“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I growl, my voice low and filled with rage. “You sick piece of shit.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve lost whatever control I was trying to hold onto, but I don’t care. Not when it comes to her.
He stares at me for a long while before he finally starts laughing. It’s deep and ugly, like something coming from the darkest part of him. I knew my anger was exactly what he wanted all along.
“There he is,” he says, wiping the spit from his face. “Fuck, I was starting to think you weren’t going to be any fun.”
His smile disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by pure hatred. His entire expression changes, like someone flipped a switch inside him.
“What are you going to do to stop me?”
The question is barely above a whisper, but the threat behind it is clear. Before I can respond, he drives the syringe into my thigh.
Pain shoots through my body, and a yell tears from my throat before I can stop it. My eyes widen as he slowly pushes the liquid into my system, watching me the entire time with that same sick satisfaction.
I hate him. I hate every fucking thing about him.
When the syringe is empty, he pulls it out and tosses it onto the cart.
“There ya go, buddy.” He reaches up and slaps my cheek twice, the casualness of the gesture making my blood boil.
If he touches my face one more time, I’m going to break every bone in his fucking hand.
He walks back toward the medical cart, completely unaware, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit, of how close he is to dying if I ever get free.
“We’re going to let that kick in before we start the dirty work,” he says, looking over his collection of instruments. “In the meantime…”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, and my chest tightens.
“Let’s see if Madelyn wrote back.”
He unlocks the screen, scrolling through whatever messages he has, and then shakes his head.
“She’s an awful texter, by the way,” he says casually. “She never writes me back.”
I study his face, searching for any sign that she hasn’t fallen for whatever lie he told her. Any indication that she’s safe and far away from him.
For a brief second, hope flickers in my chest. Maybe she figured it out and got away. Maybe?—
The hope disappears when Austin’s face slowly changes, a smile spreading across his lips as he looks down at his phone. I can feel the moment my heart falls out of my ass. Whatever she said, whatever he’s reading…he fucking likes it.
His thumbs move across the screen as he begins typing a response, and I can only sit there and watch, trapped in this fucking chair, waiting for the moment when he decides whatever happens next.
She couldn’t have actually fallen for his bullshit, could she?
No. Maddie is smart. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, even when she doesn’t see it herself. She’s been through hell and somehow still manages to wake up every morning and keep fighting. If I know anything about her, I know she’s not going to just walk into this blindly.
But that’s the problem. Maddie is fucking smart, which means she’s probably going to show up. And if I know Maddie, she’s not going to come alone.
That thought is the only thing keeping me grounded. The only thing stopping the panic from completely taking over. Because if she comes here and walks into whatever sick fucking game Austin has planned, I don’t know what he’s going to do. I don’t know what this psycho is capable of.
Austin looks up from his phone and catches me staring at him. That same stupid, twisted smile pulls at his lips. His smile makes my goddamn skin crawl because there’s no emotion behind it. No remorse or any signs of hesitation, just excitement. This shit is entertaining for him.
He walks toward me slowly, enjoying every second of my anger and frustration, and holds his phone out in front of my face.
“Do you want to see what she wrote?”
I don’t answer him. He doesn’t give me a fucking choice, because in a second, the screen is in front of me and my eyes drop to the messages.
