Page 91 of Hunt Me
I’d felt something deep stir within me before, as if the connection I felt with Mikhail was more than it truly was. Of course, I’d been fooling myself. He was truly nothing more than a vicious, vindictive monster who couldn’t care less about anyone or anything.
That’s why I’d been tossed into a dark basement, the door locked behind me. The only light came from a tiny window, the early morning light only recently streaming through and driving away the imaginary monsters in my mind.
It didn’t matter how warm it was outside, I was freezing, chilled to the bone from fear and uncertainty. My short dress that I’d been stupid enough to wear didn’t help anything either. At least my eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and the ominous shadows that crept up every wall like boogeymen.
I wasn’t a fool and certainly didn’t believe in fairytales, but I’d bought into the words he’d said, the promise he’d made about not hurting me, lock, stock, and noose around my neck.
As I paced the cold, hard floor, my thoughts continued to drift from our conversation to the passion we’d shared not once but twice, and it made me sick.
My pussy even clenched from the hard fucking. I sucked in my breath, trying not to become emotional, but I was drained andexhausted. The monster had fucked me in the ass. And I’d loved it.
Don’t cry, Bristol. Remain strong.
Strong. As if that was an actual possibility. I was suddenly overwhelmed, the full breadth of anxiety gripping every muscle and squeezing, much like the suffocating effect of his brutal touch, claws wrapping around my throat. I would never forget his dark eyes and the way they had bored into mine as he’d studied me like some lab rat.
My God. The asshole had taken me like I already belonged to him, almost as if our sinful coupling had been selected in the stars. I bit back an involuntary cry, trying to keep my wits about me. I was exhausted and drained from the experience, the adrenaline rush from before all but nonexistent.
Think. You need to think.
He would return soon and when he did, I’d need to be ready for him. What could I do? We weren’t in a locked down community and there were no guards outside his house. That meant I stood a chance of being able to escape if I made it outside.
A weapon. I needed a weapon of some kind.
Invigorated, I ran my hand through my hair before turning my attention to the room he’d kept me in. Now with a purpose in mind, I moved through the space, trying to find anything of use. For a basement, the area was surprisingly clean. There were no garden tools, no tools of any kind. Did this man never work on his house?
No, of course he didn’t. He had hired help to do everything for him. I knew his type. He certainly didn’t get his hands dirty.
Unless he killed someone.
A strangled laugh bubbled to the surface.
I was in the early stages of losing my mind. Still determined, I moved toward a long bench that had a few things on top. The light was barely enough for me to comprehend what I was seeing.
Paint cans.
A bucket with nothing inside.
Ugh. Rat poison. Really? The creepy-crawlies settled in, my arms and legs attacked by goosebumps.
My anger also surfaced, cold and brutal just like his. Every muscle ached from the tension, a slight pain behind my eyes forcing me to blink.
And the damn tears were right there just below the surface. I ran my hand across the table’s surface, ready to toss everything onto the floor out of frustration.
Until my hand hit something cold and hard.
Sucking in my breath, I wrapped my fingers around the object, pulling it closer. A metal bar. A crowbar. I almost squealed with delight. I pulled it closer, fingering the thick metal. There was weight to it. That meant I could do some damage.
Satisfied, I cradled the bar against my chest and spun around. When I almost fell, I realized my body was shutting down. I carefully walked toward the cot, hating the weakness my body was surrendering to.
There could be worse things.
My treacherous body could be surrendering to his carnal desires instead. That wasn’t going to happen.
Again.
I sat down, staring at the set of stairs. When would he return? What if he didn’t? Would he leave me down here to die? No one would find me.
No one knew I was here.
