Never Die Alone

Chloe strained to hear, but the other end of the conversation was muted as the phone was pressed tightly to his ear. She couldn’t catch even the tiniest sound to indicate what the person on the other end of the phone sounded like.

“Myra, give it a rest. Will you? Have a little faith.”

Myra. The only one who ever communicated with him.

Again he paused and this time when he hung up, he tossed the phone aside and muttered, “Bitch!” Geez, the guy was off the rails, worse than she’d first thought.

She swallowed back her fear. She was certain she had to be doubly careful because, now that his sick twin birthday was off, there wasn’t anything preventing him from killing her on the spot. Right? With their birthdays over, would he wait for Zoe? Who knew? He was such a freak, anything might set him off. She decided not to provoke him. Not to utter a single word that might make him go ballistic. Better to lull him into thinking she was a complete rag doll and wimp.

Then, she would attack.

With her pathetic shard of glass.

She prayed she could find the guts to kill him.

Surprisingly, she had come to realize that she wasn’t the total coward he believed her to be. Now, with her situation so dire and with the realization that she couldn’t rely on Zoe or anyone else, she realized she could do it. She could attack.

If he came close and faced her, she’d give him a sharp, hard knee to the groin; she knew she could drive her leg upward with tremendous force.

Chloe, like her twin, had been a soccer player for years in junior high and high school. Hence, she’d developed thighs of steel. On the playing field she’d been much more aggressive than in day-to-day life, so she knew she had it in her. Hell, she would summon all her aggression and fear, and rocket his balls into the back of his brain. Bam!

Just give me the chance.

Guts grinding, nerves tight, so scared she wanted to fall into a million pieces, she clutched her bit of glass and decided after kicking him hard in the nuts, she’d find a way to gouge his eyes.

Oh, Jesus, she thought she might throw up as she watched him work.

After he’d tidied up, if that’s what it was, he began to fuss with their clothes again, patting and primping the items on his workbench. With an almost religious zeal he placed the thongs on the dresses, carefully making certain he’d placed hers on her red dress, then Zoe’s on the black one. The bras were next, hooked, lacy pushup cups pointing toward the grimy ceiling. He eyed her bra and clucked his tongue a bit before gently placing it over her thong. “Naughty girls,” he said.

Oh, yeah, wearing sexy underwear was “naughty,” but kidnapping, hog-tieing, and probably murdering a person in some sick ritual was okay? What kind of fucked-up thinking was that?

Anger sizzled through her blood.

Who was this guy?

Why did he think he had the right to do this to her? To torture her? To keep her captive? Expect her to pee in his awful pail and drink his goddamned protein drink and be grateful that he was keeping her alive for a few more hours or days in this damp, smelly, filthy dungeon? What kind of a neat freak was he? Folding clothes gently, sniffing crotches of panties, and keeping her captive in this sty?

She clutched the bit of glass.

Oh, hell, he was getting ready to leave! He’d straightened this prison cell as best he could and seemed agitated, angry. Muttering to himself, he patted his pockets and found a cell phone.

A cell phone!

Her heart leaped as he dragged the ladder into place and wedged the rails into the trapdoor above. Could she somehow get away and maybe steal his phone from him in the process?

Get the drop on him and call 9-1-1?

She couldn’t believe her good luck. Now, if she only had the nerve . . . God, help me. Her mouth grew dry, not a drop of spit in it.

She had to try. Before he left. It was her only hope.

Did his damned phone work underground? Where the hell would the nearest cell tower be?

Shit, shit, shit!

She amped herself up.

“I told you,” he was saying. “I’ll get her in the morning, yeah, yeah, with the damned dog . . . what? The other one? She’s here. Got her.” He glanced at Chloe over his shoulder. “Trust me, she’s no problem. It’s the other one. Zoe. That little cu—er, bitch that got free, but no worries. I’ll get her. First light.”

So he hadn’t caught Zoe. There was hope....

He fell quiet for a moment, then went on. “Yeah, I know, I know. For Christ’s sake I get it. She’s first . . .” Another pause. “No, no. This one will wait. Uh-huh. Second-born. Always weaker.” Then a merciless laugh. “Yeah, that’s right. Like the runt of the litter.” Another ugly chuckle.

He paced, listening, and Chloe quietly gathered her legs under her. If she could just catch him unaware, while he was on the phone, one hand busy holding the cell to his ear . . .

Do it. Do it now. Before he hangs up!

“Look, just have some faith, Myra. I’m on it,” he was saying as he turned his back to his captive.

Holding the shard in her palm, Chloe perched on her feet, still huddled down, and took a deep breath.

NOW!

Without another thought, she sprang.

CHAPTER 17

“O wwwwrrrrr!”

Son of a bitch!

The pathetic little bitch had blindsided him!

Launching herself at his back from the dark corner of the cell, she’d wrapped her legs around his torso and clamped herself on. Holding on with her legs, she’d reached over his shoulder and, using both hands, rammed something sharp and hard into his cheek.

He roared and bucked, his cell phone flying from his hand.

Pain shot through his cheek and she thrust upward, slicing through skin and muscle, scraping against bone.

Jesus effin’ Christ, she was trying to put the knife or scissors or whatever it was into his eye, drag the blade into his orbital socket with the intent to blind him.

Goddammit, how had this happened?

“You little shit!” he screamed, grabbing hold of her hand, forcing it away from his face as blood poured from the wound.

“Die, die, die!” she shrieked, frantic.

Twisting in the air, he forced her arm backward and heard a sucking sound as her weapon was forced from his flesh. The pain! It felt like his face was ripped open. He bucked again. This time her legs lost their hold.

Squealing, she went flying across the room.

Thud!

Her body hit the concrete wall, probably rattling her bones, possibly cracking her skull as she slid limply to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded. He lunged at her, hot, sticky blood dripping from his chin. For the love of Christ, what was wrong with her? Didn’t she know he could snuff her life out in an instant? He could’ve killed her at any moment, but instead he’d kept her alive.

Because you have to. This one, she has to die second as she was born second. Besides, she’s bait for the other one.

Bleeding like a stuck pig, he reached down, intent on subduing her. But there was no need. She’d obviously been knocked senseless. But he could take no chances. This time he wouldn’t be so foolish. He would tie her as he had originally, feet and hands bound together behind her back. Fuck her need for food and water. So she had to piss or shit? Who cared? She could foul herself. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

He grabbed for her arms, intent on hauling her to her feet so he could adjust her manacles.

One leg shot upward. Bang! Her knee co

“Bastard,” she hissed, and scrambled quickly away.