That kind of kidnapping scenario would be a little too much for me.
Just a little.
Okay, a lot.
The rhythmic thump of his feet along the ground and the soft sway of his movements could lull me to sleep. I admit that I’m disappointed when he lowers me to the ground. I have to pry my fingers apart to let go of his neck, and before I let go of him fully, I miss his warmth. I didn’t exactly dress for the outdoors, so the riding jacket doesn’t do enough to stop the autumn chill from sinking into my bones.
“Stay,” he orders. I lift my hands up to the blindfold, but he slaps them away. “Don’t touch.”
“I’m not a dog,” I seethe.
“Mmhmm,” he hums.
I grumble under my breath and cross my arms to preserve warmth while a bunch of banging and grunting happens a few feet to my right.
Please don’t be a dead body.
Please don’t be a dead body.
Please don’t be a dead body.
On my next inhale, a low whine whirls at the bottom of my lungs, and I freeze.
Oh...
Shit…
Mickey better not have heard that.
I swallow and quietly clear my throat, even though I know it will do nothing to eliminate the wheeze. It’s still worth a try. If he hears me, he’s going to be absolutely livid. Not only did I forget to bring my inhaler, but I haven’t taken it in at least three days. Which just so happens to be the timeframe for my asthma to kick in if left unmedicated.
Of course, Mickey knows this.
He knows freaking everything there is to know about me.
I jolt when his fingers wrap around my elbow. I didn’t even hear him coming, too lost in my panicked thoughts.
“After you, Princess.”
I shuffle across the ground hesitantly, attempting to keep my breaths short so he doesn’t hear the hitch in each of them. The itch in my lungs grows, and I have to resist the urge to clear my throat every three seconds.
Mickey gently guides me a few more steps before stopping and twisting my body so he has me where he wants me. It’s quieter here, the insects’ songs dulled. My nose twitches as I try to find any answer about our whereabouts from scent alone, but all I can smell is Mickey, fresh earth, and the lingering scent of hay.
He takes his time untying the cloth around my head as I hold my breath without much thought, too scared to breathe with him so close.
My lungs scream and heave—and holy crap, it’s so itchy. They feel like they’re filled with the ticklish, crawling insects that sing outside.
There has to be a way to reach inside myself and scratch my lungs.
I blink a couple of times from the burst of sudden light. Then I blink some more to make sure I’m seeing things correctly.
I take one step forward.
And another, spinning in a slow circle to take everything in. Fairy lights twinkle, wrapped around pillars and hanging from beam to beam. Pillows are stacked on top of a thick woolen blanket laid on the concrete floor. Next to it are boxes of blankets and pillows, as well as every single one of my favorite snacks. I turn and spot a white sheet hanging on the wall, along with a projector a couple of feet in front of it.
There’s a soft whirring from somewhere—a generator, I’m guessing. It’s the only way the light bulb would work unless the abandoned horror house has electricity.
How did he get all this stuff here on his bike?
