Knowing if he had kept her at the cabin any longer, she would've given in and consumed the meat he stored in the ground. She couldn't jeopardize her strength and the ability to think straight. She needed both those things to escape.
His plan to take her to Avery Falls gave her hope. Along with the fact that he'd tied her bags onto the back of the ATV.
She could almost taste the turkey in a club sandwich, loaded with tomato, cheese, lettuce, and an avocado. God, a pickle. She would love a big dill.
The fizz of a diet Pepsi would probably reduce her to tears. She wanted a can so bad. The caffeine would give her the kick in the ass she needed to survive.
The water she'd consumed in the cabin was refreshing—and if she had to admit, better than any water she'd ever tasted—but she needed her pop fix.
Then, a shower. A long, hot shower.
The ATV came to a stop. Her heart raced, and panic gripped her. They hadn't reached town yet.
Had he changed his mind on letting her go? He'd specifically told her they were going to Avery Falls.
She'd assumed he meant to let her go. She desperately held on to the idea her captivity was soon to be over.
From the moment she sat on the ATV, she'd planned on finding a police officer. Either in Avery Falls, if they had someone patrolling the recreational hub, or she'd go to St. Maries and report him for kidnapping her. She wanted him to pay for what he'd done to her. He couldn't go around tying women to his bed and starving them to death.
Her absence caused a domino effect. She'd lose her deposit at The Shack for not returning the ATV rental on time and would have extra fees due for overstaying at the campsite—if someone hadn't ripped her off, thinking she wasn't coming back.
Her patience running out, she said, "Aren't you going?"
"Not yet." He held up his hand. "Quiet."
She bit down on her lip to stop from telling him she'd walk the rest of the way by herself in the dark.
For some reason, she had the feeling he was thinking about what would happen when he arrived in Avery Falls.
He had to realize the cops would be after him. If not now, then soon when she reported him to the police for kidnapping her.
She hoped someone could identify him, going by her description. He never told her his name. But how many six foot four inch men with muscles upon muscles also had long dirty-blond hair, muted hazel eyes, and full lips that were prettier and sexier than they should be on the rare chance a person could see them through the thick, over-long, tangled-mess of a beard could there be?
It sickened her that she could see the beauty in him behind the sick, psycho, masochist, killer, neanderthal behavior. But she'd had nothing but time locked in the cabin with him, and he was the only thing to look at—and he was always there, filling up her personal space.
At least he wore a shirt and jeans now. She no longer had to look at that massive monstrosity dangling between his legs.
"We're going to wait until it's darker," he said softly.
"It is dark." The longer they sat still without moving, the harder it was for her to see ten feet in front of them.
He refrained from replying. Her hands ached from holding on to the rack and leaning halfway back. The awkward position grew more uncomfortable, tasking her abdominal muscles.
Scooting back as far as she could without losing her seat, she sat up straight, stretching her back. Rubbing her fingers, she frowned. She hardly recognized her hands.
Pinching the skin at the back of her hand, she waited for the skin to snap back in place. Instead, the skin steepled. She rubbed her hands harder. There was no denying she was dehydrated.
She hadn't gone pee since that morning.
While she had consumed water the man had collected from somewhere outside the cabin, she wasn't getting enough. Normally, she carried around a water bottle, drinking all day to keep up with her busy lifestyle.
Time ticked by slowly. She gave up hope that he planned to take her back to town and let her go.
Tears flowed silently down her cheeks, and she had no energy to care if he witnessed a weak moment from her.
Her situation was all his fault.
She was tired of surviving and patting herself on the back for staying alive one more hour and, in the next moment, scared of never seeing her sister again.
She was scared to think of dying.
She wanted to live. She wanted to have a husband. She wanted a baby. She wanted to buy the new Sigma 18-35 f/1.8 DC HSM art lens for her camera.
Her spirits spiraled downward, plummeting into resignation. He was never going to let her go. Her sister would never know what happened to her.
"It's time." He started the ATV.
She grabbed onto the man's waist. "No, please. I have a sister and a job. I don't want to—"
"I'm not killing you."
Her body pulsed. She wanted to make him say it again, promise on his life not to murder her.
But he rode forward. Left holding on to him over the rocky ground as they descended the mountain, she put herself at his mercy.
She never questioned how he could see in the dark without the ATV's headlights on or why he planned on going to town during a specific time.
By the time he rode into Avery Falls, her head seemed to weigh a ton, and she'd long ago put her cheek on the back of his shoulder. She no longer cared that she was touching him. His sturdy body kept her seated on the ATV and not falling to her death.
The four-wheeler turned and then turned again. Lulled by the trip, knowing she was going home, she smiled against the man's back. It no longer mattered that she'd failed at photographing the Pekania pennanti. She'd give the money back that she was paid in advance to the man who'd hired her. Someone else could find the elusive fisher.
The money wasn't worth it.
The ATV stopped. A boost of adrenaline had her raising her head. The motion made her dizzy, and she moaned.
In the darkness, she could barely see the outline of a house in front of her. She looked to the left and right, trying to see in the darkness. Shadows grew closer, dark shapes shifted. She blinked furiously, trying to adjust her vision to the lack of light.
"The house is open. I had J.J. come over and air it out," said a male.
Grace stiffened as she made out a man standing in the dark. Someone was here. Someone to help her.
She pushed against her kidnapper, scrambling awkwardly off the ATV toward the other man. "Help me, please." She grabbed at the man's front, gripping leather. "He's kidnapped me. He's kept me in a cabin. That's my ATV. I rented it. You can check at The Shack. I'm Grace Lambert. I-I paid for a campsite by the river. Can you call—"
"Shut your mouth." A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground.
The air in her lungs whooshed out of her, and her kidnapper clamped his hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. She kicked and flailed her arms, trying to get free.
There was another man here. Why wasn't he helping her?
She stilled. The other man wore a biker's vest.
All other coherent thoughts went black.
Chapter Seven
Keenan walked out of the bedroom. At Prez's look of interest, he shrugged. "She's not dead. She's breathing."
Prez raised his brows. "What's wrong with her?"