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A threat.
An accomplice to my abduction.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” he continues. “I hope you like eggs.”
I don’t move.
“Anissa?” He glances in my direction, and I plaster myself back against the wall.
Shit.
I’m unprepared.
I don’t know what to do. What to say. I have no idea how to react, but I refuse to appear weak.
“You must be starving.” His voice is entirely casual.
Fuck.
I can’t stand here forever. The lack of movement is more telling of my vulnerability than words could ever be.
I suck in a deep breath and bounce my butt off the wall, striding out into the open space. “What time is it?”
Sheer curtains billow in front of an open glass door leading outside. I see the faint outline of deck chairs, a beach umbrella, maybe even the corner of a pool. But nothing beyond. No hint or clue as to my location.
He flips something in the pan, the accompanying sizzle crackling in my ears. “That depends.” His tone is ominous.
No, I’m wrong. It’s not his tone. It’s his words. They almost resemble a threat.
“What time is it?” I repeat with a bite of impatience.
“Like I said, that depends.” He flicks his gaze toward me, giving me a glimpse of lazy contact before he returns his attention to the food. “Are you referring to Pacific time or Eastern European?”
Eastern European?
I chuckle even though my stomach free falls, his taunt hitting its mark. “Why would I want to know Eastern European, Cole? Where are we?”
“The Greek islands.” He offers the insight without faltering. Just blurts that shit as if it doesn’t have the ability to inspire a heart attack.
I swallow over the desert claiming my throat. “Quit playing games. I didn’t have a passport. I wasn’t even conscious. You’re not going to get me to believe we’re in another country.”
He raises his brows and holds my gaze. Waiting.
There’s nothing smug about his expression. It’s not taunting or impatient.
I guess it’s curious.
Why is it curious?
I glance toward the billowing curtains again and try harder to make out the background beyond the pool loungers.
He wants me to go outside. He expects me to panic and rush toward clarity, only to laugh in my face when I realize we’re somewhere close to home. Maybe Astoria or Ca
The need for answers kills me, the tendrils of possibility coiling around my chest to squeeze tight. I can’t help giving him what he wants.
I start for the glass doors, slow and gradual, hoping to keep my self-respect intact.
“You don’t want to have breakfast first?”
There’s another sizzle from the pan but I ignore it, along with the question as I reach the curtains and pull them aside. The double glass doors are open, allowing me to step outside onto the warm cement tile.
An outdoor oasis spreads before me. A crystal-clear pool. Manicured waist-high hedges. A spa.
This place resembles some sort of mini resort. It’s a multi-million-dollar property with another view of the ocean from this side of the building.
I walk around the pool, heading toward a path between the hedges that leads somewhere outside this hellish paradise.
The air is different here. Crisper. Cleaner. The salt of the ocean lingers with every breath. It doesn’t feel like I’m Stateside. Or that could be Cole working his way into my head to trigger my paranoia.
He keeps manipulating me, messing with my thoughts.
I increase my pace, finding a stone path leading through long, wild grass. The expanse of land opens up before me, an unfettered view of ocean across 180 degrees.
I break into a jog, following the trail toward a pier. My feet hit the wooden planks hard in my rush to the very end. My body is a mix of numb limbs and throbbing arrhythmia as I turn in a full circle to find more water. It’s everywhere. In every direction, apart from the restricted view behind the stu
What the hell have you done, Cole?
I shove my hands through my hair, trying to rack my brain for a possible name to my location. We could be on the tip of the coast somewhere. A secluded hideaway exclusive to the rich and famous.
I stalk from the pier, bypassing the path to jump along the rocky shore. I pass shrubs and more wild grass in my search for humanity. I lunge over crevasses carved out by the tide. I push my legs harder, accelerating into a jog. All that does is help me see more water.
There’s nothing else out here.
No land. No escape. No options.
I pivot and sprint in the opposite direction, cutting through vegetation, my feet punished by prickles and stones until I reach the perfectly manicured grass of the yard. I dash around the pool to take another path on the far side, leading in the opposite direction, only to be devastated by the sight.
More water.
We’re surrounded.
The ground beneath my feet is nothing but a tiny island.
More are scattered in the distance, with a large expanse of land stretching along the horizon. Any chance of escape too far away.
Escape isn’t within my grasp.
Even if I had assurance the water wasn’t littered with hungry sharks, I could never swim that far. There’s no hope of paddling to safety.
No hope for anything.
My breathing comes short and sharp. Each exhale is a shudder.
I’m stuck here. On an island. With a murderous criminal.
I drag my feet to the shore and crumple, slumping onto the rock to stare blankly across a building nightmare.
This feels like an alternate reality. I stepped onto that jet and my life changed. It fractured.
All because I couldn’t keep my nose out of it.
I had to go after Cole. I had to succumb to that nagging twinge deep down inside me. For what? What had I hoped to achieve? Why didn’t I stay away?
I undo the buttons on the wrist cuffs of my blouse and inspect my skin in the bright light of day. They’re burns. Potential rope marks. I twist my arms back and forth, cursing Cole for every inch of damaged flesh.
This isn’t right. I don’t understand his angle. How can he benefit from holding me hostage?
I lower the cuffs back in place and begin undoing the buttons down the front of my blouse, determine to inspect every inch of my skin for possible violations. My stomach is clear, without a blemish, but I have to do a double-take when I tilt my head to look at the side of my waist.
My skin bears a bruise, the area circular, under an inch in diameter. I crane my neck for a better look, and hold my breath at the sight of a puncture mark.
Oh, God.
Bile goes into mass production in my stomach. Nausea takes over.
Did he bother to use a clean needle?
My breathing becomes ragged. My arms tremble.
There’s no way he’s going to get away with this.
Once he takes me home, he’ll be charged with a string of offences. I’ll take pleasure in outlining all the crimes he’s made against me.
A prison sentence is inevitable. I’ll make sure of it… Unless he doesn’t plan on taking me home at all.
I give way to the buckle of my legs and descend to the rocky shore, sitting my ass down to pull my knees to my chest.
Could he seriously be contemplating keeping me here? Killing me?
My death wouldn’t achieve anything, except maybe mild satisfaction on his behalf. And even if he successfully disposed of my body, there’s no way he wouldn’t be linked to my disappearance.