Page 15 of Bound to a Killer

My thighs clamp together as I force myself to sit still, the tension coiling tighter with each second. Then it strikes me—a fleeting idea, born of sheer desperation.

Shooting my shot, I shift further in my seat, leaning into the discomfort, even at the risk of angering him. “I’m trying, but I really need to use the bathroom.”

He doesn’t bother sparing a glance my way, but I notice his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel.

If he doesn’t want me to ruin the inside of his fancy car, he’s left with no choice but to stop somewhere. That’ll be my chance to bolt. I can’t outrun him, but it’s dark enough that Ican try to hide. That'sifhe decides to stop. He’s showing no signs of slowing down.

Despair quickly follows when it dawns on me that I’ve seen his face, and what that means in terms of my escape. I’m a lost cause. There’s no way he’ll risk me getting away, not while I know what he looks like.

Emotion claws its way up my throat, but I shove it back down. Now isn’t the time to wallow.

Several long minutes later, he finally veers off into a dirt path, but doesn’t stop the car yet. My eyes strain against the dark, catching a glimpse of some forest trees along the side of my window. Panic consumes me.

He’s driving us deeper between the branches. I swallow with much difficulty as I envision what he intends to do to me down here. Why he’s had to drive all this way just for me.

Stabbing pains start to emanate from my kidneys, making my face contort. I really might wet myself in here, and for a moment, I consider the risks. What’s holding me back if I’m just going to die, anyway?

I’ve heard that you eventually lose control of your bladder shortly after your death. I don’t know why I know that. Either way, my bladder is close to giving out soon.

Then, just in time, and to my dismay, the car comes to a sudden halt. The locks pop open, startling me because I know exactly what’ll come next.

I look over to him through my damp lashes. This is it. Whatever happens next is going to happen right here, right now.

“Get out.”

His voice is less sharp than before, almost eerily calm, reminding me that this is just a routine for him. A sudden but disturbing thought.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say against the lump in my throat.

He massages his temples as if I’m nothing but a headache-fueling nuisance. Eager to get things going, he cuts off the engine, taking the keys with him, and steps out of the vehicle to come around to me.

No, I’m not ready.

Fog swarms my head again, but this time it’s accompanied by loud static in my ears. Is this what people’s last few moments alive feel like? Miserable and struck with fear, their bodies beginning to shut down before they’ve even dragged in their final breath?

The door yanks open, and he drags me out before I can rally quick enough to protest. I stumble out and trip over his foot, landing in a thin, mucky layer of snow.

Knees rooted into the frigid ground, heart racing, I brace myself for the worst.

Please God, let it be quick. I don’t want to feel it.

“Take off your shorts.”

“What? No,” I squeak. My head spins, the cold quickly sinking into my core.

He takes a step toward me, and I fall into full-fledged hysteria, crawling back on my elbows and shrieking out into the desolate woods.

He lifts me up with little effort but struggles to get my shorts off as I swing and kick my legs into the numbingly cold air.

“Please, please stop.” I cry even louder once he’s gotten hold of the waistband and manages to pull it down halfway to my knees.

“Quit moving,” he growls in my ear. "I'm sick of watching you squirm next to me clearly needing to piss, so hurry up already and fucking piss.”

My shorts are now balled up tight in his fist. I don’t meet his eyes out of shame as I cross my legs and hunch over, wanting to hide myself from both him and the elements. My face feelstight from the excessive tears drying out against the sharp winds, an occasional hiccup escaping through chattered teeth.

Am I meant to go in front of him?

“Christ.” He turns to give me his back. “Just hurry the fuck up already.” A vein in his hand flexes over the crumpled silk.