Another clack of thunder pulls me from my thoughts and my eyes refocus. Any minute he’ll come walking out the door, gym bag in hand, freshly showered, wearing some fancy-ass suit like he’s off to a fucking ball when all he’s doing is going to some sports bar to watch whatever game is playing. Maybe he thinks that showing up looking like Mr. Moneybags will get him lucky with the ladies. But his fancy attire must not compensate for hischarmingpersonality because I never see him leave with anyone.
Pity that he’s not married. I was hoping I could addruining his marriageto my list. I wanted to fuck his wife and send him the video, show him how badly she wanted my dick, but that’s not going to be the case. The guy hasn’t settled down yet,probably on account of not wanting to pluck a single cherry when he can have access to the whole damn tree.
The gym doors open, and like clockwork, he comes walking out. Bag in hand, hair freshly groomed, wearing his fancy-ass suit that’s about to get drenched by the downpour. It started raining while he was inside working out, and by the look on his face, I don’t think he expected it. Like I said, the unassuming victim is worried about getting wet while the monster sits in the shadows, waiting. Ready to reign terror down and seek vengeance.
He finally braces his shoulders, making a run for his car, getting closer to the predator with every step. His eyes are cast down. Arms bracing his bag above his head as if it’s going to do anything to shield him from the avalanche of drops. He gets to his car door and has a decision to make, dig out his key or punch in the code on the keypad. Both moments of pause give me my opportunity.
I step out of the shadows, watching as the keys on the pad turn green and his door unlocks. Right as he opens the door, I’m at his back. His shocked grunt dying on his tongue as the chloroform infiltrates his nostrils, working its way through his system, making his body go slack against me.
I open up the rear door and shove him inside, climbing in after so I can ensure my prisoner is secure just in case the poison wears off. I grab the rope from under my sweatshirt and begin binding his wrists together first, then his ankles. I go to put duct tape over his mouth so he can’t use his voice to activate some emergency access and that’s when I notice the changes in his face. He used to look like the all-American football player. Shaggy blond hair, blue eyes, a face the image of handsome perfection. Every teenage girl’s heartthrob. Now, he looks like a ruggedGQmodel. His hair perfectly styled, chiseled jaw lined with scruff, and his features weathered with maturity.
Size wise he still looks to be about the same. Tall and built. Maybe a little broader shouldered, a little more bulk in his arms and thighs. But even still, he’s nowhere near my size. I was a lanky kid back in school. Legs too long and thin. Gangly arms. A weak and pathetic frame. Easily breakable. Easily taken down. Now, I’m a mass of destruction. Untouchable. Unafraid. And with the madness that runs through my veins, I’m his worst nightmare.
I take his bag and leave my sleeping little victim to rest as I climb into the front seat. The first thing I do is dig out his phone and redirect the tracking systems, making it look like his phone is now pinging off the cell tower near his house. It’s a special trick I learned while I was behind bars. My hacking skills were sharpened like a tack since time was the only thing I had excess of. And now I know how to do all kinds of nifty little things. Like access his car’s locator system and shut it down. Now, on the off chance someone comes looking for his vehicle, it will show that it’s parked inside his garage, having returned home exactly twelve minutes after leaving the gym.
As soon as I have everything in order and the phone set to airplane mode, I pull out of the parking lot. Heading out of town. Driving through the old country roads. Past the middle of nowhere and beyond. The further out we get, the darker it becomes. There aren’t any streetlights out here. And with the moon and stars shielded by the dark, angry clouds, it’s near impossible to see as I make my way up into the mountains. To the place I now call home. A place no one will ever find my prisoner.
CHAPTER 3
Monk
Once he’s all settled into his new home, I remove the duct tape from his mouth— wanting to hear his fear clearly when he comes to. I’m envisioning it now. The look in his eyes when he finds himself locked in a cage, wondering what the hell happened and who the fuck attacked him. I wonder how long it will take for him to figure it out. And once he does, I wonder how long it will take for the fear to settle in. A split second? A minute for him to realize that he’s not going to be walking away from this alive?
I sit in the dark corner, my patience running thin as I scroll through his phone, reading emails and making mental notes. I intend to set off a catastrophic bomb. One that spreads like a slow virus and kills everything it touches. I want Hunter to watch as the horror show unfolds. His entire life and everything he built imploding before him.
Business crumbling. Reputation destroyed. Money completely gone. Then once it’s all ripped away, we’ll see how long he lasts before he begs me to put him out of his misery. Butlike I said, this man will get no mercy from me. He won’t cease to breathe until I’m no longer seeing red every time I open my eyes. I need my blood to run clear first, then I’ll kill him.
A low groan has me placing his phone down and shifting forward in my chair. The room is only lit by a few candles. The ambiance perfect for my scene. Rain’s splattering on the metal roof. The smell of mildew hangs thick in the air, and my pet is locked inside his cage. Just like the fucking dog he is.
His body starts to twitch, and another low sound comes from his throat, but his eyes still remain closed. It’s as if he’s slowly coming out of a deep sleep or a coma. Finally, he rolls to his side, coming up against the metal bars. I sit back in the shadows, so he doesn’t get a glimpse of my face. We’re going to play a little game first. See if he can guess who his attacker is.
A loud clack of thunder strikes and it’s like a blaring alarm. His eyes shoot open, and then it begins. Him slowly taking it all in, looking around the space, realizing that he’s bound and imprisoned in a cage. He sees that his wrists and ankles are knotted and that he’s in a dark, dank room. The panic is chasing him faster as he starts to comprehend what’s happening—that he’s at the mercy of whatever sick fuck brought him here and has him locked up and defenseless. I’m sure a million different things are flashing in his mind, one scenario worse than the next. None of them coming close to what’s in store for him.
“Good morning, my little pet. Sleep well?”
He quickly struggles to sit up, his eyes flaring in panic. I went with the largest dog cage I could find, but he’s a big man and eats up most of the space.
“What do you want?”
What do I want?The panic in his eyes is what I want. The terror locking up every nerve, making his body shake. I want him to know what it feels like to be tortured by fear. I want himto suffer in pain. His body aching for days. I want him to know what it’s like living in my shoes.
He’s been out here living in the lap of luxury, never once thinking twice about what he did to me. Never once suffering a consequence for his bullying. He lives in a fancy condo. Drives a fancy car. And dines on the most decadent foods. He’s worshipped by his friends, his employees, and no doubt by women. He’s living the American dream.
Meanwhile, I’ve been suffering day in and day out. Tortured by my thoughts. My sanity fueled by my need for vengeance. I’ve become a shell of the person my mother brought into this world. She’d roll over in her grave if she saw me now.
“If it’s money you’re after, I’ll give you as much as you want.”
No. I don’t need money. Money, I have plenty of. I have more than I’ll ever be able to spend in a lifetime. Nothing he could give me will give me my life back. Nothing will give me the last fourteen years, or the years I lost with my mom before she died. The only thing I want is for him to pay for his crimes.
“I’ll give you a million dollars if you let me go. I haven’t seen your face. You can give me an account and let me wire it to you through my phone.”
The desperation clings to his voice, a striking contrast to the voice that’s haunted my memories.
“I don’t need your money,faggot.”
His body jerks at the word, and I wonder if there’s a dawning of recognition starting to rise. If there’s an inkling of who his captor might be now tickling his thoughts.
“I’m not holding you here for ransom.”