Locked In: No Way Out Series - Book One

by Ryan, Shari J.

  Locked In

  No Way Out Series - Book One

  Shari J. Ryan

  Copyright © 2019 by Shari J. Ryan

  Edition 2

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  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Edited by: Barb Shuler, Emily Maynard, Lisa Brown

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  I. Locked In - Book One

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  II. Locked Out - Book Two

  13. Chapter One

  14. Chapter Two

  15. Chapter Three

  16. Chapter Four

  17. Chapter Five

  18. Chapter Six

  19. Chapter Seven

  20. Chapter Eight

  21. Chapter Nine

  22. Chapter Ten

  23. Chapter Eleven

  24. Chapter Twelve

  25. Chapter Thirteen

  III. Unlocked - Book Three

  26. Chapter One

  27. Chapter Two

  28. Chapter Three

  29. Chapter Four

  30. Chapter Five

  31. Chapter Six

  32. Chapter Seven

  33. Chapter Eight

  34. Chapter Nine

  35. Chapter Ten

  36. Chapter Eleven

  37. Chapter Twelve

  38. Chapter Thirteen

  39. Chapter Fourteen

  40. Chapter Fifteen

  41. Chapter Sixteen

  42. Chapter Seventeen

  43. Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Shari

  Acknowledgments

  To all readers who have offered ideas and feedback for this book, you mean the world to me. I enjoyed creating this story week by week, and I looked forward to releasing the episodes every Friday. Your support is what keeps me going, and what has given me the motivation to continue this story following this book. Thank you all for everything you have done and continue to do.

  Barb Shuler and Emily Maynard, thank you for your support and assistance with the polishing of this book.

  Lisa Brown, thank you for being a huge asset to craft of this story as well as ironing out many details I missed along the way.

  Lori McGeown, thank you for always being my sidekick and early reader. You’re pretty much the best sister in the world.

  Mom, thank for your support and advice throughout this process. I hope this book has made you proud.

  Josh, sorry for the nightmares about sheds… If you ever see one appear in the backyard, you should run. Love you!

  Bryce and Brayden, please don’t read this until you’re much older. Love you, boys.

  I

  Locked In - Book One

  1

  Chapter One

  Reese

  I don't remember what the grass felt like tickling the bottom of my feet, or the way the sand felt between my toes. I don't remember how cold the snow felt after it had freshly fallen, and I don't remember what it felt like to laugh out loud.

  I remember the day I stopped talking—stopped hearing my voice. It was the day I should have listened to Mom. But I didn't.

  As the sun peeks through the cracks in the wall and the sound of a slight thump echoes against the front door, I push myself up to my feet and slowly pad across the dark cement slab. Silently, I count to thirty—until I know it will be safe, and open the small flap on the bottom of the wooden door. With caution, I reach my hand out, basking in the warmth of the sun as pin-pricking chills crawl up my arm. It's what I want to remember a warm bath felt like.

  My body falls limply to the floor as I steal the extra second of warmth before retrieving my paper bag. With contact, my dry fingers scratch against the paper, gripping around the folded top. "Thank you," I want to tell him. 'Thank you."

  With my bag in hand, I clutch it against my chest as I stand and make my way over to the mattress. Placing it down like a baby in a cradle, I cover it with my sheet to keep safe from the mice and other insects who share this common abode with me.

  I've wondered why I've been kept alive in here. It is by the slimmest means of survival that I have made it through each day since I arrived. I wasn't sure if being here was a form of some sick torture or if Snatcher, as I call him, had a more motivating reason.

  My mind is clear of all thoughts, old and new. My emotions and fears have transplanted into a state of nothingness. Being contained within these four walls has given me a sick sense of safety. Until five days ago, when I learned the reason I'm being kept alive.

  His name is Sin.

  2

  Chapter Two

  REESE

  FIVE DAYS AGO

  The cracks in the wall are only good for letting in the cold during the winter, and the heat in the summer—precisely the opposite of what I always seem to need. I believe it is currently the middle of summer, but the weather here in Chipley seems to be variable. Sometimes when I think it's the middle of winter, we'll have a warm day, and when it's summer, I sometimes swear it feels like hell is freezing over. Where I lived before, we had two seasons: hot and warm. I don't like the cold.

  When I look through the cracks, I see gravel, rocks, and red dirt. I see sprigs of brown grass and large insects. There's one crack on the back wall with a small hole in the middle, and when Snatcher's old, rusty, red pick-up isn't sitting there, I can see the sky. I usually stare at for as long as I can. I'm always hoping the image will burn into my mind and allow me to dream of the color blue rather than the color brown—the color of everything around me. I have been wondering if I might forget what other people look like, but this time as I look through the small hole, a pair of smoky, grey eyes stare back at me. A bit startled, I pull my face away from the hole, allowing myself to see a little more, but I can only see his eyes and his dark shadow-casting brows. They're beautiful, and they aren't Snatcher's. I wonder if this man has looked in through the cracks before.

  "Who are you?" I ask quietly. Seconds go by without an answer, and now he's gone from my view. Please, come back. The door rattles from behind me—the door that hasn't opened in three years. It flies open, carrying in the most beautiful gust of wind. The sensory overload forces me backwards, and I land firmly on my butt. Now staring up at this unfamiliar man, I have the urge to jump up and hug him, purely for the reason of seeing another human being. I don't know why he is there, but I also don't think I care.

  I pull myself up to my feet, feeling quite small in his large presence. His face is covered in thick, black stubble, accenting the light grey color in his eyes. His hair is messy, short, and everywhere. Black smudges cover his white shirt, and his jeans match. As I take in every inch of his appearance, my focus finally meets with his boots. It looks like they may have been brown at one point, but now they are covered in a rusty, reddish-brown color. I hate to think it resembles blood, but it does. I also hate to
think that this amazingly attractive man may only be here to finally do what I had been fearful of Snatcher doing to me over these past three years. Why are they dragging this out?

  "I'm Sin," he says, the deep and hollow sound of his voice pierces through my chest. He looks worn and emotionless with a sort of emptiness behind his eyes—probably the same way I look.

  "Why are you here?" I ask. Bravery has never been my strongest quality, but at this moment, the words just come out. I need to know.

  He takes the few steps that are between us and looks down at me. He must be at least a foot taller. He smells like wood and dirt—maybe just the outdoors. I don't recall such a scent. "You're here and alive because of me, but don't confuse that with me wanting you in here." Has he been watching me? He dips his hand into his pocket, retrieving something that he clutches tightly within his grip. "Happy Birthday, Reese." He reaches his closed hand out to me, waiting for me to take what he's trying to give me. What is it? He knows my name. No one has spoken my name in three years. My birthday. I was taken when I was fifteen, which means today must be my eighteenth birthday. How does he know? I only know three years have past because of the scratch marks I've left on one of the wooden panels beneath my mattress

  "What is it?" I ask before reaching my hand out.

  "An apology on behalf of my father," he says. "I can't let you out, but I can offer you this…"

  My forehead aches as I stare confusingly into his eyes. I unclench my fist and open my hand, cupping it out in front of me. "Please, just help me," I beg.

  "This will help," he says. He places the object into the center of my palm, but I can only feel the contact of his fingertips sweep across my skin. His touch—a touch—it's warm and magnetizing. I don't want him to move. He gently curls my fingers down over the object. "I'm sorry."

  His touch instantly becomes absent; the warmth goes with him. He turns his back toward me and opens the door, allowing in another gust of fresh air. "Will I see you again?" I ask as the door slams shut. The locks click and the gravel beneath his boots crunch until there is nothing more than silence surrounding me. I look down at my hand and uncurl my fingers, revealing what he has given me.

  3

  Chapter Three

  REESE

  I've waited patiently by the hole in the wall. Morning has turned to night five times since Sin left me with what I might have thought to be an imaginary wind of his existence. Except, my hand is now full, and it wasn't five days ago.

  Food continues to appear, but only while I'm giving in to the sleep I've been fighting off. I want to see Sin again. I want to ask him questions. I'm even hopeful for an answer every time I open the food-filled paper bag, but there's nothing other than bread, cheese and turkey. Every day it's bread, cheese, and turkey.

  I uncurl my fingers, feeling the ache web through my palm from keeping my hand clenched so tightly. Running my thumb over the slick metal and all of its fine ridges, I pinch the base between my fingers to study each groove, cut, and angle. Moving the metal from side to side, I see a small, blurry reflection of pale skin staring back at me. I try not to blink, fearful of losing eye contact with the stranger I have become to myself. Sadly, though, when the sunlight shifts away from the hole in the wall, I lose sight of myself.

  I anchor my focus back out of the hole in search for the cloud that has stolen my light, but instead, I see him. Dirt covered knees hit the ground, and an eye looks back at me. "We obviously need to get this hole patched up," Snatcher says quietly under his breath. "Light will keep you sane, and we can't have that."

  "Please let me out," I beg, as I always beg when this man is in the vicinity of my presence.

  A howl of laughter floats through the air outside. "Only your mother can let you out." My mother.

  "Do you know my mother?" I cry. His eye disappears from my view and his dirt covered knee waves by, leaving me with the view of dirt. The sound of his footsteps grow and shrink as if he is walking back and forth, amplifying my fear of what he's going to do next. Anger sears through me like it does several times a day, and I pound my fists against the walls, praying for a crack in one of the boards. With no shoes or hard objects, I'm left with nothing but my weak body parts to help me out of here.

  "Shut up," he screams, his voice sounding as if he swallowed a mouthful of gravel. "Shut up you, you little bitch." The speed of his steps increases. His anger is growing, and I consider what will happen if I push him over the edge. Death does not seem like the worst option anymore. Remaining in this box does.

  I pound my fists harder into the boards, feeling the splinters slice through my knuckles. The wood is distressed in the places I've beaten over the years—above and below each crack and hole I have pounded with all of my strength, but my weakness does little damage.

  With a thud, the barrel of a gun presses through the hole, sealing the spec of light. "How do you know where I'm standing?" I ask calmly. If he shoots and misses me, there might be a new hole for me to look through. "Please, shoot your weapon. I'm standing right in front of it." I stare down at the barrel from the side, waiting for the eruption of metal to break its way through the shed. Minutes pass, however, and nothing but silence blasts through these four walls. "Are you scared?"

  The barrel disappears, allowing the light back in, but I know he's still there. I can hear him breathing. I can hear the heaviness of each one of his breaths. I think I can hear his racing heartbeat too, but that may only be a part of my imagination. "How do you know my mother?" I ask. Mom was, maybe still is, a nurse at the local hospital in the town I used to live in before I was taken. She worked long hours to put food on the table for the two of us, often coming home well after midnight and leaving again before sunrise. She told me life wouldn't always be so challenging, but sacrifices are sometimes needed to survive. We were hardly teetering on the edge of survival. After Dad died, our sacrifices became meals, safety, and warm water. But like she always told me, surrendering is never an option. Fighting is the only way to survive. So I will fight for her.

  "Your mother is a coward. She is weak, stupid, and naïve. She screwed up, and now she's going through what I went through." What he went through.

  "What?" I shout. I shove the heels of my palms into my ears, needing to erase everything I just heard. I slam my head into the wall, clenching my eyes, and grinding my teeth. I hit my head again, and again. "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it," I mutter to myself. I scream through my teeth, tugging at my hair, feeling the snap of a few frail strands. "Just do it, you coward!"

  "You're not locked in here so I can kill you," he seethes. His mouth is so close to the hole; spit sprays from his mouth, wetting the outline of the wooden hole. "This is karma. Sometimes karma needs to be jumpstarted."

  "Maybe you don't understand how karma works then." I unfold my hand once more and grip the key tightly between my fingers. I kneel down putting my face in front of the hole. "You know what?" I ask, pulling in his attention. I don't know what the hell this key is for, seeing as there are no goddamn locks on the inside of this shed, but, I know one thing it can do.

  Baiting him in, his eye lines up with the hole again and I shove the key right through the hole and into his eye.

  The shed shakes, rumbling with growls and obscenities.

  Once more, light returns to the hole and his feet stomp around to the front where the door is. The lock on the outside clatters against the wall and I hold my breath. I close my eyes.

  And I pray for death.

  4

  Chapter Four

  REESE

  Drip. Drop. Drip. Drops of blood trickle down over Snatcher's dirt covered fist as he presses it against his right eye. I exhale slowly through my nose. I'm not afraid. His top lip curls into a snarl as his nostrils flare in and out. In and out. I try not to blink, tremor, or breathe too heavily as I take small steps toward him. I'm not afraid. I force my lips into a tiny grin—bravery will hide my fear—and I take the remaining few steps up to where his shadow begins. I'm not afraid.


  With his free hand, he reaches to his hip, retrieving his gun. He told me he didn't want to kill me, which means he only wants to hurt me—to make me suffer. He points his gun at my face, but I don't think he'll shoot.

  Another shadow covers the light from behind Snatcher, forcing a pause in the action. "What are you doing out here, son?" he shouts. "This ain't anything you need to concern yourself with."

  Son. It's Sin.

  "Don't hurt her," Sin says. His voice is soft and rough just as I remember from the other day.

  "Boy, you really have gone crazy, haven't you now?"

  "Don't hurt her." His calm demeanor is soothing in a way that makes me believe he has power over Snatcher, but I shouldn't be fooled to think such things.