Never Die Alone

For the life of her, she couldn’t pull the last few hours into sharp focus.

But here she was.

In the darkness.

Stripped bare.

Her arms pi

Lying in some dark room where the dank, earthy smell was overpowering, as if she were buried alive. Her bed was a cold, hard patch of concrete. She twisted a bit and something rough dug into her throat, cutting into her skin.

What the hell?

With effort, she tried to pull her arm up to loosen the tension, but even the tiniest movement made the binding around her neck cut deeper. A noose? For the love of God, what the hell had happened?

In an instant all the fuzziness fell away.

She was in trouble. Big trouble.

If this was a prank, it was a sick one. A dangerous one. If not . . . she shuddered at the thought. Struggling, she attempted to move, but discovered that her hands were bound behind her, tethered by the same scratchy cords surrounding her neck.

Shit! Cold to the bone and shivering, she tried to move, then stopped as a searing pain scorched a ring around her neck. When she nudged a shoulder up toward the throbbing wound, it caused a brutal, cutting tug on her ankles. She realized her hands were bound to her ankles.

Hog-tied and naked. That’s what she was.

“Happy birthday to yooouu.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the whispered words, a lifeless, growling monotone. But sung, not spoken. “Happy birthday to yooouu.”

This had to be a dream. Right? A nightmare. She swung her head around and saw him, a big bull of a man at some kind of workbench, bare-ass naked except for a black bib apron. Hairy arms, a hairy butt and legs. The back of his thick neck glowed dimly from one of those battery-powered dome lights used in attics, closets, and basements that didn’t have power or sunlight. Just beyond the bench, a clock ticked loudly on the wall.

From the dank smell, she suspected she was underground, that this man who looked like an NFL lineman had captured her, though she couldn’t remember her abduction. She tried to move, but her restraints held her fast to some kind of ring cemented into the floor. Blinking again, her mind clearing from the shot of adrenaline suddenly singing through her blood, she focused on one of the walls. Again, cement. With dark stains ru

Please don’t let it be blood.

She wanted to scream, but bit any sound back. Instinctively she knew it would be best to let him think she was still passed out, still stuck in a fetal position, as he worked. Jesus-God, what was he doing? Cutting lengths of red ribbon, measuring them over and over again, and then snipping them. The sound of his god-awful singing and something else—some other noise—caused her skin to crawl.

Mewling.

The soft, frightened cries were slightly muffled, as if whatever was issuing them was trying to hold back the sobs.

An animal?

No.

Some other person.

So Zoe wasn’t alone. He’d captured another prisoner.

Her heart dissolved.

Chloe. Her twin sister. In a flash, Zoe recognized Chloe’s voice, the choked sobs she’d heard as a child whenever Chloe was scared or being punished or whatever. Chloe had always been the weaker of the two De

Or not. Mom and Dad had gotten divorced, and Mom was still not over it.

Zoe only hoped that Chloe was praying now, that her presumed co

How?

For a second she thought she remembered it happening. In a kaleidoscope of jagged images, she recalled fragments of her abduction.

A voice behind her, whispering her name over the din of the crowd. “It’s your sister,” he’d said, his words cutting through the noise of pedestrians. “She’s hurt.”

“What?” Zoe had turned toward him, then searched the crowd. Where the hell was Chloe? Her twin had been right beside her . . . hadn’t she? Then she’d felt a sharp prickle of pain, like a wasp’s sting at first, then more intense as a needle had been plunged into her neck. In a quicksilver second she’d panicked, searched the faces of people teeming on the street, hoping to see Chloe or a cop or anyone who might think she was more than someone who’d had too much to drink. She’d stumbled and started to fall and tried to scream, but only a whimper had left her lips. On her way down, someone had caught her. The lights of New Orleans swirling, the cacophony on the street fading, she’d heard “happy birthday” whispered into her ear before she’d passed out.

Sweet Jesus, it had been this freak who had captured Chloe and her, and somehow brought them here, wherever it was. Chloe’s sobs were louder now.

He quit singing, glanced pointedly at the clock. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, his voice gravelly as he shouted away from Zoe, toward the opposite corner of the darkened room.

The sobs stopped for a second. “Let me go,” Chloe begged, her voice trembling. Zoe’s heart nearly stopped. Don’t, she thought desperately. Oh, Chloe, don’t get him mad.

Chloe didn’t get the mental message.

“I . . . I don’t know what you want or who you are, but please just let me go.”

“I said, ‘Shut the fuck up.’” This time the words were said harshly and tightly, as if his lips were clamped in rage.

Oh, God, this was no good. No good!

“But—”

“For the love of Christ!” He yanked something off the table where he worked. Zzzzt! Then a jangle. “I don’t have time for this!”

What?

Quickly he raised one hand, his shadow looming against the far wall. A snake seemed to curl and writhe from his fist as he gave it a shake.

Chloe screeched in fear.

A belt, Zoe realized.

He cracked his wrist and the leather sizzled through the air.

Chloe shrieked and Zoe had to bite back her own scream.

Stop it, Chloe. Don’t piss him off! Use your head!

“I mean it!” he roared, and snapped the belt loudly again, close, it seemed, to the spot where Chloe was most likely tethered against the far wall. Though it was too dark to see into the corners, Zoe guessed her twin was also tied up.

Bastard!

It was all Zoe could do not to say a word, not to betray the fact that she’d come to and her mind was clearing. She wanted to shout out to Chloe, to warn her, to comfort her, but Zoe bit her tongue. Instinctively she knew it was best to stay silent, to lull the freak into believing she was still sedated and unconscious, not a threat. Let him focus on his work, whatever it was, until Zoe could come up with a plan, some way to get them out of this horrific situation.

Barely making a sound, she once again tried her bonds and was rewarded with a deeper cut into the flesh of her throat.

Damn!

Again, Chloe pleaded but her cries only incited him further. The man was a psycho. Well, duh. Only a true whack job would abduct twins off the street, drug them, and torture them. And his quick-triggered temper indicated he was volatile. Dangerous. Tied as she was, Zoe had only one weapon: her wits.

Crap!

Once Chloe was subdued, the near-naked bastard resumed his off-key singing. Never had the birthday song sounded more like a funeral dirge. And that was, no doubt, his intent. She was certain of that one heart-stopping fact. Gone was any thought of a prank gone wrong.