Page 7 of The Collector

"Wait, what are you doing? Could you put me down? Call an ambulance—you can't move me. I'm hurt!" Her voice trembled with desperation.

"Be still, or I will drop you, and we won't get to have any fun," he growled, his deep voice reverberating through his chest and into hers. His hard body offered no cushion as Erica lay limply against him. She'd begun to slide from his grip, prompting him to clamp down harder across her back with one arm while securing the other under her legs.

"Please stop—you're hurting me. Let me down and call for help or my mother. My phone should be in my purse," she begged, her voice trembling.

Her pleas went unanswered at first. The tears and snot dripping down her face felt as if they might drown her from the position of her head.

"Shut up and do what you're told. Stop struggling, and everything will go smoothly bitch!"

Hearing the hatred dripping from the word" bitch" she knew something was very wrong. Genuine fear began to rip through her.

Just who is this man, and where the fuck is he planning on taking me?

The man continued in the direction of his parked car with her slung over his shoulder like a rag doll.

As they neared it, her instinct to fight or flee surged to life. She rocked her body back and forth against him, using every ounce of strength she could muster. She needed to escape, to run away, but he was too strong—his grip unyielding. Pain shot through every nerve ending in her body with each movement, but she pushed through it, determined to break free. She was nowhere near ready to give up.

Kicking her feet wildly, she finally connected—a solid blow to his groin. A grunt of pain escaped him as he released her, and she dropped to the hard asphalt of the freeway. The impact knocked the wind out of her, leaving her gasping. Dazed, she lay still, stars dancing in her vision. Fear rooted her to the spot; she was too stunned to move.

He was temporarily stunned by the blow and hunched over, growling in pain.

Now was the time to move.

Grunting, she braced herself with her left hand, struggling to push herself up. The weight of her body caused her long nails to bend backward; two snapped jaggedly. She clenched her jaw, fighting against the pain, pressing forward with every ounce of strength she could muster.

Slowly, she stood—still unsteady, legs trembling beneath her.

He stood behind her, wrapped in shadow. Tall enough that his silhouette swallowed hers when she glanced forward again.

The overhead lights flickered, causing brief stabs of illumination that carved his face into fragments. A cheekbone here. A glint of a well-groomed jaw. But never the whole picture. He wore a tailored suit, the kind that whispered money and control. Everything about him was polished, except the smile.

That smile was wrong. Too wide. Too knowing. It curled across the man's face like something borrowed from a predator. She didn't need the full view to understand. He wasn't just dangerous.

He was a psychopath dressed for dinner.

Drawing a deep breath, she steadied herself before taking her first wobbly step forward. The man quickly grabbed her, pulling her closer with force before pushing her down onto the hard ground. The impact sent shockwaves through her body, leaving her breathless and disoriented.

"Where do you think you're going, princess? We have only begun to play." His hot breath scorched her neck as he spoke, the words a low, menacing hiss as he forced her head downward with unrelenting pressure. The putrid stench of dirt and gasoline assaulted her senses, making her gag as her nose collided with the unforgiving surface beneath it. The sharp crack of the bone in her nose breaking reverberated through her skull, followed by the sharp snap of her two front teeth breaking.

The sound of the breaking bone shattered any lingering hope she had of survival, the pain anchoring her in the grim reality she could no longer escape.

She was going to die today.

Her body was now slick with the sticky blood that gushed from her face as it pooled beneath her on the cold, unforgiving ground.

Please, God, please help me.

"Why are you doing this? I haven't done anything to you."

Before she could get her bearings, her body was rolled over. The dark-haired man loomed above her, his face shadowed ominously by the streetlights overhead. The interplay of light above and darkness surrounding them distorted his features, giving him an unsettling, almost monstrous appearance.

"You're facing the consequences of what your father did to me. He took me away from a life I deserved. Now I will do the same for you."

Stunned but desperate, she cried out to him, her voice trembling with a faint plea.

"Please—. I don't know what you're talking about."

He silenced her sharply. "Quiet now, let's get you in the car."