Hunted in the Dark

by Stacia Stone

  “No… no… no… please.” I’m crying so hard that tears have completely obscured my vision. Words come out of me like gibberish because I have no idea what I’m even saying. I can’t think past the terror. “Stop, please.”

  “I like the way you beg.” Jason’s chest presses hard against mine as he leans over me. Each word strikes my cheek on a hot rush of air. “Let me hear some more.”

  I just stare up at the plastic mask. I don’t want to call it a face. His eyes are sunk into shadows, but I can feel their intensity like something physical. He wants me to beg before he kills me.

  Freddy’s hands tighten on my bare thighs, just under the line of my shorts. They seem larger than hands should feel and each finger digs hard enough to leave an individual indent in my skin.

  “You want to hear her beg?” he says to the others on a laugh that chills me to very marrow of my bones. “Give me five minutes and all she’ll know how to do is beg.”

  “No!” I twist uselessly under the weight of their bodies. Why can’t they just kill me? It would be better than this game of cat and mouse. “Why are you doing this? Please—"

  “Oh, you can do better than that.” Jason has the knife held up again with the blade resting against my cheek. His thumb strokes across my chin. The gentleness of the movement momentarily shocks me. I just don’t understand what they want. “Give me something good or I’ll let my friend here have his turn.”

  I don’t have to try to cry harder. The fear and confusion is too much for me to hold anything back.

  “I’m begging you, please. Don’t hurt me.” Tears and snot mix together until my face must look like a complete mess. Wetness pools underneath the side of my face that he has pressed into the rough floor. A fine layer of grit and dust abrades my cheek. “I’ll do anything you want. Please. Please!”

  His eyes float inches above mind, inscrutable gaze shrouded in the shadows of the mask. The knife presses closer to my cheek. I tense in anticipation of the inevitable pain of it slicing through my skin. The moment feels frozen in time as I wait for him to do whatever it is that he plans to do.

  Our gazes never break as the edge of the blade presses slowly into my skin. I stare up at him, trying to imbue as much fear into my eyes as I possibly can since that what they all seem to want.

  A sort of energy passes between us that I can’t describe. But it’s like something inside for each of us recognizes the other.

  To my surprise, he pulls the knife away. I tense as he shifts his body, but he’s moving off of me and away.

  A third man, wearing a mask to make him look like Michael Myers from Halloween, steps partway into the small circle of light. A video camera is held in his hands, the little red light on top a steady glow in the shadows.

  “Did we get enough?” Jason asks as he stands.

  The other man holds out the camera and Jason takes it. The light blinks off as his finger move over the key pad. I can tell from the moving pattern of light shining on his face that he’s rewinding the footage. And then I hear my own voice, plaintive and reedy from fear. Please don’t hurt me!

  What the hell is going on?

  Freddy Krueger — it’s easiest to think of them as the masks they’re wearing and he’s definitely the scariest — still hovers over my legs. His fingers cruelly tighten and release on my thighs. The movement wouldn’t be so frightening if it weren’t for the malevolence rolling off of him in waves. When I turn to look at him, cold blue eyes are fixed on me and staring.

  “Get off her.” Jason’s voice is calmer and less menacing than it was before. “We’ve got what we need.”

  Freddy’s fingers tighten again on my skin until an involuntary gasp of pain escapes from my lips. For one terrifying moment, I don’t think he’s going to listen. But then he slowly backs away, his gaze never breaking from mine.

  His face is completely covered by the mask, but I swear I can see the threatening grin on his face. “Maybe next time.”

  Jason hands the camera back to Michael. “Anyone ever tell you not to play with your food?”

  “Anyone ever tell you not to name the pig that’s about to go to slaughter.”

  “Go get back on the police scanner. I’ll let you know if we need anything in here.”

  Freddy jerks his head at Michael. “Why can’t he listen to the police scanner?”

  “Because he’s gonna upload the video. And I’m telling you to do it.”

  Freddy looks like he wants to say something else, maybe. I never realized until this moment how much harder it is to understand a conversation without facial expressions. But I’m happy they’ve got the masks on. If they were planning on killing me, then they wouldn’t care if I saw their faces.

  I don’t understand what’s going on. But I also don’t want to ask any questions and draw more attention to myself.

  Freddy stands, every line of his body tense with threat. For a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to refuse. All I want is for him to leave and never come back. He’s clearly the one that I have to worry about. But he turns without another word and stomps away.

  Michael moves back into the shadows, his hands playing at the controls of the camera.

  There’s an obvious hierarchy among them. I’m just glad that the one in charge is the one who doesn’t seem to want to literally rape me to death. Freddy is another story. I’ve never felt such deliberate threat from someone I don’t know. What did I ever do to make him hate me so much?

  I flinch when Jason bends over me, but he’s just unlocking the handcuffs at my wrists. They clatter to the floor, but I stay frozen in place until he moves back to squat on the floor a few feet away.

  Carefully, I shift into a sitting position as my sore muscles scream in protest. It feels like I’ve been hit by a freight train. My legs are still shackled to the next steel beam, and it takes several minutes for me to struggle around it until I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  Jason watches me, but doesn’t make any move to help. I’m grateful for that because I don’t want any of them touching me.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  I just stare at him, completely unsure what to say. I don’t understand what sort of game he’s playing. Ten minutes ago he was threatening to kill me and now he’s playing host like I’m a welcome houseguest.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Maybe I’d hear reassurance in his voice or see it on his face if it wasn’t for the voice synthesizer and mask. But right now, I’m not buying it. This whole thing is just too confusing — and terrifying.

  “I don’t understand what you want,” I say finally. “Why am I here?”

  He reaches to the side, just outside the circle of light. Then he leans back towards me holding a greasy bag from some fast-food joint.

  “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” he asks complacently.

  “No.”

  He tosses a cold hamburger into my lap. I look down at it without moving to pick it up. Somehow, the way he’s acting now bothers me more than the terrifying threats from before. What is this?

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “That’s not the plan, at the moment.” Jason watches me steadily before his gaze slides away. “Not if you cooperate.”

  I swallow past the hard knot in my throat. “Cooperate with what?”

  “That depends on your father.”

  “If it’s money you want, my father will pay it.” Although he would have been better off picking someone else. My dad’s cattle ranch is successful, but we’re not rich enough for me to be an ideal candidate for ransom.

  “I don’t want money.”

  My heart starts to beat harder inside of my chest. “Then what do you want?”

  His voice is soft, even with the synthesizer. “You should eat.”

  I unwrap the burger with trembling fingers. When I take a bite, it tastes like dust in my mouth. He just watches me eat for several minutes. His scrutiny is intense but impersonal, like I’m an in
teresting laboratory specimen under a microscope.

  The fear has been replaced by a pervasive numbness. It’s as if my emotional center has been so overwhelmed by constantly alternating fear and relief that I can’t feel anything else. It makes me bold enough to ask the questions that I probably shouldn’t.

  “What are you going to use that video you made for?”

  He holds his hand out for the wrapper that I have balled up in my fist. “Are you finished?”

  “You have to tell me something.”

  He’s on me so fast that I only have time to put up my hands to ward off a blow. He grabs my wrists in one hand and uses the other to scoop up the fallen handcuffs from the ground. He secures them around my wrists with the efficiency of long practice and the catch trips into place before I have a chance to react. The handcuffs trap my hands around the girder behind me.

  But he doesn’t move away from me, even once I’m trapped. He against me hard enough that each breath he takes forces the muscled wall of his chest into my ribcage. The mask is inches from my face, close enough that I can smell the acrid chemical odor of the plastic.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.” His hands are still wrapped around my wrists from where he secured the handcuffs. So we’re caught in a harsh parody of an embrace.

  “Ss...stop.” I know there’s no camera this time. My heart beats hard enough in my chest that I’m sure he can feel it. “Please.”

  “You’ve seen me be mean and you’ve seen me be nice.” The voice changer makes him sound alien — like something inhuman. “You should think about which one you like better before you start talking.”

  I know I should be scared. And I am. But I can’t help but notice the heat emanating off him like there’s a furnace burning inside of him instead of blood and bone. The muscles of his chest are hard and tight against me and I can’t help but wonder what he looks like under his shirt.

  The thought is sick and I quickly shove it aside. This is my kidnapper, I remind myself. But even that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could see what’s underneath the mask.

  “Why are you doing this?” I’m ashamed at how soft and breathy my voice sounds. “What do you want from me?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” He tips his head to the side and leans in close enough that the cool plastic of the hockey mask lightly kisses my skin. “You smell nice.”

  I don’t understand what he’s trying to do. He’s terrifying, but strangely compelling. Because now I’m thinking that he smells good too, not fake like oppressive cologne or deodorant named after a mythical creature. He smells like a mix of sweat and sawdust. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

  One of his hands slides up my arm, the tips of his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my skin. A curl of desire grows in the pit of my stomach and I hate myself for it. What is wrong with me? I don’t even know what he looks like or how old he is. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m tied up and he can do whatever he wants to me. Some sick part of my brain has imagined this exact situation as a fantasy. Of course, there’s a huge difference between fantasy and reality.

  He’s just trying to scare you, I tell myself. He’s trying to keep you off-balance. Don’t let him do it.

  The hair that springs up from the edge of his mask is cut slightly longer on top, but shaved short on the sides. It sort of looks like the way a policeman would wear it.

  “Were you a cop?” I ask.

  He jerks back like he’s been shocked with a bolt of electricity. His dark eyes glare down at me from behind the mask. I feel a small jolt of pleasure at the direct hit. I’ve always been good at reading people. It’s just what happens when you spend more time observing your environment than interacting with it.

  “You keep flapping your tongue like this and I’m going to have to cut it out.”

  I don’t flinch, even as a shiver of fear works its way down my spine. It’s obvious he needs me alive for something. The room I’m in has no windows, so it’s impossible to guess how much time has elapsed since I was taken. But it’s clear that they could have killed me a hundred times already, if they wanted to. That realization makes me bolder than it probably should.

  “Just do whatever you’re going to do or leave me alone.”

  He snorts with what almost sounds like amusement. “I can’t decide if you’re brave or stupid. Maybe a little of both.”

  I don’t feel brave, just pushed far past the limits of what I can bear. Maybe that’s the same as stupidity.

  He reaches behind his back and pulls a gun from his waistband. He doesn’t aim at me but holds it up so it’s directly in the line of my vision.

  “You’re going to be a good girl, now. And shut the fuck up while we do what we have to do.” There’s no mistaking the threat in his voice, even as the synthesizer messes with timbre and pitch. “Otherwise, I’m putting one between your eyes. Understand?”

  I bow my head in answer, too terrified to respond with words. He gets up and retreats beyond the halo of brightness from the work light on the floor. I hear a door slam somewhere off in the distance, but I can’t be completely sure.

  It seems like we’re playing a game and I’m the only one who doesn’t know the rules.

  Chapter 5

  “So you get to fuck with her and I don’t. Where’s the fairness in that?”

  Savage jumps down my throat the minute I walk into the operations room. He must have seen me with the girl.

  “I thought I told you go listen to the police band,” I growl in response, hoping to distract him.

  “I am.” He gestures to the little earpiece in his ear that’s attached to a portable radio. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I move past him toward the table covered in computer equipment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play with me, man.” Savage follows close enough on my heels that he barrels into me when I stop at the table. “If you get to mess with her head then I can, too. Let me make her scream.”

  “No!” I don’t want to think bout what would happen to the girl if I let Savage get ahold of her for more than a few minutes. “Nobody’s messing with her.”

  “That’s not what it looked like. Just give me an hour. We’ll send her back to the senator broken and bleeding. It’ll serve the bastard right.”

  Savage would turn all of his hatred for the senator against the man’s daughter if he could. “Nobody’s touching her.”

  “Except you, right sir?” He spits the title out like it’s a curse and it almost is. I don’t have the right to lead anyone anymore.

  “Get the fuck out of my face.”

  “I saw you all over her in there.” He presses close against my shoulder, eyes glaring into mine. The Freddy Krueger mask is pulled off his face but the strap still hangs around his neck and it bumps off his chest as lunges forward, hitting my arm. “You gonna break a little piece off for yourself before we send her back?”

  Savage is annoying the hell out of me, but that might be because part of me recognizes the truth in his words. I have no idea what the hell I was doing with that girl. I scared her on purpose in the beginning because we need something good for the video we’re sending to the senator. Something that would get him to see just how serious we are that doesn’t involve cutting off the girl’s finger.

  I was nice afterward because I didn’t see a point to keeping an innocent girl scared for her life without reason. But all those questions were annoying as hell. And some dark part of me liked seeing her scared and off-balance. The fear in her voice and all the tension coiled up in that hot little body — it was a turn-on.

  I’m no fucking better than Savage.

  Because I do want her, at least I can admit that to myself. There’s something about a woman who’s a little desperate and scared that just does it for me.

  It’s sick, but there it is.

  Something about the girl makes me wants to get close to her, to push harder and harder until she falls over the edge.

>   Maybe Savage isn’t the one that needs a short lease. When I handcuffed the girl to that metal girder and pressed up against her, none of the thoughts running through my head could be described as innocent. I was thinking about how vulnerable she was, wondering if all of her skin is as soft as the little bit I had my hands on.

  Wondering if the hitch in her breathing and the frantic beat of her heart were just from fear or if some part of her felt it too.

  I push the thoughts away with an effort as Savage continues to glare at me. The sooner we can get the information we need from the senator and get rid of this girl, the better.

  Frost is bent over the computer on the table.

  “Did you get the video out?” I ask him.

  “About twenty minutes ago.” He doesn’t look up from the scrolling text on the screen. “It should show up as a message on his phone, along with our demands.”

  “Untraceable?”

  The barest ghosts of a smile twists his lips. “Obviously.”

  “How will we get his answer?”

  “When, or if, he responds to the message, it should route to the computer here. I’ve set up as many security protocols as I can, but we’re still taking a huge risk here.”

  I look over his shoulder but the lines of code might as well be gibberish. “What do you mean… if?”

  “Remember what we’re talking about here — treason, war crimes, a massive cover-up. Are we sure the senator is willing to implicate himself in all that, even to save his daughter?”

  “If he’s not, then we’re in trouble.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the table. “And so is she.”

  Frost leans back from the computer and turns his solemn gaze onto me. “We have to be prepared for whatever comes next.”

  “We are.”

  “I mean… we have to be prepared to do whatever it takes. Would you kill that girl in there if you had too?”

  My hand balls into an involuntary fist, but I force myself to relax. “How would killing the senator’s daughter get us closer to finding Kidd?”