by Dori Lavelle
“Get back here, you bitch. Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I look back once to see him panting, his hands still around his cock, his face red with pain and anger.
A tiny glow spreads through my chest. I can’t stay long enough to revel in it. It’s time to run to the finish line. It’s only a matter of time before he pushes through the pain and comes after me.
When he starts to crawl toward me, I grab the handle and yank open the door, burst out of the room, and slam it shut behind me. Since he was so stupid to leave the key in the lock, he’ll pay a high price. Without a moment’s hesitation, I lock him inside his dungeon.
Another roar comes from the other side, the sound so satisfying it sends a wave of pleasure sweeping through my body. I place a hand on my neck, suddenly sick from the taste of his blood. I spit out what I can and wipe my lips with the back of my hand. Then I remove the hanger and toss it to the floor. I no longer need it.
But it’s not over yet. I need to carry out the entire plan.
I consider removing the key from the keyhole, but that would be too risky. What if he has another key inside his pocket? I’m not about to find out.
I can hear him scratching the other side of the door and hammering against it. “You fucking cunt. Open the damn door.”
My heart is racing so fast that I need to catch my breath before taking the next step. What I’m about to do is completely outside my comfort zone.
I slump forward, my hands on my knees and pull air into my lungs. The exhaustion that had been building up for days now finally catches up with me. My body is telling me to quit, to sink to the floor and get some rest. I do crumple to the floor, but I’m not about to give up. Not when I’m this close.
You can do this, Emma.
I inhale sharply, then crawl to the final destination. Even with him trapped inside, my fear of him still paralyses me.
I notice the metal switch immediately, next to the tiny window he had watched us from. There’s another one next to it.
A weight settles on my chest when sudden silence falls around me. Why is he quiet? Is there another way for him to get out?
I grit my teeth and use every ounce of energy left in my body to pull myself up the wall, toward the switches. My nails scratch against the hard surface, tearing away the paint. One of them breaks, but I don’t care. Only one thing matters to me right now. An image of Christa’s broken face flickers in my mind.
I need to save her. Failure is not an option.
Chapter Seventeen
I peer through the small window, still unable to believe I have the upper hand now, that I’m on the other side.
I’d hoped for this day, prayed it would come, but at the back of my mind I was worried I would never win against him.
My eyes blur with tears of relief. I can’t even describe the feeling of watching him broken for once.
Since he has moved to the center of the room, I can see him clearly, surrounded by his snakes. Both his hands are clutching his crotch. I must have hurt him badly; he can’t even put his penis back in his pants. I can see it through his fingers.
Now he knows how it feels to hurt. Sadly for him, I’m not done with him yet. I will hurt him more than he hurt me, more than he hurt anyone before me.
Since he doesn’t seem like a threat at the moment, I place both my hands flat against the glass. My lips curl into a smile of victory. It’s goodbye.
Maybe I should go and call the cops so they can take over, but I don’t trust him not to escape. He built the dungeon. He might find a way out.
No way. I have to handle this myself.
I wait until he looks up and our eyes meet. “It’s over,” I mouth.
He crawls across the floor to the place below the window. I can no longer see him completely, but I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to pull himself up, to get closer to me. It’s an effort that fails. Seconds later, he’s lying flat on his back.
Even though his body is broken, his eyes are a different story. As he scrambles to a seated position, I watch them smolder with fire.
His eyes still on me, he lifts a hand and draws a finger across his throat. Even behind closed doors, inside a room full of deadly creatures, he still believes he has the upper hand. He probably thinks I don’t have the guts to finish this game. It baffles me that a person in such a weakened state can still afford to be such an asshole.
I look to the levers on my side, then back at him, my blood boiling.
“DON’T YOU DARE, YOU fucking whore,” he shouts, baring his teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Now he’s pissing me off. It’s time to teach him a lesson. “Watch me.” I raise my hand to the switch labeled “floor opening”. The second switch is labeled “electric fence”.
I place a finger on the switch. It’s cool against my skin. “This fucking whore is the last person you’ll ever see,” I say.
Holding onto the wall for balance and support, I flick the switch.
Bloody hell. He wasn’t kidding. Everything is happening exactly as he said it would. I watch in amazement as on one end a part of the glass lifts a few inches from the ground and slides to the side to create an opening for the snakes to escape.
I’m betting when he built the room, he never thought he’d be building his own grave.
I watch with bated breath as the snakes slither through the opening, fangs bared.
Since he’s close to the opening, they get to him pretty fast. I can see he wants to move away, but fear has rooted him to the spot.
I’m unable to look away as the reptiles get ready to take revenge on the man that kept them trapped beneath the glass, and maybe even starved them.
Dax’s eyes widen in panic as more and more snakes slither out. It’s hard to count them. Maybe ten are headed his way. Many more are still under the glass, but I doubt they will be for long.
He tries to stand again, but fear stops him from standing upright. Soon his legs quit on him and he crumples back to the floor. While he’s down and unable to move, his face white as a sheet, a moss green snake slithers onto his body and sinks its fangs into his flesh. Others follow.
The screams that burst out of him hit the walls and bounce off.
In his own personal hell, his gaze briefly moves to mine but only for a few seconds before he closes his eyes. One of the larger snakes raises its head moments before it strikes his cheek like a dart aiming at its target. Another attacks his penis.
The guttural scream that pours out of his mouth as he tries to push away the snake attached to his crotch are almost painful to hear. I’m in shock at the brutality in front of me.
It makes me sick to think the person in there could have been me, that Dax could have been the one standing on this side, watching.
He had unleashed a snake on his father that killed him. Now he’s dying from snakebite as well. I bet he didn’t see that coming.
“Good night, Dax Pierce,” I call out, a slight crack in my voice. “Don’t worry, your memory will live on, but not in a good way. I’ll be sure to pass on the news that you didn’t write the novel you claimed was yours. You piece of scum.”
Amidst all the blood smeared on his face, I watch his undamaged eye open, but not for long. It’s over. His body is trembling, and blood is pouring from every surface. I know he heard me, and he was shocked that I know the truth.
Still determined to destroy him, I consider running into the kitchen to get something to set fire to the farmhouse with, but I stop myself when it hits me that the snakes in the dungeon are as innocent as I am. They, too, are his victims. They don’t deserve to die with him. They did their job and, for that, they get to live.
No point in setting fire to the place anyway. There’s no way he can escape, no way he can live through this.
The relief is so intense that it’s overwhelming me to the point where I sink to the floor, my head on my knees. Hot tears fill my eyes and drip onto the floor. Sobs break through my body.
/> I allow myself to cry for a moment, then I stand again to look through the window. In the bloody mess, I can barely recognize him. But I can’t look away, not yet. I need to make sure he’s completely gone, that he won’t come back to hurt me. I have to make sure that whatever remains of him will only be inside my head.
His body shakes for a while, then it goes limp. The snakes continue to wrap themselves around his limbs, to revel in the taste of his blood.
It’s done. It’s really over. Watching him lying there helpless, I remember the person who gave me the strength to stand up to him. Christa.
I put one foot forward and stumble through the hallway, my body in pain.
I’m about to go on the search for the keys to his truck, when I remember that every time he drove it, he never removed them from the ignition. I also know that the key to the shed is on the same key ring. There’s nothing stopping me from going to Christa, but I need something else.
I run to the room he said was his office. I don’t even need to enter completely to see the cell phone. It’s right there on the floor next to the door, with a shattered screen. He must have flung it there after his phone call with the person who threatened him. I don’t have time to fix it right now. I need to get to Christa and make sure she’s okay, so I run out of the house.
On my way out, I fall a couple of times, but an image of my sister lying lifeless inside the shed forces me to get back to my feet.
I don’t stop until I get to the truck and jump behind the wheel. After a few tries, I manage to bring the vehicle to life. I drive like a maniac through the narrow, pot-holed, dirt road headed to the stables. Every second counts.
Please, God, don’t let it be too late.
I find her lying on her back, unmoving, surrounded by the stench of urine.
My breath solidifies in my lungs as I try to shake her awake. She doesn’t respond. My shaking hands feel for a pulse. I find it, but it’s weak. I need to get her to the hospital as fast as possible.
“Christa, sweetie, it’s over,” I say with tears in my voice.
I don’t hear the sound of her voice, but I notice a twitch of her cracked lips. I almost collapse with relief.
“That’s good, sweetheart. Please hang in there. I’ll get you out of here.”
It’s a struggle to get her to the truck, but even with the lack of energy, I’m fueled by my desperation to save her. I half carry and half drag her to the vehicle until I succeed.
I want to drive off right away, but then I remember the fence. I might need to turn off the electricity.
The last place I ever want to set foot in again is the farmhouse, but it has to be done. My fingers are clenched at my sides as I tear through the house, still feeling the fear he had implanted so deep into my heart. Before I flick the “fence” switch, I glance into the dungeon.
Blood drains from my face when I don’t see him. He’s not where I left him. The only hint he was there, is the blood on the glass and the snakes. Panic is about to arrest me, but I notice a bloody, swollen foot close to the place that’s not completely visible from the window. I let out a relieved breath.
I guess he wasn’t dead when I left. He must have been trying to get to the door but failed.
I don’t waste any more time. I flick the switch, then run to the kitchen to grab two bottles of water.
I storm from the house again. This time I don’t look back.
As I run toward my freedom, my stomach is still rock hard with nerves. In some way I’m still afraid something could go wrong. Even though I know there’s no way he’s still alive, another part of me is finding it hard to believe he’s not immortal.
I push the truck as fast as it would go and don’t even stop at the gate. I’m pretty sure it’s locked and have no idea where the keys are. I’m not going back there. So I drive right through it, grateful it’s one of those weak gates.
“Christa, please, talk to me.” I glance at my sister from time to time, my hands sweaty on the steering wheel.
Her head is lolling from side to side and bouncing off her chest. She’s showing signs of life, but she’s so weak I’m afraid she might not make it.
Once I’m sure we’re a safe distance away from the farmhouse and the devil himself, I stop the truck and give her water. She’s too weak to even drink, but I do my best to make sure she takes at least a few drops.
Back behind the wheel, I pray it’s not too late, that I have not caused my sister’s death.
Chapter Eighteen
I finally stop again at the side of the road. I have to get Christa to drink more water. I try not to think of the worst. She can’t die when we’ve come this far.
I force more water into her mouth. This time she drinks a little before her head dips to the side again. She can’t even open her eyes.
I have no idea how long we’ve been driving. It feels like forever. Dax was right that this place is completely isolated. But he had mentioned something about a gas station and that’s what I’m searching for. But what if it’s such a great distance away that we don’t make it in time for someone to save Christa?
I glance back at the road we had come. My chest tightens when I still don’t see a single car in sight.
“Sweetheart, please open your eyes for me. It’s over. He’s gone. He can no longer hurt us.” I cradle her head and press my forehead to hers. I refuse to let her go. “I need you to fight, okay?”
When I pull away again, I watch her lips move more than they did before. A good enough sign of life.
“It’s all right,” I say, smiling through my tears. “You’re going to be fine.” I kill a sob and give her more water, then pour some on my hand. I drench her face with it to cool her down.
Back behind the wheel, I pick up Dax’s phone from the dashboard where I had put it before.
Shit. As I gaze at the phone, the same disappointment that had hit me hard at the yacht, when I tried to call for help, returns. It’s not switching on. I don’t even know whether it’s from a dead battery or from when Dax threw it.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to assure myself. “We’ll find someone who can help us.”
Christa doesn’t respond. She looks as though she’s sleeping. God, I hope she’s sleeping.
I start the truck again. This time I push way past the speed limit. It’s a matter of life and death and there are no other cars on the road I could be a danger to.
I’m about to give up hope of ever finding anyone, when I catch the glare of glass coming from the distance. The closer I come, the more it’s confirmed to me that this is the gas station Dax was talking about.
The tears return to my eyes as I drive even faster toward our rescue.
A man with a long, gray beard and matching mustache is standing on the side of the road, smoking a cigarette.
When he sees our truck approach, he tosses the cigarette to the ground and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. He lifts his hand to shield his eyes, so he can see better through the bright sunlight. If he’s the owner of the gas station, he must not see many people coming his way. He must be curious who we are. Or maybe he recognizes the truck.
I stop the truck so suddenly that Christa’s head bounces off the headrest before hitting it again.
“I’m sorry, sis.” I squeeze her hand. “Someone is going to help us.”
I almost fall from the truck as I get out too fast. Then I sway toward him, waving my hands as though I’m still a distance away. “Sir, I need your help, please. My sister—” I inhale a sharp breath. “My sister needs medical attention. Do you have a phone, please?”
The man watches me suspiciously for a long time, as though trying to figure out whether I’m a threat to him.
For goodness sake, do I look like a threat? I don’t even need to look in the mirror to know I’m a complete mess.
The man pushes a hand into his pocket. I think he will bring out the phone, but instead his fingers emerge with a piece of gum, which he takes his time unwrapping before poppi
ng it into his mouth.
“If you don’t help us, my sister will die in that truck.” I point to the truck with a shaking finger. “Do you want to carry that on your conscience?”
“Who are you?” His voice is deep and dusty.
I don’t even know why that matters right now. There’s a woman dying and he’s not jumping in to help her. What’s wrong with people?
“My name is Emma Stanton.”
The man spits out his gum and his eyes widen at me. “The kidnapped actress?” He laughs. “You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not. . . I’m really not shitting you. I am Emma Stanton and I’m begging you to help my sister.”
He frowns. “You don’t look like her.”
“That’s because I went through fucking hell.” I push the words through gritted teeth. “I was kidnapped by a madman. Will you help us or not?”
“Will you give me an autograph?” He winks.
“Yes, whatever you want. Please help.”
He finally pulls out his phone and dials 911, his eyes still on me as though he can’t believe I’m real. While on the phone, he moves toward the truck. I’m guessing the person on the other end is asking him questions about the state of Christa.
From his conversation, I gather that we are in a town called Stonebay, Texas. I’ve never even heard of the place before.
“They’re on their way,” he says and pulls the phone away from his ear.
“Thank you.” I wipe away my tears. “Thank you so much.”
In the time we spend together, I learn that the man’s name is Cory Brookins.
His demeanor completely changes when I give him the autograph I promised. I can only imagine how popular being in possession of my autograph will make him. It doesn’t matter to me. The most important thing is that he saved us. I can’t thank him enough, but when he offers to take Christa out of the truck and into his shop, I refuse.
After everything we have experienced at the hands of a man, I’m wary of being inside a room with someone we don’t know.
