Page 84 of Conjure

“I hate you.” My raw vocal cords ache as the last note slips from my lips.

He tips my chin up with the shotgun, his eyes gleaming with sadism. “Is that any way to talk to the man you called Daddy a few minutes ago?”

This time, I spit at him, and he hauls me to my feet, baring his yellow teeth. I stab him with the piece of broken glass in my hand that I picked up from the floor seconds earlier, and he drops me with a hiss.

Blood pours from the wound, staining the grimy denim, and my own hand hurts from slicing it open, but the sharp sting is the least of my worries.

We stare at the protruding shard, then at each other. The air thickens with tension.

“Oh, darlin’, he drawls, cocking the shotgun. “You’ve gone and done it now.”

Sharp and deadly terror flashes through me as I dash for the stairs, hauling myself up. A warning shot rings out, and I scream as buckshot embeds itself in the wall beside me.

I blink at it for all of a second before my survival instincts take over. I’m on the run again, fleeing from the monster behind me, who takes the steps slowly as if to heighten my fear.

“You goin’ to die, darlin’.”

“DOMINIC!” I scream, propelling myself onto the landing. “Where are you?” I throw one final look behind me, fleeing down the hall. Another shot rings out, and I tumble to the floor with a blood-curdling scream as agony sears my calf. Gasping, I rollover, blood gushing from the graze of a pellet that almost took me out completely.

If I was scared before, it has nothing on the noose that tightens around my throat now when I look up to see Wilfred walking toward me with the shotgun tightly clasped. My chest heaves, yet I struggle to inhale a full breath as icy panic threatens to steal the last sip of oxygen.

“You thought you could get one up on me, little girl? You thought you was being clever, darlin’?”

The shard is still embedded in his waist. Is he immune to pain? What the hell is wrong with him?

I dart my gaze around and then crawl toward the nearest door that’s open an inch, leaving a trail of crimson behind.

Wilfred follows it like a bloodhound, chuckling deeply. “Not so brave now, are we?”

“Please,” I beg, digging my nails into the worn floorboards and hauling myself forward, my calf throbbing with blinding pain.

“Please what, darlin’? Kill you or fuck you again? Maybe with my cock this time?”

“Don’t,” I choke, grabbing hold of the doorframe.

He aims the gun at me again, and I sob, crawling away. The door slides open behind me, and he follows my blood trail as though he has all the time in the world to torment me.

Once inside, I try to shut the door, but he wedges his boot in the gap and tuts.

“That’s not very nice.” He kicks it open, and I scramble back, pausing as my eyes land on the slumped, tied-up body by the bed.

“Dominic?” I gasp.

He’s unconscious, his chin touching his shoulders, blood coating the sides of his neck and dampening the front of his T-shirt.

I’ll never forgive myself if he dies because of my own stupid curiosity.

Wilfred clamps his muddy boot down on my injured calf, and I scream in torment, writhing on the floor. My distress rouses Dominic from his slumber, and he lifts his heavy head, a choked groan vibrating through his chest as he winces.

Cold metal meets the back of my head, forcing my cheek to meet the hard floor. I sob, watching Dominic’s hazy eyes connect with mine. Every muscle in his body stiffens, but then his head lulls and he tries to shake it, his movements sluggish.

“Who should I kill first, darlin’? You or your boyfriend?”

“Please don’t hurt us,” I beg around a sob. “I’ll do anything. Just…please. Let us go.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think? I’ve had a taste of that pussy. If I see you ’round town, I might be tempted to drag you back here. Besides, you going to tell the cops.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone. It stays between us.”