My Ruthless Kidnapper

Fever

    
My hands and ankles were bound in cuffs as I lay helplessly on the bed. All I could do was whimper under my breath, consumed by a seething hatred for that man. If looks could kill, he would be dead right there; the disgusted glare I directed at him conveyed more than words ever could.

"You see, I get along with all the men in this house because they respect me. Try to do the same, and I might be able to keep you."

"Respect?" I scoffed through my whimpers. "You expect me to respect you? You kidnapped me, you monster." I made sure he heard every word.

He exhaled slowly, studying me thoughtfully. "Well then, guess what? You're getting another assistant tomorrow." He dismissed my fury with that casual announcement.

If only I could free myself from these cuffs, I would make sure to do more than just smash his balls. "I don't need any assistance," I replied, pulling harder on the chains, ignoring the way they bit into my skin.

"Do you prefer men looking after you?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes, making my stomach churn with disgust.

"Do I look like I need help?" I shot back, anger flooding my words.

His gaze narrowed as it lingered on my bound legs. "Cheryl, you're restrained, of course, you do."

"What about getting me loose?" I offered sarcastically.

"That can wait until your assistant arrives. I need a lookout. Unless, of course, you hate her so much that you'd get her killed. It would be my pleasure to scatter her skull into pieces."

How dare he shift the blame onto me for his actions? I didn't kill Amelia and Brad; I refused to accept that.

"What are you, some kind of woman-slayer? Does killing girls make you feel like a man?" I grasped the horns of the bull, even as my body trembled.

That struck a nerve, for he sprang to his feet, pushing his hair back with a tense hand while my heart raced. "No, Cheryl." His tone turned cold as he approached me again. "I've never killed a woman with my hands. I've killed a hundred and six men, and I still have nine more on my list, including your father. But your mother will be the first woman I kill, and you will be the last."

He towered over me as I tried to process his chilling confession. He had killed over a hundred people? He had a list of targets? And that list included my entire family?

My stomach sank. "You motherfucker, my dad is a cop, and my mom's a lawyer. You think you can reach them? I promise you, my dad will be the last thing you see before you die." I yelled, straining against the cuffs.

He chuckled softly, his calm demeanor unnerving. "Every loving parent would protect their children, but where are yours now? If your dad is really the hero you claim he is, why isn't he here? It's been three days since you disappeared, and yet here I am. Your cop of a father is a quack, Cheryl."

I shook my head rapidly, wounded by his words. He had no right to speak that way. I trusted my parents; I knew they wouldn't rest until they caught him. And then I would tell him to his face how wrong he was about them.

"You will regret this." That was all I could muster at that moment.

He lifted his gaze, unfazed. "I have no regrets."

Swallowing the lump in my throat as my eyes misted, I asked, "Why don't you kill me?"

"I enjoy a long movie, Cheryl. What's the point of a short story?" he replied with a smirk before turning to leave the room.

"I will never forgive you," I sputtered, pulling at my wrists and ankles, feeling the sting as my skin began to bleed.

"Don't flatter yourself. I didn't ask for your forgiveness," he shrugged before exiting, leaving me alone in this tortured reality.