Page 40 of Blood Money

How could I be so fucking stupid?

Since I’m out of options, all I can hope is he’ll keep me alive long enough for someone to notice I’m gone. So, I do my best to watch as he carries me to wherever the fuck we’re going. It’s hard since I’m upside down and my eyes are blurry with tears, but I still watch. I count his steps, watch the terrain. Everything they do in the movies.

It isn’t very long before I can see the tires of his SUV. I’m almost mad at myself because I could have sworn I ran further, but that could just be wishful thinking. A few more steps, then we are starting up a set of wooden stairs. There are only a few we take until everything levels out again. I swear I see something move in the corner, but it moves further into the darkness before I can make it out. Maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.

He stills for a moment, digging in his pocket, then pulls out a key and unlocks the door. Once we’re inside, he throws me down. All the breath leaves my lungs, and my eyes squeeze shut as I brace for the impact on the wood floor, but instead, I crash into soft cushions.

As I sit there, trying to get my breathing under control, he flips on a small lamp in the corner. When the room is finally illuminated, I’m surprised to see how normal everything looks. The walls are a cool gray, the floors a dark wood, and all-black furniture is positioned strategically around so it doesn’t crowd the small space. It doesn’t peg me as a place he takes people to kill, but then again, who fucking knows.

“Where are we?” I ask, using the last of the courage I have.

He turns toward me as he flips on the bigger overhead light. “Pine Hills.”

Pine Hills. Great. Now I at least have a location.

“Are you going to kill me?” I’m not sure where the question comes from, but I don’t even try to take it back.

He scoffs with a smirk before disappearing into the doorway that sits between the living room and what I’m assuming is the kitchen. All I can see from my position is a counter.

I debate on trying to run again, but it would be pointless. He’ll find me and I know it, so I sit and wait instead, trying to do my best to remain as calm as possible. If I want to live, I need to remind him I’m a person. I have friends and a family. At least that’s what I think will help. The most interaction I’ve ever had with a killer is on Criminal Minds.

When he comes back, I jump, noticing his hands are full. But the fear dies down a tiny bit when I see it’s only a first aid kit. “Let me see your feet.”

His voice is emotionless, but I do as he says. As he sits down, I lift my legs, then lay them in his lap. He opens the kit and sets it on the arm of the couch carefully before pulling out a pair of tweezers, some alcohol wipes, and Band-Aids.

He wipes down the tweezers with the alcohol, then grips my left foot in his hand. “Don’t kick me, Carmen,” he says, looking directly in my eyes.

When I don’t reply, he gets to work on my feet. He pulls thorn after thorn out as I flinch and do my best not to scream at the pain. When each foot is finally clear of thorns, he wipes them down, which stings like a bitch, then places Band-Aids on the worst wounds.

He closes his kit back up, then stands, forcing my feet to the floor, and pulls me up. He turns me around and unlocks the furry handcuffs around my wrists. The same ones I put on him only a few hours ago. “You can run again if you want, but I promise you won’t get far.”

I pull my arms in front of me and rub my wrists. “I won’t.” It’s a lie, but I need to gain his trust. Even if it’s only a mere ounce. The first chance I get, I’m bolting, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He laughs, then pulls me into the kitchen. Each step hurts, but it isn’t as bad as before. He flips on another light, then motions to the barstool at the counter. “Sit.”

I keep my eyes on him as I do what he says and slide onto the stool. He moves around the kitchen, pulling dishes from the cabinets and food from the fridge. “How’d you do it?”

He pauses with a plate in his hand before turning around and setting it on the counter. “Do what?”

“Get me here. I know I wasn’t that tired.”

“Ketamine.”

“You date raped me?” I yell.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, then goes back to pulling out everything he needs to make a meal. “I needed to make sure you wouldn’t wake up. You’re the one who didn’t check my bag and left it out in the open.”

I ignore him. I don’t want to admit he’s right. “What happened to not leaving until Carter asked?”

He shrugs again as he places a skillet on the stove and turns it on. “This is bigger than my relationship with Carter.”

“What? Killing me?” I can hear my voice crack.

“I never said I was going to kill you, Carmen.” He throws some bacon onto a skillet, then starts slicing a tomato.

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why you brought me here, Cyrus. So, are you just lying to me or yourself?”

He pauses again, then leans over the counter so our noses are almost touching. “In case you forgot, I’ve held your life in my hands numerous times now. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now.”

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