Page 88 of Zain

Dammit.

That hope had been too good to be true. Her gaze landed on the bucket. She picked it up and then grabbed the blanket. She placed the bucketbelow the window and removed the plywood.

The bright, warm sun touched her cold skin, taunting her with its rays. She leaned her face close to the pane and scanned the area outside. Dirt with scattered patches of brown grass filled her view. About five feet away from the window was a fence separating the property from the neighbor’s. Craning her neck, she glanced to the left—more dead grass indicated that the backyard was in that direction. Looking to the right, she couldn’t see much but weeds and a tree trunk.

Her best bet was to go right. That was probably where the street was. She lifted her trusty little blanket, folded it over her fingers, and carefully plucked and pulled off shards of glass from the pane. The window wasn’t large. Probably three feet wide and less than two feet tall. But she could fit.

She removed only the necessary amount of glass. It’d take way too much time to get every piece, and with each movement, she risked making noise her captor would hear. Once half the glass was cleared away, she slid open the screen.

Anticipation swept over her. Warm air spiraled in to caress her cheeks. Then the clomping of boots on the stairs made her freeze in terror.

Shit!

If she tried to get out now, she wouldn’t make it through the hole in time. She quickly grabbed the plywood and put it back over the window. Hiskeys fiddled at the lock as she snatched the bucket and raced to the corner of the room by the door, where it’d been.

He flung open the wood and whirled around to catch her standing behind the door. His face pinched as he advanced on her. “Thought you’d hit me with the bucket this time?”

His hand caught her around the throat, slamming her to the wall. Her back connected with the concrete, sending jolts up and down her spine. She winced.

He dipped his face closer to hers. “You’re really damn lucky, you know that?” Alcohol lined the stench of his breath, and she clamped her lips together to stop herself from vomiting a third time.

Dark bags hung under his eyes, and his face glistened. The skin beneath the sheen of sweat was chalky and nearly gray. Although the hand around her neck held a lot of strength, she suspected the force took a lot of effort.

She met his eyes. “I wouldn’t consider myself very lucky right now.”

The corner of his lip lifted. “You’re still alive. That’s something.” His fingers slipped away from her throat. It was as if talking sucked his energy dry.

He straightened to his full height, and her gaze dropped to the grocery bag dangling from his hand. Apprehension hitched inside her. He slammed the door shut, then turned the bucketover and sat. “Sit,” he commanded.

Swallowing, she sat on the floor in front of him. He opened the bag and took out a roll of duct tape and some rope, thinner than the kind he’d used before. “Turn around. Hands together.”

No, no, no. If he tied her up again, she wouldn’t be able to get through the window. She wanted to beg, but there was no use. This man didn’t have an ounce of sympathy, nor would he fall for any excuse she came up with.

His eyes lifted to her face and flashed with cruelty. “I said turn around.”

She inhaled a frustrated breath and obeyed. The sound of duct tape ripped. Rough hands bound her wrists tightly together. She squirmed. “You’re going to cut off my circulation.”

He yanked on her arms and her spine connected with his knees. Pain split across her shoulders. She cried out, but he only pulled harder.

“If this was up to me,” he said slowly, his breath hot against her ear, “I’d cut off little pieces of you.” With that, he pressed the tip of a knife to her chest and dragged the cold steel beneath the neckline of her shirt. Dana shuddered. “Starting here. Then I’d cut out your fucking eyes and your fingers and see if your boyfriend still wanted you then.” He shoved her forward.

Her face hit the cement. Fire shot from her nose across her cheekbones. Her vision blurred. The scuff of his boots on the floor made her whimper.Her consciousness flickered in and out. She clung to the terrifying scene—him standing over her, knife dangling at his side.

Warm blood oozed from her nose over her lips. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just struggled to keep her eyes focused on something so she wouldn’t pass out.

His rough hands grabbed her biceps and hauled her up. The room spun, a kaleidoscope of cinderblock. She groaned and then landed with a jerk on her kidnapper’s shoulder.

Before finally slipping into the dark abyss, she saw an image of Zain’s golden eyes in her mind.

***

Zain sat rigid,his gaze fixed on the 1950s house set back from the street. The one-story home with a single attached garage looked cute with its white shutters and red front door. The yard was unkempt, full of wildflowers and weeds, but other than that the place didn’t appear dilapidated.

The lot was wide and deep, which probably prevented people from hearing screams inside the house. Zain stretched his neck from one side to the other. After his call with Maxine, he’d texted Rami the location pin she’d sent him. Hopefully they’d be there waiting long before anyone from Maxine’s payroll arrived. With any luck, Zain would have Dana safely in his arms before Maxine’s people reached the meeting point.

Taschen parked on the street about twenty feet from the front of the house. “There’s no car in the driveway.”

No shit.Zain’s nerves were as frayed as old electrical wire, and his patience was nonexistent. “Probably in the garage.”

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