Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,115

. .

I just pretended to pass out. And that freak in the ski mask stormed out of the room. In his haste, he’d left the door open. Oh, hell, yes, he’d left the door open. She’d gotten off the bed, fallen onto the floor—­and now—­she was getting out of this place. Her rage gave her the energy to keep moving. She’d get to the door. Get out and . . .

Her shirt snagged on a nail. Bailey froze. She hadn’t even seen that nail but when she moved her body, she felt the head of that nail—­round and big—­sticking up from the floor. Her breath heaved in and out of her lungs as excitement pumped through her blood. Bailey twisted her body and put the ropes that bound her wrists against that nail top. She jerked and sawed, moving as frantically as she could. Her breath keep rushing out in too hard pants, burning her lips and making her tongue feel even more swollen in her mouth.

I’ll get out. I’ll get away.

For the first twenty-­four hours, she’d thought she was trapped in a nightmare. That there was some mistake. She couldn’t have woken up, tied and gagged in a dirty cabin. There couldn’t have been some sick freak in a black ski mask who kept coming at her, slicing with his knife and laughing while she screamed. None of that could be happening, not to her.

Not . . . her.

She’d seen the stories on TV in the last few weeks. About women who’d vanished in the mountains of North Carolina. Their stories had been tragic. Their families pitiful as they begged for clues. She’d watched them and felt sympathy. Sorrow. But . . .

Those women had been strangers. Because things like this . . . stuff like this only happened to people you didn’t know. Unfortunate people you saw on the news.

Not me. This can’t happen to me.

But it had.

And I don’t have any family to beg for me. No desperate parents to plead for my return . . . I lost them long ago.

Bailey was very much afraid she’d be losing her own life in that small cabin.

One minute, she’d been heading out of her Wednesday night freshman history class at the local college. It had been the last class she had to teach before spring break. She’d been at her car, her keys gripped tightly in her hand, and then—­

Then he hit me. Took me. I woke up in hell.

The ropes around her wrists gave way. Bailey choked out a sob as feeling surged back to her fingers—­pain. Burning, white hot pain. But as soon as that sob slipped from her mouth, she immediately bit her lower lip, terror clawing at her. Blood dripped down her chin from that busted lip.

Had he heard her cry?

Would he come back?

Bailey’s whole body went tense as she waited. Waited. She heard the creak of footsteps, a sound that had her heart squeezing.

He’s coming. He heard me. He’s . . .

A scream seemed to echo all around Bailey. A woman’s scream. Loud and long and desperate. Full of pain.

Bailey bit down harder on her bottom lip. She wasn’t the one making that scream. Someone else was. Dear God, that freak in the ski mask had someone else in the cabin.

I’m not alone. He took another victim.

And when he’d stopped having his fun with Bailey, when she’d played possum with him, he’d turned his attention to that someone else.

Bailey jerked upright. Her fingers were slow and fumbling as she fought to free her ankles from the rope that bound them.

The scream died away.

She broke her nails on the rope. Jammed fingers that weren’t working right.

Another scream—­

And the rope gave way. Bailey immediately jumped to her feet and tried to stride forward, but her legs collapsed beneath her. She crawled then, dragging herself toward the door. She had to get to that other woman. Had to help her. Bailey grabbed the door, prying it open a little more with her right hand. Every breath she took seemed incredibly loud to her, and she was afraid he would hear her.

I guess I’m not over the fear after all. Maybe I’ll never be over it.

A peek in the hallway showed two other doors. One was shut. One open.

The screams were coming from behind the shut door.

He’s in there with her.

Bailey rose again, shakily. She kept a hand on the wall as she inched toward that closed door. She had to find a weapon. Had to get