Page 7 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Seven

EVIE

“ D o you have any idea where you’re going?” I snap as the damp earth under my bare feet slips again.

Timothy pays me no heed, just as he hasn’t since we cleared the tree line, simply tugging on the bonds around my wrists. By my estimate, we are around halfway into the forest. In twenty to thirty minutes, we should reach the fishing hut.

My stomach growls.

I haven’t eaten since the night before last when he drugged me.

Not willing to experience another scuzzy jerk-off scene of Timothy’s, I have opted against food or drink. A decision that weighs heavier and heavier with every passing hour.

My head thumps from dehydration.

My mouth is so parched the Sahara is damp in comparison.

Every step I take, my limbs shake with fatigue and the weakness hunger brings. I stumble over a fallen branch, and my knees hit the muddy ground. Arms suspended above my head, his grip unwavering, I whimper at the burn around my reddened, tender wrists.

“Get up.” He stands close. Too close.

Soulless pale eyes glare down at me.

“Please, just let me go. We can forget this ever happened. We’ve both made mistakes. Consider the score even and we go our separate ways... Please, Timothy.” A sob spills out after my plea.

He leans down. The barrel of his pistol brushes my temple, dragging the sweat-drenched hair from my face. “No.”

“I—if I give you myself, will you let me go?” The words are acid on my tongue. Bile rises in the aftermath of the thought of giving myself over to this insane man.

His head tilts a fraction. “Also, no.”

The sickest, most rabid grin splits his face. He chuckles for a moment before reeling me to my feet. “Fucking slut. If I’d known how desperate you are for cock, I wouldn’t have spent six fucking years on you.” He steps into my space. “You are MINE!”

I cower at the last word. The rage lacing his tone sends shivers down my spine.

I stand rigid with fear as he traces the tip of the gun over my lips.

His hot, foul breath hits my face, and I swallow the sob that wants out.

He grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back.

“I will have you as many times as I want. I didn’t wait six years for a taste, Butterfly.

I will have it all. And you will never escape us.

” He drags my glasses down my nose until they teeter over the tip and fall onto the muddy ground. “Much better. Now, move.”

His iron grip in my hair doesn’t budge. I scramble beside him through the trees as fire consumes my scalp.

My throat closes, overwhelmed by the emotion of never being free of this hideous human being.

My once-perfect vision, albeit a little smudged, has been replaced with blurs of green and brown, the occasional object coming into clearer view as I pass each tree in a near miss.

“Please... slow down,” I utter, pain twisting my face and contorting the words.

He doesn’t relent. The pace stays too fast, the grip in my hair too tight.

After twenty minutes of me staggering at his side to keep up and him marching through the trees like a man possessed, we reach the fishing hut.

Cal’s fishing hut.

My heart lurches at the sight.

The flood of beautiful, happy memories and one sad moment at the end catches me off guard.

“Oh Cal,” I whimper.

Timothy spins back on his heels. He’s in my face instantly. “Never, EVER, say that name in my presence again.” He is almost on top of me. His fist in my hair falls away, only to grip my neck, his fingers curling into my airway.

“O-okay,” I splutter.

“Ever!” His lip twitches. He’s shaking, like he’s as exhausted as I am.

If only.

Without another word, he pushes me through the warped front door to the hut. I stumble and sink to the floor, and his grip fails. With no time to scurry away or attack, he crouches over me and releases one wrist, securing it on the leg of the cast-iron stove to the left.

Fuck .

He stands, shoving the gun into the front of his pants. “Don’t try anything.”

He’s out the door, disappearing south before I can reply. I sit, straining to listen for his movements, only to hear him talking softly, then the sound of something clicking.

He comes back through the door, sliding a phone into his back pocket. Good luck getting service out here, buddy. His pocket lights up, the shine of the lit screen barely visible through his sweats.

He sits at the table and pulls out his phone again, running a hand through his greasy brown hair. Tapping the message, he nods and sends a reply back.

Dammit.

Just my luck, he gets service out here.

Of course he does.

“Where are we going next?” I say quietly.

He ducks his head, studying my face as he replies, “None of your business.”

“I beg to differ, since you are taking me there against my will.”

He bolts off the chair and is squatting in front of me a heartbeat later.

“I said, none of your business, Butterfly.” He moves to stand but decides against it as he turns back and closes in on me.

I press my back into the stove. The harsh metal grates against my spine.

“Just know that you will never see this place again.”

My face wobbles with emotions set to betray my facade of composure.

“That makes you sad, precious girl? Good, you deserve some punishment for all the trouble you’ve put me through.”

He coughs, and spit lands on my cheek. Refusing to gag, I harden my features to stone, not giving him a fucking inch.

“You won’t get away with this. People will know I’m missing. My editor?—”

“She won’t bother to track down a writer who can’t stick to a deadline to save herself. And those so-called friends of yours in the city weren’t plussed when you never called or emailed from the lighthouse for nine months. No one is going to miss you, Butterfly. Not one person.”

My chin wobbles, and I bite back a sob.

Softening just the slightest, he tracks a grubby finger over my jaw. “You’re better off with me, you’ll come to see that.”

I rip my chin away from his touch. “Over my dead body.”

Resting on his heels, he slides the gun from the front of his sweats. He points it at my forehead and smiles, like the fucking Joker. “That would be too easy. Besides, I don’t have any intention of living without you.”

Right. Because torturing someone and keeping them in captivity is love.

His kind of love.

The drone of a boat wakes me from a restless, pointless sleep. I jerk awake, the back of my head smashing into the stove door.

Fuck.

I groan before my consciousness can catch up to my current situation and shut it down.

Timothy is on his feet a second later, gathering his things.

He tucks the gun into the front of his sweats again as he shoulders the backpack and moves toward me.

Bending down, he unlocks the cuff from the leg of the stove.

Pulling me to my feet, he secures the metal bracelet around my wrist once again.

“Our ride is here.” He tugs me along at his side.

“No!” I struggle against his grip. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Move, Eve.”

“I—I... need to pee, please.” I tense up on the spot, trying desperately to hold my ground.

He looks around the old shack. The tin bucket Cal and I used for our hunting trip sits by the door. He swipes it up and pushes it into my chest. “You have one minute.”

Without a word, he walks outside and shuts the door, guarding it.

I really do need to pee, but I also needed to buy some time to find the small knives I hid in the cupboard last time I was here.

I place the bucket in front of the cupboard and tug my jeans and panties down.

As I relieve myself into the old bucket, I slide my hands to the side into the small, weathered cupboard and feel for the old, rusted knives.

“Hurry up, thirty seconds,” he grunts from outside.

“Okay.”

My fingers find the handle of the larger knife. I grab it. As I pull my jeans back up, I slide it into the waistband at my spine.

Eve - 1

T - 0

Now, I need the courage to use it.

Finishing up, I make sure the knife is secure before walking to the door and knocking softly. It opens, a hand grabbing for the chain between my cuffs. The gun is in his hand as we walk for the southern end of the island toward the hum of a boat engine. Toward god knows where.

A small cruiser bobs in the water off the rocky shoreline to the east. The water must be deeper here, because the boat hovers by the rocks, like a makeshift jetty.

Timothy hauls me toward it like the ground’s on fire. I struggle through the dense sand. When we reach the boat, a plank is resting on the rocks. We board, and Timothy turns back, crowding me as he removes the cuffs. “Our little secret.”

He rubs a sweaty, grimy hand over my swollen wrist before we board the boat proper.

“Sit the fuck down,” a big man around the same age as us says as he slips from the captain’s chair. A rough grip takes my chin, forcing it upward. Something deadly emanates from him.

“Here she is,” Timothy says with a smile, like he’s pleased with himself. Oh god.

I want to scream, but the way new guy’s gaze runs down my body and the look he gives his friend tell me all I need to know. I thought being abducted by a psycho fan was bad... Now he has backup that’s just as depraved as he is, by the look on his face. And huge.

Exhausted, I shake where I stand. Thirst burns, making my every breath an effort.

So I sink to my seat and cower against the side of the boat.

The big guy smirks. “Looks like she’s given up already. That’s no fun, T.”

Timothy shoots him a hard look. “Hands off, the last one was yours.”

He stands over Timothy. “Watch your mouth. Time to make ourselves scarce, the fucking Coast Guard is out here.”

I lift my head. The words register, just.

Em . . .

“Emmett,” I breathe.

I need to push through one more time. I search the cabin for some sort of escape. Everything is so blurry. I need a weapon. A?—