DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 9, AUTHOR'S NOTE - 2/8/15, 4:21pm

Okay, so . . . I don't even know where to begin. I have a LOT to report since my last post.

I'd guessed that the cop would come back to get the plate because he's some kind of freaking clean freak, and I was right.

This time, when he asked me to cuff myself to the bed, I didn't do it. I crept to the door as quietly as I could and stood in a position where I'd be concealed behind it when he came in. Then I dropped the key against the door and let it clatter down, indicating that I was dutifully cuffed. I held the heavy ceramic dinner plate tightly in both of my hands.

I caught him completely off guard. He obviously hadn't even suspected that I might try something like this. As soon as he stepped inside, I brought the plate down hard on his skull.

He fell really hard. 

As quickly as I could, I stepped over his legs and out into the hallway.

But that was as far as I got. The cop twisted around and caught me by the ankle, glaring at me with a horrifying look of surprised rage.

In what felt like one quick, violent motion, he grabbed me around the waist and threw my down on the bed.

I tried to squirm free. I started yelling out Kyle's name as loudly as I could, hoping the sound would carry through the still-open door. The cop was so much stronger than me. No matter how hard I tried to pull my wrist free from his grasp, he managed to latch a cuff around it within a few seconds. The weight of his entire body pressed down on me. I could barely move at all.

But instead of attaching the other end of the handcuffs to the bed rail, he just clutched it tightly while he lay on top of me, breathing heavily. His face was pressed against my neck, and I could feel drops of spittle on his warm breath. He didn't move. And his heavy breathing didn't slow. I could barely breathe under his weight.

I don't know long he had me pinned down like that, probably for only a few very long seconds, until I felt him start to get . . . aroused . . . against my hip. I closed my eyes tightly and held my breath, terrified.

But in the next moment he stood quickly and turned his head for a moment while he caught his wind.

Suddenly, he said, "You are not going to pull anything like this again." He jerked me to my feet by the handcuff he still clutched tightly.

To my total surprise, he dragged me out of the room. I could barely keep up without falling. He rushed me down a narrow flight of stairs and out a front door. I'd tried to take note of what I was seeing outside the room, but he'd rushed me outside so fast, all I saw was the staircase and an entryway even barer than the room he'd been keeping me in.

He cuffed me to a pine tree in the driveway. Then he stormed back into the house. I could see now that the building I'd been kept in was a simple but kind of stately clapboard house. A chain of imposing mountain peaks rose up behind it. The yard and the unpaved driveway were totally empty except for a shed, a small satellite dish, and a large fuel tank on stilts. There weren't any other vehicles than the U-Haul he'd brought us here in, which was parked just behind my shoulder.

When the cop re-emerged from the house, he was carrying a deer rifle.

The screen door banged behind him as he approached me furiously, huffing with every step. I hadn't thought he would kill me before that moment. But he drew closer and closer, raising the rifle. I really thought that was going to be the end of my life.

Then he fired the gun.