I start to slide my hand a little closer to the front pocket of my bag when he pushes off from the door, moving with a quickness that takes me by complete surprise. In seconds, his hands are around my wrists and he’s kneeling in front of me.
“You were supposed to be mine,” he hisses. “Not his.”
My body goes still at his words as everything clicks together with a horrible slowness and precision. All the signs I misread, the interest he took in me that I mistook for mentoring, the friendly smiles and conversation—they all take on a more sinister tone and slam into me at once.
“You’re Cupid,” I whisper, feeling like I’m about to be sick.
The grin he gives me is one I hope to never see again. There’s no warmth in it. The man I knew is no longer here. I’m guessing he never existed. The man staring at me right now is a monster.
“I see your little boyfriend told you about me.” The cruel grin playing at his lips turns into an evil smile. “He’s going to be so pissed when he realizes I’ve taken you. It’s a pity I won’t be able to see it.”
He lets go of one of my hands, and when I try to pull away and grab my phone, he tightens his fingers around the wrist he’s still holding and squeezes hard enough to make me yelp in pain. It feels like he’s crushing my bones, grinding them together, and all my focus turns to trying to pry my wrist free. The bag drops to the floor, taking my phone with it, and when I claw at his hand, he gives an annoyed grunt and backhands me hard enough to snap my head back. While I’m stunned and too shocked to fightback, he grabs both my wrists in one hand and pulls me up from the chair.
“No,” I start to say, but panic and fear have me choking on my words while my body takes over, instinctively trying to fight back. With both my hands useless, I use my leg, landing a hard kick to his shin that has him cursing me to hell and back before he slams me against the wall of his office. My head hits the edge of the bookshelf hard enough to daze me. While I try to get my eyes to focus, he leans in closer so we’re only inches apart.
“Do not fuck with me, Savanna. We’re leaving my office. You can do it while awake and conscious or I will bash your head into this wall hard enough to knock you out. Your choice.”
The horrified whimper I give must be answer enough because he nods and says, “Good girl. Now shut the fuck up and stop fighting me.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I whisper, trying to reconcile the fact that my professor is apparently a raging psychopath.
“A lot, I imagine,” is all he says, and the calm tone of his voice mixed with the dead look in his eyes is confirmation enough that I’m not going to like wherever it is that he’s planning on taking me. A second location is never a good thing, especially not when I know he’s Cupid, the man responsible for drugging and selling women. My eyes dart around his office, landing on the messenger bag. Tears spring to my eyes, because it’s impossible to look at that bag and not think of Niki. I can’t let myself get taken. He’ll never forgive himself, and I’d rather die here than go somewhere where I’ll never be found.
“I’m sorry, Niki,” I whisper right before I lunge for my professor.
I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I put everything into it. I manage to catch him off guard, surprising him enough to make him fall back a couple of steps. He knocks over one of the chairs,and when I try to kick him, he gives an angry growl right before blocking my foot from reaching the mark. I’d been aiming for between his legs, and instead I end up clipping the side of his thigh. It hurts me way more than it hurts him, and before I can try to hit him again, he clenches his hand into a tight fist and rears back. I try to run, to back away, to do anything that will prevent his large fist from making contact, but he hits me before I can, an impossibly fast punch that sends me spiraling backwards. My head hits the bookshelf with a loud crack right before everything goes black.
My head throbs so badly I can barely think.
“Niki,” I whisper, needing him to help me get through the worst migraine of my life. I reach my hand out, surprised to not feel his body curled around mine like he has been every morning. The rough blanket under my hand doesn’t feel anything like the soft blankets on our bed, and when I call for him again and get nothing but silence in return, I open my eyes just enough to quickly shut them again at the harsh, blinding light.
It takes me a second, but slowly the pieces start to fit together. I remember the email from my professor, Niki driving me to his office, and then finding out he’s Cupid. I remember trying to fight him off, and then blinding pain before losing consciousness. I gently run my fingers over my head, wincing when I feel a large knot forming at the base of my skull. My head throbs worse than my migraines, and the nausea is so bad I’m not sure I’m going to be able to avoid getting sick.
Peeling my eyes open, I use my hand to try and block some of the light. It takes several minutes of blinking and waiting for thedizziness to pass before I get a glimpse of where I am. As soon as I see the bare, cellar-like room, I wish I’d kept my eyes shut, because this can’t be good. The walls and floor are concrete, and the only piece of furniture is the metal bed frame I’m lying on. I fling aside the scratchy blanket, revealing a thin, stained mattress that immediately makes my skin feel like it has bugs crawling all over it. The bare bulb above me is too high to reach, and even if I could, it’s covered in a wire cage so there’s no hope of breaking it and using it as a weapon. There’s an open doorway in the far right corner, but I can’t see where it leads, and a big part of me wonders if I even want to know.
The steel door is the only thing in this place that looks new. It also looks like it’s made to withstand a bomb. Even though I already know it’s pointless, I roll to the side, swinging my legs off the edge of the bed. With a deep breath, I grit my teeth and push myself up to sitting. The wave of dizziness that hits me has me closing my eyes and clasping a hand over my mouth. I force myself to breathe through my nose, long, slow inhales that eventually push the nausea away.
Taking it even slower, I use the bed for support and very carefully stand. I’m relieved to at least still be dressed, and it doesn’t look or feel like they were taken off and put back on. Aside from my head and the wrist that still throbs from where he’d grabbed it, I don’t feel like I’ve been hurt.
With incredibly slow steps, I walk over to the doorway, stopping when I see that it’s just a toilet and small sink, both tucked right out of the line of sight, but no door to offer any real privacy. There’s also nothing in here that could be used as a weapon. Even the lid to the tank has been removed.
Panic starts to creep in when I turn and make my way to the door. I’d been right about it being impenetrable. There’s not even a doorknob for me to grab onto, just a security system, waiting for a code that could literally be any millionsof combinations of numbers. I bang on the door anyway, screaming for help because even though I know it’s useless, I still have to try. If there’s even the smallest of possibilities it might help, I have to try.
By the time I stop, my voice is hoarse, my hands are bruised, and I’m seriously worried about the piercing sort of pain that relentlessly pounds inside my head. I’m not sure what kind of damage happened when I hit my head. The dizziness makes me think I have a concussion, but I’m not sure what happens if you don’t see a doctor. I can’t remember if you’re not supposed to sleep, and what if I’m bleeding internally?
Tremors rack my body by the time I make it back to the filthy mattress. I sit on it, scooting back so I’m leaning against the hard wall and then pull the rough blanket on top of myself before wrapping my arms around my legs. Crying is pointless and it won’t help me, but I can’t stop the tears. I’ve never been more scared in my life, and I’d give anything to be able to go back to this morning. I want Niki. I want him so badly it hurts, and when I start to sob even harder, I’m scared I won’t ever be able to stop.
My heart breaks for him because as terrified as I am, I can’t help but worry about him too. This is going to kill him. He thought I was safe, and I know he’ll never forgive himself for this. I rest my chin on my knee, trying to calm my breathing while I tell myself over and over again that Niki will find me. If anyone can, it’s him, and I know with absolute certainty that he will never stop. No matter how long it takes, he will find me. I know he will.
An icy sense of dread rolls down my spine at what that means. He’ll never stop, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be fast. He has no idea where I’m at, and I’m stuck here, alone and with nothing to protect myself. That means I’m going to have to survive whatever the hell my professor has planned for me. Cupid, the man who’s been quietly waiting a very long time forthis, whatever the hellthisis, has to know people will be looking for me. He knows what Niki is capable of with a computer, and my parents will contact the police as soon as they know I'm missing. Niki will be able to lead them straight to Dr. Ellison. How does he think he’s going to get away with this?
Questions, one right after the other, circle my mind, guaranteeing my headache will never go away. I have no sense of time. I don’t even know how long I was knocked out, and it’s starting to mess with my head. Eventually, I have no choice but to use the bathroom. I finish as quickly as I can and then wash my hands with the bar of soap that’s sitting on the counter. I don’t let myself think too much about the fact that it’s a small sliver and not a full bar. Cupping my hands, I fill them with water, making sure it looks clear and smells okay before taking a small sip. It tastes fine, so I use my hands and drink my fill, knowing I can’t let myself get dehydrated.
My head still hurts too much to pace the room, so I sit back down on the bed, using the blanket as a kind of shield as I pull it up to my chin. It’s stupid. I know it can’t protect me, but I still do it. With nothing but my overactive imagination, I sit and wait, conjuring up one horrible scenario after another. When I hear the door click, my first thought is that it’s almost a relief to be pulled from the endless cycle of nightmares running through my head, but as soon as I see my professor’s face, I know I’m wrong. The hell of my mind is a thousand times better than what he has planned for me.
The man who’s been my mentor for over a year steps into my dank room, but I no longer see him as Dr. Ellison, the kind man who took me under his wing and told me I’d make a great teacher one day. All I see now is Cupid, the monster who preys on women and hides who he really is behind a carefully planned façade.
“Do they know who you really are?” I ask when he shuts the door and walks closer, stopping at the foot of my bed.
