He freezes with his hand on the refrigerator, then turns around, hurt etched onto his handsome face.
“I didn’t kidnap you.”
“Um. I was walking through the woods minding my own business, but now I’m tied to a chair in your cabin. What would you call this?” I jiggle my arms a little to emphasize but regret it right away when the plastic digs into my wrists.
His brow furrows when I flinch. “Minding your own business?”
“Yes.” How dare he? Fine. Maybe I wasn’t quite minding my own business, but still. Zip ties.
“You were hiding behind a tree watching my cabin after following me home from Portland. What would you call that?”
I scoff.
“So you’re afraid of me? Which is why I’m tied up?” I wiggle my body in frustration, moving the chair an inch forward.
His eyes flick down to the chair legs, thenback up to my face. Then Wes just… stares at me, clearly and shockingly concerned. Instead of answering my very logical question, he pulls out his phone, taps it a bunch of times, then slides it back in his pocket.
“What’d you just do? And where’s my phone?”
Wes turns and takes two steps, then reaches for something on the kitchen counter and strides toward me.
It’s a huge fucking knife.
“Wait!” Panic grips my body as he approaches me, his face blank.
I’m gonna die. Now’s the moment. And it’s my fault because I followed him home and then picked a fight with this psychopath while I’m tied up in his remote cabin. Shit! I squint my eyes shut just as the walls creak with whipping wind. Is he gonna cut my throat? Stab me in the belly? Cut off my fingers one by one?
Then I feel the smooth, cold metal on my hands.
Guess it’s my fingers. I feel pinpricks of tears in my eyes.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice pathetic.
But then I feel the pressure release on my wrists.
He cut the zip ties? I pull my wrists in front of my face. He cut the zip ties.
“Oh my god.” I spring up, intending on, I don’t know, running out of the cabin or attacking him or something, but then I immediately fall face first onto the thick rug, my cheek hitting the ground hard. The air’s completely knocked out of my lungs, and I can’t get a sound out or a breath in.
My ankles are still tied to the chair.
“Fuck!” Wes swears and falls to his knees next to me, the knife still in his hands. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He touches my back and peers down at me. “You’re lucky you didn’t hit the other chair with your face.”
I struggle and finally manage to suck in a breath.Perhaps I should just give up on life now. I can’t get anything right. A single tear breaks free from my eye and drips down the bridge of my nose.
“Were you trying to run?” Wes wipes the tear off with a gentle touch. “It’s a blizzard outside.”
“Can you help me up and put down the knife?” I’m humiliated. Exhausted. Face-first in a surprisingly fluffy shag rug.
A second later, my ankles are cut free and the chair lifts off my back. Strong, knife-free hands wrap around my waist and lift me up, and for a second I’m in Wes's arms, like a bride on her wedding night.
Then he deposits me gently on the couch and sinks down next to me.
“Are you okay, Callie?”
My name on his lips is weird to hear, like we’re friends, not the kidnapper and the kidnapped.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound tough, but when I lift my hand to my cheek, I wince.
