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.

He had let his men kill Amelia because she helped me. They shot Brad, who was simply driving his girlfriend, yet why hadn't they killed me already? He craved revenge for something that probably didn't even happen, and yet they brought me a box filled with expensive clothes and food like I was some kind of queen. I didn't understand.

Okay, I got that I was their hostage, but it still didn't make sense.

I gave up trying to escape; the cuffs had bitten my flesh enough that the pain was unbearable.

My teary eyes fell on a lamp, and I tried to remember the good days of my life, days when I had everything and no dead bodies surrounding me. That's how I lulled myself to sleep that night, haunted by the faces of those two innocent souls.

***

Slowly opening my eyes, I found the room flooded with light. The curtains had been drawn back, allowing the golden sun to spill into every corner. Though the windows were securely locked, I could see the lush, green expanse of grass outside.

I rubbed my face with my hand—my hands? Looking down at my wrists and ankles, I noticed I had been freed from the biting chains that most have left impressions on my skin. This is probably why bandages wrapped around my wrists and fresh gauze covered my injured feet.

I recalled sprinting down the longest backyard I had ever seen, desperate to escape the merciless men in this house. I remembered the sharp sting with each step I took, only to escort Amelia to her death.

What have I done? She should be alive today if I hadn't agreed to go with her. If only I hadn't been so selfish.

The thought shot a sharp ache through my head, but I forced myself to sit up just as the door creaked open.

A man entered, carrying a tray. I didn't attempt to move, what could I do? I felt utterly powerless. I simply sat there, watching as he set the tray on an end table before approaching the table beside me.

Was I already giving up?

"You should eat. You must be hungry," he said, his voice booming and almost intimidating as he turned to leave.

Still on the bed, I was confused. What did these people want from me? I no longer believed in their talk of revenge. Why would they feed someone they were willing to kill with a tray filled with fancy breakfast I had never been treated in my life?

"Can I have some Advil or a pain reliever?" I pleaded weakly as the man reached the door. "Please," I added.

"I'll send the doctor to check on you," he replied in a monstrous tone before exiting.

Of course, they have a doctor.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand, but my legs buckled, and I crashed hard to the floor.

Focusing solely on my breathing, I gradually pushed myself back up, but the injuries throbbed more intensely today, and I couldn't take another step. I sank back onto the bed.

The red wine, strawberries, and an assortment of sauces on the tray caught my eye, but I realized I couldn't swallow anything. I felt only nausea. Everything reminded me of Amelia's lifeless body, and I couldn't shake the image from my mind.

I couldn't run to the bathroom, my foot betrayed me once again, and I ended up pouring my throat out onto the polished tiled floor.

By the time the doctor arrived, I was lying exhausted on the cold floor, my breathing labored and hot, my body drenched in sweat. I felt numb, unable to move.

Suddenly, strong arms lifted me, and that was all I remembered before a sharp sting pierced my flesh, leaving me wincing until my eyes fluttered closed.

***

"She will be okay but needs to eat," someone suggested.

"Okay," another voice agreed.

"I'll check on her later," followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.

I felt the bed sink beside me, and fingers began to examine my wrist cautiously. I immediately recognized him; we had been in such close proximity that I could identify the smell of his cologne. My eyes flew open, and I recoiled, staring at him.

"You had a mild fever break, but you're going to be okay. You need to eat and get some rest," he said. Still, there was no flicker of emotion in his eyes.

I remained silent, finding no words for him. Nothing would change his mind, so no negotiation was necessary. I was a hostage. That was my reality.

He lifted another tray filled with food and set it on the bed. As he prepared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, my favorite, I watched him, captivated by the simplicity of the moment for him.

"Here! Eat this," he commanded.

Instead, I refused. "Can I have water?" I asked, my eyes aiming at the glass cup on the tray.

He regarded me for a few moments before handing me a cup of fresh water. I gulped down the entire thing down my parched throat and asked for more.

His gaze never left me as he complied and refilled the cup.

I rejected everything he offered, and for a moment, I thought I saw concern flicker in his eyes. Like he cared. Probably to have me healthy when he kills me.

I still hadn't eaten anything when he picked me up in his arms and carried me to the bathroom. I avoided his intense gaze as he set me down on the toilet.

"Can I have some privacy, please?" I requested weakly.

He turned around and walked out of the room, leaving me alone.

When I finished, he helped me back to the bed. I didn't understand his behavior today, I sensed he was up to something. Maybe he was planning to kill me so he was giving me gentle treatment, like how prisoners get their last meal before they're executed. Now, I was terrified.

I couldn't look at him. God knows I hated him more than I had ever hated anything in my life. I knew I was sitting just feet away from a murderer.

"I'm sorry I'm late, but my mom's a pain in the ass. As you know, she made me bake seventy cupcakes for her customers. I wonder what someone would do with seventy cupcakes. Right?" A girl around my age scampered through the door, babbling about her life. She wore an orange jumper and carried a backpack over her shoulder.

"Glad you made it," my kidnapper said to the girl.

"So, this is Cheryl?" She stood with her hands on her hips, scrutinizing me, like the experiment I was.

"Yup," he nodded, also staring at me like I was his product. I felt utterly alone and frightened at that moment. The sudden urge to hug myself surged through me before I could stop it.

"Don't worry, go do your thing. We'll manage here," she smiled at me.

That's when I swallowed hard. I knew I was helpless. He had recruited someone on his side.