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“Pestilence!”I shoutfor the five billionth time.

I pause, listening.

Still nothing.

Of course he can catch me fleeing in two-point-five seconds flat, but when I actually need him, he’s nowhere to be found.

“Pestilence!”

In the distance, I think I hear a moan, which sobers me up real fast.

Is there someone else living here?

Heavy footsteps interrupt that thought. The door opens, and there Pestilence is, looking like a prince from a fairytale.

His eyes first go to the bed, where I should be, before dropping to the floor, where I am.

“What are you doing out of bed, human?” he asks, looking at me all suspicious-like.

Because I’m so ready to attempt escape again.

“I need help.” It hurts a good deal of my pride to say this.

His brows furrow, and he steps farther inside the room, closing the door behind him.

“You do understand that I am reluctant to offer you any such thing, given our history.”

Our history. He somehow makes it sound like there’s this whole saga between us.

“I know,” I say.

He waits for me to continue. But now that he’s here, looking like some airbrushed male model, I’m losing a little of my nerve.

“Um,” I say, fidgeting on the floor, my back screaming in pain, “I have to go to the bathroom.” This is technically no different than any other time I’ve asked him to help me to the bathroom, and yet it is, because now I’m injured rather than bound, and my frailty makes me feel vulnerable.

That’s why I’m sitting here on the ground. I tried to get out of bed and mosey over to the bathroom on my own. I just hadn’t factored in how weak I’d be, or how sharply my wounds would ache.

I made it halfway to the door before I gave up.

And now here we are.

For a long moment, Pestilence doesn’t react. Then, silently he comes over to me. I tense a little as he kneels at my side. I know I asked for assistance, but I can’t help even now remembering all the agony he’s inflicted on me.

It’s a horrible twist of fate that I have to depend on the very person who put me in this position.

Pestilence’s arms slide under my body and he lifts me up. I yelp at the sharp stab of pain that lances through me at the movement. To my eternal humiliation, I wrap my arms around the horseman’s neck to ease some of the pressure on my back.

The position puts me uncomfortably close to the horseman’s mouth, and I have the misfortune of noticing how his upper lip is fuller than his bottom one.

He carries me to the bathroom wordlessly, depositing me on the toilet, even though my pants are still on. I finger the denim covering my lower half. I’m wearingmom jeans, a.k.a., the minivans of the pants world. I most definitely didn’t dress myself in these.

Which means …

Ugh.

Horseman saw my lady goods again.

Said horseman looms over me. “Try to escape again—”