Page 33 of The Atonement (Arrangement #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

AINSLEY

W hen I awoke, I instantly knew something was wrong, though my mind was dense with fog, only bits and pieces of memories coming back to me. Voices, smells, images.

The kids.

Grass.

Music.

A stained shirt.

A stained carpet.

Everything hurt. Nothing made sense.

Where was I?

Why was it so cold?

Why were my arms—

Tied. My arms were tied. I was tied down to something.

Panic shot through me like a bolt of lightning. I struggled against the strength of the material binding me as I tried to make sense of it all, tried to clear my blurry vision and ease my pounding head.

As I began to find focus, I realized the issues with my vision weren’t due to whatever was wrong. I couldn’t see because it was dark. Pitch black. We were either moving, or my head was spinning.

Then, the smell hit me.

The dank, cool air.

The musty smell.

The darkness.

I recalled the darkness most of all.

No.

Not so long ago, I’d tiptoed across this room and slit the throat of a woman my husband intended to kill. Watching him take in the fact that he’d never get the pleasure—never get to be her whole world—was one of the joys I would take to my grave.

Now, I had to wonder if that grave would come sooner than I’d hoped.

Would I be just another body buried in the woods soon enough? Just another victim rotting under a concrete patio? Once, I could say with certainty he’d never hurt me. Now, though, all bets were off.

One of us was going to have to kill the other, and he clearly, as I struggled against the ropes that bound me, had the upper hand.

I jerked my arms and kicked my feet, trying to break free however I could. The chair scooted across the concrete floor, its rubber feet shrieking with each movement. As a last-ditch attempt, I leaned over, throwing all my weight to the side.

Again.

Again.

It tipped, but didn’t fall.

Again.

Again.

Finally, it gave way, the chair leaning farther and farther to the right until—

CRASH.

I landed with a thud on the ground, my head cracking against the concrete with dizzying force. My arm had been smashed under the weight of it all and, if it wasn’t broken, it was very badly wounded.

I winced, trying to catch the breath the impact had knocked out of me. My eyes beaded with tears, but I blinked them away.

Not today.

You have to be strong today.

I had to be strong for my children. Had to get out for them. Had to save them. Ignoring the searing pain in my arm, I tugged against the fabric—up and down, right and left, until the rope burned my wrists. It wasn’t working. I wiggled in place as I tried and failed to break the metal chair.

There had to be another way.

Think.

Think.

Think.

With a deep breath, I pulled my right leg over, despite the pain as the chair pinched my arm again, leaning farther and farther until I could turn myself over.

Face-first on the concrete, I slid across the floor, no doubt tearing the top layer of skin from my cheeks and nose.

I stopped, catching my breath and swallowing down vomit, momentarily easing the pain, and started again.

The concrete burned, my entire weight forcing my face harder into it. I shifted my legs one at a time, half an inch at a time, stopping only when the pain was entirely too much.

With my next move, I felt the rope wrapped around my calf moving lower. I pushed forward, feeling it budge just a bit more. I gave one final jerk, and the rope slid to my ankle. I stopped, breathing a sigh of relief and trying to control my trembling.

I fell to my side again with a loud CLANG , panting and shaking, the pain in my face so unbearable I was sure I was going to pass out. I closed my eyes, twisting my ankle slowly and pulling my heel up until I felt it slip through the hole.

I was free.

At least, one leg was free.

My chest felt as if it might explode from happiness. Blood dripped into my eye, and I squeezed it shut, moving my toes to grab hold of the other cloth and pull them down my opposite leg. My knees throbbed, but I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t quit trying, not even for a second.

I had no idea when Peter would be back or what his plan was. Getting myself free and escaping through the emergency exit was my only choice .

Finally, I pulled my heel up through the hole and my second leg was free.

I kicked them with triumph, my heart drumming in my chest. Rolling forward once again, my head screamed for relief, and, using all of my strength, I was able to stand.

The weight of the chair made balancing myself impossible.

I swayed, slamming into the wall, then turned.

With my back to the wall, I scrubbed my wrists up and down it, using as much force as I could to get the rope to tear.

I winced and cried and bit my lip and fought against every nerve in my body screaming for me to stop, and finally…

finally, I felt it rip. The rope broke free and the chair fell to the ground in an instant.

I gathered my bleeding arms at my chest, sure the pain would never stop, and began to spin around, searching for a way out.

There was no sign of light in the room by design, so I had no idea what time of day or night it was.

No idea if Peter would be home or if he’d be waiting for me.

I thought back to the text message he’d sent me, to the picture of the blueprint.

If I remembered correctly, the exit was on the far-left wall.

But which way was left? Which way was I facing?

I put my hands out, feeling along the room, searching for anything to help orient me. My fingers ran across a shelf full of tools. Weapons, maybe. Then something lower—textured, cool to the touch. A freezer. I pulled my hands away in a hurry and spun around, slamming into something.

Some one .

“Going somewhere?” His breath hit my face, his hands gripping my arms, and I jerked away, colliding with the shelf of tools. I felt for one as he grabbed hold of my wrist, his fingers sticky in my blood, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I skimmed my hand across the shelf with panic, grabbing onto the first solid thing I could find—a metal tape measure—and slamming it against his jaw.

He released me. “What the fuck?”

I ran across the room, feeling desperately against the wall for a way out.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Nothing budged. It was all solid. All concrete. There was no way out. No escape.

Except there was. I needed to stay calm. I needed to keep myself together. This was what I did. In the worst circumstances, I’d always managed to pull through when it mattered most. This was no different.

Across the room, I could hear him moving around, making no effort to be quiet in his search for me.

“Where’d you go?” he shouted, pounding the shelf against the wall. Tools clattered to the ground. I kept myself against the wall, feeling for any sort of groove or loose brick. It had to be there. It had to.

The light flicked on—too bright, too sudden. I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing and ducking my head as my vision clouded with specks .

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said dryly. I rubbed my eyes, spying him walking toward me. He shoved the freezer, pinning me between it and the wall in the corner with nowhere to go.

When he reached me, looking entirely too pleased with himself, he pressed his finger into my cheek.

The pain was what I imagined an electric fence felt like, or a white-hot poker branding your skin.

I cried out, jerking my face away from him.

Unfazed, he stared at the blood, then pressed his finger to his lips, closing his eyes with pleasure.

“You always did taste sweet.” When he opened his eyes, he ran his tongue over his teeth, enjoying the torment.

I turned away, refusing to look at him. Was this the face his victims saw?

Was this the last image in their minds before he murdered them?

“You won’t get away with this,” I told him, my face throbbing so badly I could hardly move my mouth.

“Oh, but I will.”

“You won’t find them,” I said, smiling through the pain. “You won’t ever find them. Not without me. If you kill me, our kids are gone forever. They’ll live their lives knowing you were a monster.”

He clicked his tongue. “Unlikely, but I guess it’s a risk I’ll have to take, hm?

” He stepped closer, a darkness flickering in his eyes.

An emptiness. I looked down. “It didn’t have to come to this, Ains.

It really, really didn’t. All I wanted was to start over.

To fix things. But you were too busy acting like you’re a saint.

Newsflash, baby, there are no saints in this marriage.

We’re both murderers.” He leaned back, smiling wickedly and grabbing my face, forcing me to look at him.

I glanced down at his bandaged wrist, fighting the urge to smile as I recalled biting him.

“It just turns out one of us is a little better at it than the other.”

“Well, practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?” I asked through bared teeth.

“Unfortunately for you, it does.”

It was then I saw the weapon in his opposite hand. A knife, held out to the side. He lifted it up, shaking his head. “I hate that you’ve made me do thi—”

“I’m pregnant!” I shouted, a hand over my stomach protectively.

He dropped the knife, stepping back. “Y-you’re—”

“I’m pregnant. I just found out. It’s early, but it’s true.”

He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s not. Go buy a test. I’ll prove it.”

His face wrinkled with contemplation. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

“We aren’t exactly in a good place, Peter. I was still deciding if I wanted to keep it.”

“And you weren’t going to include me in that decision?”

“I’m including you now.”

“ Because you’re about to die ,” he said, scoffing, using his opposite hand to rub his bandaged wrist. The gauze he’d used to wrap it looked dirty and in need of changing.

“No matter the reason, I’m telling you. I’m pregnant. If you kill me, you’ll have to kill me knowing that. ”