck. Every moment of panic I’ve ever felt combined doesn’t match with the terror I feel right now. And that’s saying something. He’s taller than me, so my feet don’t touch the ground. Grabbing his forearm, I try to pry it off me. I need to get free of him before we get into the house. I need to run.
I kick back at him, but it’s too awkward since I’m facing out. I can’t get purchase. I dig my nails into his arms, but he doesn’t even react. He says nothing as he wraps one large arm around my middle and uses the other one to open the door.
I try to scream, but motherfucker. Who’s going to hear me out here? I’m not sure how close the next property even is. The moment we’re inside, my panic increases. I keep screaming. “Help! Put me down! Help. Someone, help!” I know my words are useless. If shouting stood even a tiny chance of drawing attention, he would have covered my mouth again.
Pete keeps moving straight through the living room and into the kitchen. It’s not a big house, so the two are connected with a large archway. I try to take note of my surroundings, thinking that might come in handy later. Meanwhile I fight him as hard as I can.
When we reach the kitchen, he pins me against the counter, one arm still around me. He yanks open a drawer and pulls out a roll of duct tape.
This causes me to become hysterical. I scream louder and struggle as much as I can, but I’m too fucking small and no match for his strength and size.
He sets the duct tape on the counter and opens another drawer.
My blood runs cold when he puts a gun to my temple. “Shut the fuck up, bitch. You’re giving me a migraine.”
