Page 75 of Jacob

They beat in perfect synchronicity with my dying heart.

I don’t know how long I’ve been chained to this bed or what time it is. The only thing that’s kept me sane since I woke up again is that I am still dressed in the clothes I was in when I left the coffee shop.

Never one to go to church, not since I was a little girl anyway, I silently pray for someone to find me.

A million and one thoughts have gone through my mind since I woke up from yet another black hole of unexplained slumber. Although this time I knew he’d drugged me, my stiff and sore neck is confirmation of where he punctured me again.

With only the faint hint of the moon to light the room, confirming what I already saw earlier, it highlights the outline ofcrisscrossed metal bars across the window, their shadows falling heavily onto the sickly pink carpet.

Is anyone looking for me? Why haven’t they come?

The hammering sound stops and the clatter of something heavy from somewhere in the depths of the house, or cabin or warehouse, whatever I am in, makes me jump.

Heavy footsteps appear next.

The door clicks open and Jules bursts into the room.

My breathing instantly picks up, my chest rising and falling in stuttered gasps.

He flicks on the light, forgetting to close the door behind him, and he stalks across the room and with every step, panic threatens to strangle me, my heart hammering fast against my ribcage.

Straddling me with his portly form, he runs his pointer finger down my cheek.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe short and fast breaths through my nose.

“We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Panic crawls up my throat, and I shake my head furiously back and forth as I prepare for the worst, but nothing follows.

It’s then I hear a deep, raspy voice I haven’t heard before. “Don’t move a fucking muscle, you slimy-ass fucker.”

Turning my head back to center, I pop my eyes open, but my tears blind my sight and I can’t see anything clearly.

A black shape in the form of a man stands to the side with what looks like the outline of a gun pressed to Jules’ head. I fall apart at the sight of the huge, masked man dressed from head to toe in black combat gear and a bulletproof vest, with another three identically dressed men to the side of him. Each one of them is pointing a gun in Jules’ direction.

“Slowly move off the girl, Jules,” the masked man instructs with a steady voice.

But he doesn’t listen.

His hands fly down to my neck and I tense up, expecting his hands to grip my neck, but they never land because quicker than the blink of an eye, one of the masked men throws a punch to the side of his throat, making Jules’ eyes roll back into his head.

The masked man, who’s bigger than a tank, lifts his heavy body off me like he’s a featherweight and throws him to the floor.

A quick wrestling match ensues, but Jules is no competition for the tactical swat team.

Mr. Raspy Voice bows down, takes off his mask, and a gentle smile fills his face.

“You’re okay, Skye. You are safe now. Jacob sent us.”

I begin to sob with relief.

He saved me.

27

JACOB

Bursting through the swing doors of the emergency room, our legs can’t carry us fast enough to the reception area. Thankfully, we weren’t greeted by a barrage of media and news reporters. They clearly haven’t caught wind of the update on Skye’s status yet.

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