If she could get the jump on him, she would have half a chance.
There was no other plan than that. She knew she wasn’t going to just lie on the bed and wait for him to rape her…and then take her life when he was done playing.
“Miiissstttyyy,” Jesse called in a singsong voice as the door opened fully and light spilled into the room. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust to the new brightness. “What the hell?” he snarled as he stepped inside, moving toward the bed.
It was now or never.
Moving with a speed born of desperation, Misty slid out the door and ran for her life.
“Get back here,” he bellowed, whirling around and following her in close pursuit.
She made it to the living room. Yes, they were in a house, one that looked as if it was either condemned or needed to be. Grime covered every surface and the furnishings were sparse. From there she dashed to the kitchen, where she turned in a circle so she could try to get her bearings, and found herself looking into the cold, calculating eyes of her former abuser.
There was no door in this room. She’d made a wrong turn. Don’t panic. There has to be a door. You just didn’t see it.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I thought about climbing on and taking a ride with you knocked out, but that wouldn’t be any fun, would it? I want to hear you scream. You know how it turns me on.” Jesse spat on the floor as he sauntered into the room, looking as if he had all the time in the world for his little cat-and-mouse game.
Though her heart was nearly exploding inside her chest, and the blood felt frozen in her veins, she tried to hold it together. She absolutely could not show weakness or it would cost her something more important than just her life — it would cost everything she’d worked so hard to build since she’d escaped him.
Looking over this Goliath as he took another step closer, she saw a chink in his armor. The last year-plus hadn’t been good to him. He was about twenty pounds heavier, the weight all in his stomach, sweat was rolling down his brow, and he was breathing heavily.
“It looks like you’ve been partaking in a few too many of the free doughnuts at your weekly cop meetings, Jesse.” She was proud that her voice came out confident, snide and demeaning.
His eyes widened before they narrowed.
“And it seems you’ve grown some false security in your time away from me, little girl. Don’t forget that I managed to get the jump on you once tonight. I will have you screaming beneath me in just a few minutes.” His face lit up at the prospect.
“Yeah, you’re a real big man, aren’t you? You managed to sneak up behind me and use chloroform. I see you were too chicken to just face me.” She wanted to look for an escape route but was too fearful of taking her eyes off the despicable SOB.
He was still huge, especially with the added weight, but he didn’t look as intimidating as she remembered him. At least he wasn’t in his cop uniform, so there wasn’t a gun sitting on his hip. It would almost be better to have him just shoot her, though. She’d much rather have that happen than feel his sweating body thrash on top of her.
Never. She’d never allow this man inside her again. He wouldn’t touch her — she’d kill him first.
“Oh, I’m a big man, all right, Misty. I’m the man who will teach you some respect,” he said, the sweat now pouring out in his anger.
Maybe it wasn’t the wisest move to piss him off, Misty realized, but if he was talking, then he wasn’t formulating a plan on how to get her.
“Yeah, a real man who can only go after women.” Damn. Her fear came through in her voice that time.
“I should have tied you down. I thought it would be more fun to do it when you were awake…while you were struggling. That’s always turned me on, sweet little Misty.”
His gloating made her stomach heave. How had she managed to put up with his abuse for so long? It would have been better to be one of his murder victims. At least then she wouldn’t have to deal with his stench.
As they faced off, he moved forward again, his intent clear — to box her in. She edged away successfully. If she could figure out how to get out of this house, she knew she’d have no trouble outrunning him. She had a reason to live now. Two reasons. A family. And a man she loved. A man she would apologize to profusely if she could just see his face again.
“I’m going to play with you all night. For days, actually, taste your body…over and over again. It’s going to be so good. You won’t be recognizable when I’m done with you, but that won’t matter, because you won’t ever be found. I imagine it will take me a while to grow tired of your sugar, though, honey buns.”
“You won’t touch me again, Jesse. Never again.”
“We both know I will. If you give up this chase, I’ll make the first time a little less painful,” he said, light shooting from his eyes in anticipation.
“If you back off, I won’t kill you,” she replied.
He lunged for her, and she quickly sidestepped him, then rushed to the next room as he went flying to the floor with a scream of rage. Pissed was good, she told herself. The more angry he was, the more careless. If she could just tire him out, she could get out of the house.
“You are only making this worse for yourself, Misty. Stop this now, before I really lose my temper.”
Jesse had trapped her in the next room. She’d made another foolish move. There was a door, but it was boarded up, without offering her even a chance of getting out of the house.
She looked around quickly for any sign of a weapon. Nothing that she could spot.
Dammit!
“You won’t touch me, you disgusting maggot,” she growled, and she scooted around the ripped couch.
“Oh, I’ll be touching you all night long,” he replied, his beady eyes glowing with desire as he drew closer.
“I’d rather die, Jesse.”
“Don’t worry, dollface, you will,” he promised. “But not before I get what’s owed to me.”
There! A knife! She spotted it in the corner of the room, on the other side of the couch, beneath what looked like an old television stand, and its blade was at least six inches long. Though it was rusty and old, it could probably do some damage. If she could just get her hands on that, she would thrust first, ask questions later. Though she’d threatened to kill him, she really didn’t want to live with that, with knowing she’d taken another person’s life. But she sure as heck wanted to maim him, to do anything short of killing to stop him.
And if it came down to her or him, well…
When he jumped toward her this time, she was prepared. She leapt over the coffee table and rolled onto the ground, crawling closer to the broken stand. Almost there!
When her fingers were within grasping distance, pain shot through her ankle as he grabbed it and twisted. He had hold of her from beneath the coffee table, his body lying on the ground, a trickle of blood running down his head from some hit he must have taken during their struggles. She only wished she’d seen the impact.
The wound must have been slowing him down, but not enough, and if he applied more pressure, her ankle was going to snap.
“Give it up, bitch!” he thundered as he managed to get his other hand on her leg, and he began pulling her back toward him.
“No!” she screamed, clawing against the floor. When she thought it was hopeless, she managed to grip some of the torn carpet, anchoring herself before she tugged, though she felt as if she were being ripped in two.
“Now you’re mine,” he said, and laughed.
Her heart stalled as her blood turned to ice, but still, she wasn’t giving up. He might outweigh her, he might be stronger, and he might have the upper hand, but she had a reason to live, she reminded herself.
“I love your spirit, Misty. Always have. You fight so much more than any of the others. Even after days of my beating you, you managed to glare, managed to cry out in anger as well as pain. Most of the girls submit far too quickly, take all the fun away. Not you, though. No. You’ve always thought you were tough, and you never did fully submit to me. I like that in a woman — like the spark. It will be a shame to slit your throat. I don’t know if I’ll ever find another one like you. Don’t worry, though, I won’t kill you too fast. I want to enjoy that lush little body for as long as I can.”
He clearly thought he’d already won, and his sadistic arrogance filled her with rage.
“I fought because having your revolting body on top of mine is a fate worse than death,” she spat, tugging as hard as she could on the leg of the TV stand to gain traction, the muscles in her arms screaming, the bone in her ankle screaming, too. It was worth it, however, because she managed to pull herself forward the two inches she needed to reach her goal.
He was so focused on her legs, on trying to pull her back to him as he yanked at her clothing, that he didn’t see her fingers slip around the handle of the knife.
She knew she’d have only one shot at this, only one chance to plunge the blade into his thick flesh. If she messed this up, he would win. And that was something she absolutely couldn’t let happen.