Get it over with.
I pulled the key from my pocket.
I opened the door.
I stepped inside to face my enemy.
CHAPTER NINE
MY EYES COULDN’T GET used to the harsh brightness of the screaming light bulb above me. White haze danced over my sight, obscuring the barren cell that I’d woken in.
I didn’t know how long I’d been locked in the dark, but it’d been long enough to have to use the bucket I’d found in the corner and drink out of the tap like some trapped animal.
Unlike earlier today, when I’d complained of being overly dressed and too hot, now I was grateful for my windbreaker and layers.
It was cold.
Very cold.
Damp and deep, seeping into my bones and making me shiver.
I’d like to say I attempted to escape—that I pounded my fists on the door and clawed at the walls for a weak spot—but my head ached so badly that I’d dry-heaved when I’d first exploded back into consciousness.
My throat burned. My neck was swollen and sore to the touch. Bruises throbbed over my shoulders and back from thrashing beneath his hands.
And my knife was missing.
Flashes of being strangled kept torturing me.
Pieces of him chasing me, killing me, and then leaving me to rot in this place.
God, the images wouldn’t stop.
The only comfort I had was my personal locator beacon. My cell phone was utterly useless, the screen lighting up the stagnant dark when I’d checked my leggings pockets and found both devices still there.
I had to admit, I’d been shocked that he hadn’t taken them off me. Why had he taken my blade and compass but not my PLB or phone?
Had he believed he’d killed me and just stored my body down here to decay? Or was his intention to keep me alive and his captive? In which case, why permit me to keep the very things that might enable me to escape?
Who was he?
Why had he been naked?
Why had he chosen to hurt me before I’d even explained why I was in his house?
With fear coursing through me, I’d used my time as his prisoner wisely. After taking care of my needs and drinking what I could around my bruised throat, I settled back against the wall and confirmed my phone was of no use in my current no-reception predicament.
Doing my best to stay strong and smart, I turned it off to conserve the battery.
That hurt.
It slashed at my heart to watch the glow of communication die in my hand, cutting me off from my brother, my fellow climbers, my life.
You’ll survive this. You’ll see.
Wrapping those brave words around me, I pulled out my PLB. The black piece of technology was cumbersome and weighty. So many times I’d been tempted to put it in my backpack instead of stretching my legging pocket with its bulk.
But now, sitting in a cold puddle in a wretchedly dark cell, I cried tears of gratefulness.
This tiny black device would save my life. It was a gift.
Salty droplets tracked down my cheeks as I pulled out the antenna, flicked open the case, and pressed the button.
I’d hoped for a light to flash. Some announcement that my signal for help had been received, but it remained exactly as it had been. Cold and immune to my terror.
Vaguely, I recalled the shopkeeper giving me a lesson on it when I’d bought it years ago. He said it was a one-way street. The signal would be sent out, but no acknowledgment of it being received would be sent back.
The anxiety that granted wasn’t fair.
Had it worked?
Will they come for me?
All I knew was I had to keep it serviced, check the batteries regularly, and be prepared to wait a few days for rescue. Satellites needed to make two passes minimum to confirm my location, and that was only if it had direct access to the starry sky.
Who knew if GPS could track me down here, in a stone basement in the middle of nowhere? The not knowing and lack of confirmation were the worst torments imaginable as hours ticked onward and the chill in my bones solidified to ice crystals.
I felt like I’d shatter from stress and shivering.
I rocked against the wall. I crawled around the perimeter until I found a blanket that itched and prickled. I bundled myself up and did my best not to slip deeper into fear.
Tears prickled my hazy stare as the bright lightbulb flickered above me, bringing my jumpy attention back to the present. The bulb seemed to glow brighter, glinting off the antenna of the PLB, mocking me.
Will someone come?
Or am I on my own?
Pressure built in my already sore throat. My pulse shot skyward, sending blood to pound in my fingertips and toes.
Why had the lights come on?
Was he coming?
What is he going to do?
My mother was wrong.
I wasn’t blessed.
Not anymore.
I’d made a stupid, stupid choice. A choice that’d totally derailed my safety and success and left me alone, in pain, and—
The door clanged as if something heavy bashed against it, followed by the screech of metal pulling through metal.
Stand up.
Stand up!
Scurrying to my feet, swaying as light-headedness caught me, I blinked in panic.
The door opened.
I braced myself against the wall, tilting my chin and balling my hands. My knees quaked, and nausea bubbled in my belly. I was weak and lost and dreadfully afraid.
I’d always thought I’d be brave when faced with danger. I’d never shied away from risk and received praise from my self-defense teacher. I even remembered bragging to my good friend Katie, from my local bouldering gym, that I would beat up any man before he could touch me. If I could master stone, I could master men.
How wrong I’d been.
How stupidly, awfully wrong.
This wasn’t just a man. He wasn’t some overweight jerk on the street. He wasn’t some nerd from an online dating site. He was...feral.
Don’t be weak, Gem.
Get ready to fight.
I held my breath as he stalked into the small cell, his bare feet whispering over dank concrete. Unlike when I’d first seen him, he wasn’t naked. The shirt he wore looked as if he’d crawled through caves and gotten into a fight with thorns, and his slacks weren’t much better. The cuffs were torn around his ankles, ragged and discolored with dirt. His long hair had been scraped back to his nape, and his skin once again glittered with scars.
Thick ones, fine ones, crisscross ones, and ones that looked like round pennies along his jaw. Each wound had lost the redness of healing and turned silvery with age. His pain wasn’t recent. Whatever he’d lived through was in the past, but it’d scarred his soul as well as his body.
Needing oxygen, I sucked in a shaky breath as he closed the door behind him. He didn’t have a common scent. Once again, a faint whisper of rivers and woods entered my nose. He seemed to have adopted the earthiness, the ivy sharpness, and the fragrant subtleness of the valley’s neglected wildflowers.
He made a show of inserting a key into his pocket before crossing the small space and stopping a few feet from me.
He didn’t speak.
I didn’t speak.
I hated that my fight had fled before I’d even tried. That curse words and shouted slurs for my freedom remained stubbornly out of reach. If he hadn’t talked to me when he’d strangled me, I would’ve been adamant he wouldn’t understand me.
It wasn’t that he looked uneducated or not smart enough to converse, more like he was above such practices. The way he watched me spoke of an undomesticated creature who didn’t use words often. His wildness and aura of viciousness hinted that he hadn’t been around another human in a very, very long time. Perhaps so long, he’d forgotten he was human himself.