Never Die Alone

“How ’bout?” he agreed, and lifted one hand to tangle his fingers in her hair.

She slipped the button out of its hole, then slid his zipper down slowly and noticed that he wasn’t even starting to get hard, no evidence of any erection whatsoever. Damn, this was going to take more work than she’d pla

Her fingers touched his skin and he flinched, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a chain.

She paused.

What the hell?

No, not a chain, a necklace.

Really? Some kind of kinky thing?

No, not a necklace. A rosary! Oh, God, was he some kind of religious nut, here to try and save her or himself?

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked, trying not to frown as she looked up and saw that his jaw had hardened. “What’s going on with—”

He struck quickly, looping the rosary over her head and neck.

“Hey! Wait!” she yelled as the linked beads tightened. She tried to scream, but the air was caught in her lungs. What the fuck was he doing? Trying to scare her? Asphyxiate her?

Tighter and tighter, the holy noose was twisted, closing her throat, her airways, her lifeline.

This was no sex game. No way! She started hitting at him. Kicking. Her lungs were burning. Her eyes felt as if they were begi

No, please God, no!

No amount of kicking could stop him, and her arms flailed uselessly. She grabbed at the links of beads, hoping to get her fingers beneath the string, hoping to break the damned thing, but she couldn’t get a grip on it. The beads were sharp, the wire holding it together strong.

He lifted the chord and raised her off the floor. The world started to spin as she struggled, her legs kicking wildly, her lungs ready to explode. She couldn’t die . . . she wouldn’t die. Not like this. Not without seeing her son . . .

With a grunt he jerked hard.

Her head snapped back, and she caught a glimpse of her distorted image in his dark glasses.

Then nothing.

“Stay!” Chloe ordered the dog as she slammed the padlock shut and rose to her feet. Though totally freaked out, she glared at the dog and tried like hell to seem calm, in charge. She’d heard the monster down in the dungeon whistle to the hound, who appeared more confused than anything else. “Good dog,” she said as she edged back. She had to be firm . . . steady. “You just stay there.” Backing away, she made her way to the door as the dog stared at the shut trapdoor and whined. “He’ll be fine,” she assured the dog, though she hoped the son of a bitch rotted in hell for all eternity and then some.

At last, she stepped outside, but the damn dog was following. She grabbed the door to fling it shut behind her, then hesitated. Should she close the dog up in the house? Locked away from water? Trapped in the heat? Crap! She left the door open behind her and kept one eye on the doorway. The dog seemed disinterested, whining and pacing in and out of the house.

Fine.

She had her own problems. But at least she could breathe gain. Outside the night was thick, the air heavy and sultry, the sound of crickets competing with a chorus of frogs. The stars were out, shining behind high clouds, and a bit of moon cast silver shadows. A plane flew high overhead, lights winking.

She tried to get her bearings as she stood there shaking. She wanted nothing more than to put some distance between her and this god-awful place. But first . . . with trembling fingers she punched 9-1-1 onto the face of the phone.

Nothing.

What? No!

Wait. The screen was dark. Think, Chloe, think. She switched the cell on, but no lights began to glow, no numbers lit. She tried again to make the call. The freak had just been talking on the damned thing to that Myra nutcase, and . . .

Again, she only heard dead air.

“What the hell?” Disbelieving, she turned her head to the sky. “Why?” How could the phone be dead? The device wasn’t searching for a cell phone tower, and there was no indication of low signal strength. No. The phone was dead. She wanted to throw the useless piece of shit as far as she could, but she restrained herself. The phone was evidence and could link the bastard to Myra, the freakin’ mastermind. Holy crap, what kind of mess had she and Zoe stepped into?

Zoe!

Her throat closed. Where was her sister? Why hadn’t she returned with the police and guns blazing? Chloe bit her lip. For the first time since escaping from the dungeon, now that her adrenaline rush had worn off, she felt the pain of her injuries. Every muscle in her body hurt, and exhaustion tugged at her. But she couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Ignoring the pain racking her muscles, she picked her way over sparse gravel and made her way to the van. It was locked, no keys in the ignition, but the passenger door was still shattered so she was able to reach inside and open the door, then scrounge around the interior. She hoped for a set of keys, but found none. She prayed for a weapon, but guessed if he had any, they were locked in one of the metal boxes bolted to the floor in the back of the van. She found nothing that could help her but an unopened package of cookies, a flashlight, and an old T-shirt. She tested the flashlight. It worked. Thank God! Her stomach rumbled for the food, but there was no time for that now. She had to get moving. He was locked up tight, but who knew if that stupid Myra would show up.

Her insides curdled at the thought of wearing anything that had touched his body, but she couldn’t be picky. Swallowing back revulsion, she threw on the dirty shirt and only took the time to shine her flashlight’s beam on the license plate. She memorized the numbers, saw the vehicle was some kind of Dodge, and then decided to head for the main road. Zoe had been forced to run through the woods, but no way would Chloe be able to find her at this point. No, the road was better. Find a house and call the damned police.

Again she tried the stupid cell. Just in case.

Nothing, of course. Dead.

“Fine.” Carrying the flashlight in one hand and the cookies and useless cell in the other, she followed the flashlight’s weak, wobbling beam and started jogging along the dirt ruts, where thankfully there were only bits of gravel to dig into her feet. Still, she’d kill for a pair of ru

She thought of the monster she’d trapped in the dungeon and hoped he died a horrible death. Prick! What a sicko!

Don’t think about him, just keep ru

That part was natural. She’d run all of her life. On the soccer field. For pleasure. With friends in 5K or 10K races, even a half marathon just last year. And now the pain of the injuries she’d sustained while being held by the freak were giving way to an adrenaline rush that surged when she worried that somehow, some damned way, the freak could escape.

Run, run, run!

One foot in front of the other. Around the bend and . . . ahead she saw the gate, battered and shut. She raced toward it and felt a sliver of hope. If she could just get to the main road, find someone . . . oh, please. Reaching the gate, she tried the sliding bolt, but it was jammed, then decided to just climb the sucker and get to the other side. She placed the pack of cookies in her mouth, held both cell phone and flashlight in one hand, and scrambled over. As she landed on her feet, she noticed the dog, who had obviously followed her. He stood inside the gate, panting.

“Go home!” she yelled, turning the flashlight on him.

Another bark.

A good thing? Or bad? Maybe someone would come to her aid. But what if the freak’s boss, Myra, was nearby? Or what if the monster had escaped and was making his way to the damned van. If he heard the dog here at the gate, he would know that this was the route she had taken.