“That was an accident,” he said, pacing the floor. “They were supposed to stay in the bunker where I left ’en. Carrie was on the floor in the living room when I set the fire. I didn’t know Ashley and Adam had gone back into the house through the basement.” He stood by the bed, reliving a memory she couldn’t see. “They were in the window, staring at me, crying. Soon as I opened the front door, the goddamn house went up like a pack of matches.”
“Then you’re right. It was an accident.”
Sarge stared off into space. “She wanted to take them away. They always wanna leave me. That’s why I have to kill them.”
“No you don’t,” she argued, straining against the ropes.
After a long pause, he let out a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe they’ll stay now that I found them a mama.” He noticed her shocked expression. “You said you’d do anything for your boy.”
“You expect me to live here?”
“We’ll be one big happy family.”
“The children won’t be happy. Why won’t you let them go?”
The look he gave her was deadly. “Because they’re mine!”
He stomped to the dresser, grabbed the gas can. “And I won’t let you or anyone try and take ’en away from me, Carrie. If I can’t have them, no one will. Ever!” He twisted off the cap and the scent of gas quickly permeated the air.
Sadie knew her time had just run out. He was going to burn her alive if she didn’t agree to be a mother to the children he had abducted. But he’d have to let her go to do that, she reasoned, which meant maybe she could escape. With the children.
“Okay!” she cried out. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“And what might that be exactly?”
“I-I’ll take care of them. I’ll be their… m-mother.”
A satisfied look crossed his face. “You’ll be more than that.”
Sarge recapped the gas can and placed it back on the dresser. Without a word, he removed the heavy winter jacket and kicked off his boots. Then he peeled off his clothes and approached the bed.
“Let’s seal the deal then.”
33
Sarge stood before her, his body covered in dense black hair, interrupted by old battle scars and faded tattoos. Between his legs dangled a half-erect, pale worm.
Terror suffocated her when she saw his growing arousal. She wanted to look away. But she couldn’t.
“No! I said I’d stay, look after them—”
“Me and them.” He gripped her chin. “You’ll look after all of us.”
“Please,” she whispered.
He stroked his arousal eagerly, his heavy-lidded eyes drifting shut for a moment. “Sure I’ll please ya. You’ll be begging for more by the time I’m done. Then I’ll tell you where he is. Your kid.”
“Tell me where Sam is first.”
“Not until you gimme what I want.”
Horror engulfed her when he reached out with his free hand and fondled her breasts beneath the bra. She shivered uncontrollably, realizing she had no choice. He was going to rape her. And she had to let him. It was the only way to get the gun.
It’s only sex. It doesn’t mean a thing.
He tugged aside the bra, his mouth latching onto her nipple.
Sadie wanted to curl up and die. She wanted to throw up, scream with rage. She longed to beat him with her hands, claw out his eyes, kick him in the balls—anything to keep him away from her.
Instead, she forced herself to remain still, unresponsive.
Tap, tap.
Her eyes locked on the crow. It was still in the window.
“What the hell do you want?” she shrieked.
“I wanna fuck you,” Sarge replied, biting her breast.
She cried out in agony.
With a grunt, he stretched out on top of her. The coarse hair on his chest scratched her delicate skin and his weight crushed her.
This isn’t happening, she told herself. This is a nightmare. You drank too much, passed out.
Sarge lowered his face close to hers and she could smell the foulness of his rancid breath. Everything about him smelled like disease—putrid… evil. He groped between her legs and she whimpered and automatically clenched her thighs, desperate to close everything off from him.
Gain his trust, Sadie. Get him to untie you. Then get the gun.
“If you remove the—”
A fist connected with her face. “Shut the fuck up! I know how to do this.”
Stunned, she went limp. This was no drunken dream.
Again, he fumbled.
She drew in an agonized breath. “I can help you.”
His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits, but he said nothing.
“I need to put my legs up,” she said, biting her lip until she tasted blood. “I’ll make it good for you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“So you won’t hurt Sam. Or the others.”
“Just for them?”
“No! For you too.” She tried to smile. “And me. I haven’t had good s-sex… in a long time.”
He contemplated the lie. “If you try anything, I’ll make you suffer. Then I’ll kill him.” He flicked the photo of Sam that sat on the nightstand and it toppled over. “You got that?”
“Yes,” she said. “But there’s one problem.”
He eyed her warily. “What?”
“The bed is too soft. I need everything… hard.”
There was a salacious gleam in his eyes. “The floor, then.”
He climbed off her and untied the ropes. Once she was free, she stretched cautiously and covered her breasts, until she saw his angry expression.
“It’s cold in here,” she murmured.
“I’ll heat you up.”
She bit back a reply. Easing herself to a sitting position, she flexed her limbs. “My hands and feet are numb. Give me a minute to get my circulation back and get warm.”
He snickered and thrust his hips toward her. “You could warm this up.”
If she hesitated any longer, Sarge would have her doing something revolting. Not that the alternative was any more pleasant, but at least she’s have a chance to get the gun.
It was her only chance.
You can do this, Sadie. For Sam. For the others.
“I’m going to put the bedspread on the floor,” she mumbled, conscious of his fiery gaze on every part of her body.
He licked his lips, then nodded. “Hurry up.”
She grabbed the bedspread and watched it settle on the floor.
“Let me straighten it,” she said, praying she could get to the gun in time.
She knelt on the blanket.
That was the wrong thing to do.
Sarge dropped to the floor behind her, pressed up against her and shoved her forward until her face hit the blanket. She blinked, stunned and gasping for air.
Then she saw it.
The gun box.
It was tucked under the bed, inches away from her left hand.
“Now that’s a sight to see,” Sarge said. “You’ll make a good mama.”
When he stroked her raised buttocks, she bit her tongue hard to keep from screaming. She reached out—fingers flexed—and slid her hand under the bed.
“Don’t move ’less I tell ya to!” he snarled, cuffing the back of her head. “Now, be a good little doggy.”
“Wait!” she cried. “Let me turn over.”
Her hand bumped against the gun box. She curled her fingers over it and slid the top open. Once she touched cool metal, her heart soared. She clenched the gun in her hand, then carefully withdrew it and cradled it under her chest.
“Give me what I want!” Sarge commanded.
She fingered the gun. “You owe me something first.”
“What?”
“Tell me where Sam and Cortnie are.”
“Dunno.”
“Yes you do. And you’re going to tell me.”