Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,116

something to use against that bastard.

Another scream had her wanting to cover her ears. It was so loud.

“Help me! Please, help me!” the woman yelled. Begged. Pleaded. “Please, dear God, someone help me!”

And then Bailey heard the laughter. That taunting, snickering laughter that the bastard had made when he drove his knife into her. At that sickening sound, Bailey stopped thinking—­a primitive instinct took over her body. She lurched forward and threw open the door. “Leave her alone!” Bailey bellowed.

His back was to her. A woman was on the bed in front of him. A knife was in his hand. A bloody knife. The same knife he’d so gleefully used on Bailey.

“Coming to save her?” he whispered, his back still to Bailey. When he spoke, he always whispered. “Ah, Bailey . . . is that what you’re doing? Coming to help her?”

The woman on the bed didn’t move.

Bailey lunged at him. She didn’t have a weapon, and there was nothing in that room to use. No lamps. No tables. The only furniture was that old bed—­the woman was on that bed. So Bailey attacked with her body. She went straight for him with a guttural cry.

He turned toward her, slicing with his knife, but Bailey didn’t stop. The slice went right across her left arm. She barreled into him, crashing hard and they both hit the floor.

The knife slid from his hand, sliding across the wooden floor.

“Beautiful bitch,” he rasped at her. “I’ll make you pay . . .”

She was on top of him, and Bailey kneed him, as hard as she could. When he howled, she smiled, stretching her bloody lips. She was so glad he was the one who got to enjoy some pain.

But then he hit her, driving his fist right at her cheek. She fell back, her body rolling across the floor.

And footsteps thudded in that little room. The woman on the bed—­she’d gotten up and she was running for the door. She hadn’t been tied up like Bailey. She moved quickly, easily. Bailey saw her long, dark hair, her pale limbs, the blue of her shirt as it flashed by—­

“Wait,” Bailey gasped out, the word a weak croak. “Don’t—­”

Leave me.

For an instant, the woman turned back toward her. Hope burst inside Bailey. Yes—­

The woman ran out of the room. Didn’t look back again.

He was laughing again. Her abductor. Her killer?

“Trying to stop me . . .” he whispered. “Oh, sweet Bailey, I’ll teach you . . .”

His hands went around her neck. Glove-covered hands. She felt the leather against her skin. Oddly soft. So soft as he began to choke her.

“I can do this until you pass out . . .”

“H-­h . . .” She was trying to say help, trying to call that woman back, but she couldn’t get the word out. Not with his hands so tight around her.

“Then I’ll tie you up again. I’ll sharpen my knife . . . get it so that it can slice right through your skin . . .”

From the corner of her eye, Bailey saw the glint of the knife he’d dropped. Her right hand stretched for it. The knife was close. So very close . . .

“Still glad you tried to save her? Was she worth your life?”

The other woman had gotten away. Bailey couldn’t hear her footsteps any longer.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised as black dots danced in front of her eyes. “And her.”

The knife. It was right there. She just had to reach it . . .

He squeezed harder. No air. No hope. No damn knife.

She couldn’t reach it. But Bailey’s right flew up toward him, and with the last of her strength, she ripped that mask off his face.

He stared down at her, as shock widened his eyes.

“No, Bailey . . . no . . .” And he almost seemed sad . . . as he kept choking the life right out of her.

BAILEY’S EYES FLEW open. She sucked in a desperate gulp of air, one, then another. Another. Her lungs burned and she coughed and choked.

I’m alive. I’m still alive.

Her hands flew out, and she touched—­dirt. The scent of dank earth filled her nostrils and she sat up fast, feeling pain cut through her—­her arms, her stomach and—­

Dirt is all around me. Her grabbing hands closed around soft dirt and when Bailey looked up, she saw the glitter of stars above her. A thousand freaking stars. I’m not in the cabin any longer.

But she didn’t remember escaping. Didn’t remember