Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
My throat works, tears now sliding down my cheeks. “And now?” I ask. “What—what do you think is going to happen here?”
He rakes a hand through his thinning hair, pacing again. The floorboards groan under his heavy steps. “We’ll stay here, just us. No one to interfere. You’ll learn to appreciate me.” He gestures at the dingy walls, the filthy furniture. “Maybe I’ll fix this place up. We can live out our days here.”
A cold spike of terror stabs through my chest. He’s serious. He thinks he can keep me hostage indefinitely, like some twisted fantasy. My eyes dart around, noting the windows—boarded, letting in slivers of dusky light. The door is behind him, blocked. My legs are bound, my wrists pinned together, plus an extra rope tethering me to the post.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tears dripping off my chin. “If I hurt you—if I led you on. But this isn’t the answer, Earl. You’re going to ruin both our lives.”
He swivels his head, eyes dark. “Don’t say that. We can make it work. I love you, Aubree. Always have.”
A shaky sob escapes me. Love? This is not love. This is obsession, delusion. But I bite my lip. Confronting him too harshly might push him to violence. I need to tread carefully. “What about my mother?” I say softly. “She’ll be worried. She’ll call the police. People will look for me. This can’t last.”
“She’ll move on,” he growls, coming closer, looming over me. I recoil as his shadow falls across my face. “Everyone moves on. You’ll see. They’ll forget eventually. We’ll have each other, that’s all we need.”
I shiver, the reality of my predicament sinking in. I tug discreetly at my bonds—nothing. He’s tied them expertly. My wrists burn from the friction. “Earl,” I plead, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You can’t do this. Please—”
He cuts me off by grabbing a remote from a dusty side table. There’s an ancient TV on a stand in the corner, and he flicks it on. Static flares, then an old sitcom flickers into view. The laughter from the screen feels jarringly out of place.
“I’m done talking,” he mutters, flopping onto the sagging couch. He cracks another beer, ignoring the sticky puddle on the counter. The cabin fills with the tinny sound of canned laughter, as if mocking this entire nightmare.
Tears blur my vision as I watch him, shoulders tense, eyes glued to the flickering show. Like we’re just two people hanging out in his living room, except I’m tied to a post in the corner, trembling, heart pounding so loud I can barely think.
Inside my head, I scream at the unfairness of it, at the raw terror slicing through my veins. But I bite it down, forcing myself not to panic. Panicking does me no good. I remember Boone’s words about keeping calm, about always searching for a way out.
I shift my wrists, feeling for any slack in the rope. It’s tight. Maybe over time, if I keep working at it, I can loosen it. My eyes flick to Earl. He’s not paying direct attention to me right now, but it won’t take much for him to notice me fiddling with the knots.
Still, I have to try. I swallow the fear and begin slowly flexing my fingers, testing the cord’s tension. I need to trust that Boone—or someone—will realize I’m gone, that they’ll come for me. But what if they don't?
Stop it, I tell myself fiercely. Someone will notice. Right? I have to survive until then.
I cast a glance at Earl again. He stares at the TV, occasionally sipping his beer, like he’s unwinding after a long day. The sheer normalcy of his action in this horrific moment makes bile rise in my throat. But I hold it down, forcing myself to breathe quietly.
I cling to hope—hope that I can find a way out, or at least delay whatever twisted plan Earl has. My wrists burn from the ropes, and my body aches, but I grit my teeth and keep testing the knots, praying for a miracle.
Because right now, in this dim, musty cabin with an unstable man holding me captive, I have nothing else to hold onto but hope.
Chapter 33
Boone
I’m parked under the glaring fluorescent lights of a rundown gas station, the last confirmed surveillance spot for the white van that took Aubree. The night air is thick with tension, and my mind buzzes with a singular focus: get her back. Nothing else matters.
Around me, the men I’ve assembled—Garrett and Thor, plus two others we’ve worked with in the past—stand in a loose circle, eyes trained on a large county map draped over the hood of my truck. We’re lit by the overhead fluorescent lights of the gas station, casting dancing shadows across the asphalt. Our tactical gear is strapped tight: black cargo pants, chest rigs, sidearms, and rifles. Each of us is bristling with the pent-up energy that comes before a rescue operation.