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I squeeze my phone between my fingers, tempted to text William back, but I decide not to. Let him spend the whole night squirming, thinking about the things he said to me.
I don’t like to fight, but I won’t cave either. I don’t care if he owns the hospital, New York, or the entire world—when we’re alone, the scales need to be balanced.
I take a quick shower, then put on some sweats and my old high school T-shirt. Tomorrow I’ll have to go to Mrs. Maryann’s house early, since the morning nurse has another commitment.
After that, I’ll need to look for a new evening job too, but no more bars. I’ll see if I can find more work as a caregiver.
A bit calmer, I pull the covers over me to sleep.
I toss and turn for a while, missing those muscular arms around me, but at last exhaustion from the day wins out.
I don’t know how much time passes before I’m awakened by a noise. The room is dark and I can’t see anything, but I make out the shape of a man in the shadows.
In that hazy space between deep sleep and waking, I smile, thinking William came back, that he couldn’t get through the night without me after our fight.
“So beautiful.”
The voice yanks me fully awake.
No, that’s not William. Besides, there’s no way he could’ve gotten in—he doesn’t have a key, and I locked the door.
Thoughts collide, and with them comes a fear so immense it spreads through my chest. I open my mouth to scream.
Immediately, a gloved hand clamps over my mouth and nose.
“No, Taylor. You need to stay quiet. Actually, my love, just go back to sleep.”
But I know he’s not giving me a choice. There’s something on that glove, and the instant it hits my face, my scream is smothered.
I fight, thrashing around, but seconds later, I can no longer move, and I drift off again.
* * *
A Week Later
I’m freezing, teeth chattering, knees pulled tightly to my chest.
I’m clutching them so hard I’m afraid I’ll break a bone, but I don’t want the man watching me to know just how scared of him I am.
Actually, I’m not even sure if he really is watching. But my gut tells me yes, there are cameras in this dark room.
I haven’t seen his face yet, but from his voice, I don’t think he’s old. If I had to guess, I’d say around thirty.
I look at the bars of the cage I’m in—really just a kennel big enough for a medium-sized dog.
He removed the chains on my ankles and wrists a few days ago, saying they were leaving marks on my “perfect skin.” He did it while I was asleep; the terror that he may have touched me while I was unconscious nearly overwhelmed me. But from the moment I realized I’d been kidnapped, I only let myself have a few hours of total panic. After that, I made myself recall every conversation I’d had with Dad about the kidnapping of women.
Dad was a cop his entire life and made some enemies, so he made sure not to raise me as a fragile flower but as a survivor—someone who, in a dangerous situation, would do whatever was necessary to escape. I prayed for God to give me strength, then focused on remembering all our talks about what to do if I was ever abducted.
According to him, sexual predators—because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what the monster who took me is—feed on the fear they cause. In their twisted fantasies, they thrive on their sense of power over the victim. The best way to fight that is by seeming docile and cooperative.
That’s how I’ve been acting since the start. I barely speak, I don’t ask why he’s brought me here, and I appear resigned, when really all I want is to gouge out his eyes with my bare hands.
He seemed taken aback by that, and his tone no longer sounds as imposing as it did initially. Actually, he’s started asking questions about my past, which quickly showed me he isn’t one of Dad’s enemies—otherwise he would’ve studied my whole life. He’d know more details.
The monster who has me here belongs to my present.
I turn my head slowly, scanning this dim room so that if he is watching me through cameras, he won’t notice I’m being alert.