“Where’s Abby?” he asked, shining a flashlight in my eyes to blind me.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s bullshit,” he said, shoving me against the side of the car and patting me down. He found my pepper spray and slowly reached into my pocket to pull it out, lingering just a little too long for comfort. “Such a bad girl, Carly Moore. Now you have to be punished.”
“Somehow I think you’d take any excuse to punish me. That’s what men like you do, right? Punish women for ridiculous things so you can feel like a man?”
I wasn’t prepared for the punch to the side of my head and it hurt like hell, but I realized that he’d held back when he hit me. This was about teaching me that he was in charge, not knocking me out. Nevertheless, my knees buckled, and he shoved me face-first on the asphalt as he zip-tied my arms behind my back, then roughly hauled me to my feet.
“Not so tough now, are you?” he asked with a laugh.
I didn’t answer, mostly because I was trying to figure out what to do. Max would be here any minute. Would he be able to help me or would I get him killed?
Paul shoved me into the backseat of his deputy vehicle, and the next thing I knew, he was pulling away from the shoulder and in the direction of Lula’s property.
When her lane appeared, he turned onto her property, and I started praying that Wyatt really was there because I didn’t want to face this man alone.
He parked his car in front of the house, next to Wyatt’s truck, then turned off the engine, but I noticed he left his keys in the ignition. He got out and opened the back door, giving me a dark leer. “Time to see your ex.”
He wrenched me out of the car and led me to the dilapidated shack that looked even more run-down than it had back in December.
Paul’s foot fell through a floorboard on the porch, and he released his hold on me while he bent down to pry his foot loose.
I took off running.
“You won’t get far,” he called out after me, sounding amused, “and the longer it takes me to catch you, the harsher your punishment will be.”
I heard banging and shouting in the cabin, and for a moment I almost reconsidered my decision to escape—should I try to save Wyatt?—but every instinct I possessed told me to run, which was slowed down by the dark night and my arms bound behind my back.
Sure enough, Paul caught up with me as I reached the edge of the trees.
“Where do you think you’re goin’?” He gave me a push and I fell, my shoulder colliding with a tree trunk before I hit the ground.
Laughing, he bent over and grabbed my ankles, then began to drag me out of the trees, the twigs and fallen branches scraping my stomach and face.
When I was out on clear ground, he rolled me over and loomed over me. “Don’t be difficult.”
But in placing himself over me, he gave me the perfect opening to deliver a vicious kick to his groin, and I didn’t waste any time. He bent over and I sat up, struggling to get to my feet. I’d just made it to my knees when he straightened and kicked my arm, pushing me over.
“You bitch!” he shouted. “You want to play rough? I can play rough.” And he gave me a couple more kicks to prove his point.
He grabbed my arm and jerked me up. “Think you’re clever, huh? We’ll see how clever you are inside.”
Dragging me back to the shack, he cursed me every which way to Sunday, then shoved me through the front door.
I stumbled and fell to my knees, feeling slightly panicked that the room was so dark. I couldn’t see Wyatt, or anything else for that matter.
“Drummond, you let the lantern go out,” Paul said as he shut the door. Using the flashlight on his phone, he walked over to a table and lit a kerosene lantern, casting an amused glance toward the back corner of the room.
I looked that way and saw Wyatt was sitting on the floor next to the bed, his ankles bound with a nylon rope, his arms tied behind him.
Paul turned his attention back to me. “You were supposed to bring that bitch Abby with you. Now where is she?”
“She’s on her way to the sheriff’s department in Ewing,” I said. “She’s looking for Detective White so she can tell her everything you’ve done.”
“You lie,” he spat. “If she was going to turn me in, she would have done it already.”
“She’s tired of living in fear. You’re the reason she came back to Drum, aren’t you?”
“It was too easy. All I have to do is threaten to tell on her, and she does my bidding.”
“You really are a psychopath, aren’t you?” I asked in disgust.
He laughed. “If you think you’re insulting me, guess again.”
His radio squawked, and I heard Marco’s voice. “Where is she?”
Paul grinned, then pushed his radio button. “Out at the overlook.”
But as he spoke, I shouted, “Lula’s shack!”
“Carly?” Marco’s panicked voice cracked over the radio.
Paul gave me another kick, and Wyatt released a guttural sound.
“Where are we supposed to meet?” Marco called out.
Paul pushed me down on the floor and covered my mouth with one hand, reaching for his radio button with the other.
I chomped down on his fingers, hard enough for him to yelp and pull his hand away, and shouted, “Lula’s shack!”
Paul turned off his radio and gave me a murderous gaze.
“Leave her alone, Conrad,” Wyatt said in a bored tone. “She didn’t do anything.”
“Bullshit. She’s done plenty.” He grabbed a length of rope from the table and dragged me over to a support beam. Placing my back against the beam, he wrapped the rope around my chest several times and tied it off, which proved to be difficult since I fought him every step
