He clearly thought he’d already won, and his sadistic arrogance filled her with rage.
“I fought because having your revolting body on top of mine is a fate worse than death,” she spat, tugging as hard as she could on the leg of the TV stand to gain traction, the muscles in her arms screaming, the bone in her ankle screaming, too. It was worth it, however, because she managed to pull herself forward the two inches she needed to reach her goal.
He was so focused on her legs, on trying to pull her back to him as he yanked at her clothing, that he didn’t see her fingers slip around the handle of the knife.
She knew she’d have only one shot at this, only one chance to plunge the blade into his thick flesh. If she messed this up, he would win. And that was something she absolutely couldn’t let happen.
“I don’t give a damn what you feel about me, just as long as you scream when I get my pleasure,” he growled.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been taunting him, because his rage was reaching new levels, but it was distracting him, and she needed that.
Her pants ripped under the intensity of his grip. The sound excited him, and he pulled harder, drawing her backward, now fully within his grasp.
He scrambled up her body, and slammed his fist against the side of her head, making her see stars. Jesse had one hell of a punch; he’d knocked her out more than once in the past. It took everything in her not to black out right then. If that happened, she’d lose all chance of escape.
So, okay, one chance, she told herself, and when he flipped her over onto her back and hovered over her, spittle dripping from his mouth and landing on her chest, she thrust the knife upward and twisted, not aiming, no strategy in mind except to wound him, to push him away.
“What the fu –?”
His sentence ended in a pained grunt when the blade sank deep into his stomach, and he began to collapse on her. With the last remaining ounce of strength left in her, Misty shoved against him, and he rolled onto his side, giving her just enough room to drag herself away.
He screamed as he twisted and flopped over onto his back, then reached down and pulled the blade free, making blood spew from the wound.
Misty thought it was all over for her. She had only wounded him, not stopped him. Now he was probably going to carve her up and then do unimaginable things to her as she lay there dying, unable to fight back.
Tears sprang to her eyes when she leapt to her feet, but she ignored the pain in her left ankle as she stumbled from the living room and searched for the front door. There had to be a way out.
Jesse started to rise, then collapsed to the floor, groaning, while blood oozed from the deep wound. Maybe she’d done enough; maybe she’d make it out of this hell.
“You’ll pay…” he cried, but he fell again as he tried to get to his feet.
It was now or never. If she didn’t get out of this house, he was going to do whatever it took to kill her. This wasn’t a game to him anymore. This wasn’t about violating her body. This was now revenge because she’d managed to hurt him — and no woman was allowed to hurt Jesse, not to his way of thinking.
Limping down a hall, she finally found the door to the outside, freed the locks, and managed to wrench it open despite the blackness threatening to overpower her.
“Help, please,” she called out, trying to scream just in case anyone was within hearing distance, but her voice came out as little more than a squeak. Stumbling off the rickety porch, she made it only about twenty feet from the house before she fell to the ground.
She should have gone back for her phone, but it was too late now. There was no way she’d go back inside. Her frustration mounted as she moved away from the porch light and the eerie darkness swallowed her.
She — and Jesse — were indeed in the middle of nowhere. Crawling on her hands and knees, she found a woodshed and struggled around it, then collapsed.
Her will to live was great — but the pain was unbearable. Her only hope was that Jesse wouldn’t get back up, and that her call had gone through. Bryson would be her last thought before unconsciousness pulled her under.
She wondered what it would be like if, despite everything, the two of them could live happily ever after, if they could forget about the case, about the fight, about everything but each other.
If Jesse got back to his feet and found her, she’d never know…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bryson’s phone rang and he glanced down, then felt his heart stop momentarily. He hit the button and was about to shout into the microphone. That’s when he heard Jesse’s voice in the background, a voice that would haunt him the rest of his life. He’d spent hour upon hour watching the scumbag on video surveillance, and in the interrogation room when they’d brought him in, and he knew that ugly voice intimately.
Though he’d already known that the bastard had her, it hadn’t fully sunk in until the sound of that man’s voice came through the phone. He knew better than to say anything, knew she’d most likely hidden the phone, knew he mustn’t give away the fact that she had a phone on her, but it still took everything inside him not to shout, not to order Jesse to leave her alone.
Hitting mute so that no sound would transmit through her line, he tore into a gas station, nearly wiping out the fuel dock in his hurry. Leaving the SUV running, he dashed inside.
“Give me your phone now!” he shouted to the terrified young man attending the register.
“I’m not allowed to,” he stuttered.
“I don’t have time for this,” Bryson snapped. He leapt over the counter, pushed the kid aside, and reached below the counter, dialing the number he had memorized.
“I need a cell phone tracked right now,” Bryson said as soon as the call was picked up.
“Yes, sir.” It took only minutes, but those precious minutes felt like hours. Once he had the address, he called in every favor he had owing to him.
“Get them there now!”
With that, he hung up and rushed from the store. Entering the address on his navigation system seemed to take forever, and he realized his fingers were shaking.
Bryson paused and took a breath, then held out his hand. Okay, he was calm. She would take care of herself and he would get there in time.
He was about twenty minutes away according to his navigation system. Slamming the gearshift into drive, he tore out of the gas station and rushed through traffic, pulling around speeding cars as if they were standing still.
His mind whirled as he whipped around corners, and he took the turn onto the gravel road at nearly seventy miles an hour, sending the SUV into a spin. Not smart. Working with the gas and wheel, he managed to straighten the vehicle out, but he let up a little on the gas. He couldn’t get to her if he crashed, and if he blocked the road with an overturned vehicle, the other responders wouldn’t get to her either.