There’s a knock at my door and I freeze. So much for hoping he didn’t hear me. Rubbing the ear that had taken the brunt of the loud sound of whatever hit the wall, I try to decide if I should stay quiet. Maybe he’ll think he imagined me.

“Room service,” The voice on the other side says, but I know better. I’d know that voice anywhere. Anywhere. That voice is going to haunt my dreams and maybe even my every waking moment.

what is he going to do if he finds me? And why does the thought add a sinister excitement to the liquid fear I feel pumping through my veins? This is so not the time to be crushing on the guy’s incredibly alluring voice and just as impressive quiet rage.

My heart slams in my chest as I try to figure out what to do. It was clever of him to say that he’s room service. But I didn’t order anything. I bet that’s a good way to get into people’s rooms, though.

What do I do? What should I do?

Standing frozen by the wall I’d been listening through before the whole thing had reverberated with a painful slam, I stare at the door, then around the room. It’s not a beautiful place, it’s not bad either. The door to the bathroom is slightly open and I see the issue I’d had the first day I’d come here; the shower curtain, when pulled back, looks like a person’s shadow standing there.

What annoyed me then feels like a life saver now. Because a half-formed plan is knocking about in my panic addled mind. Struggling to breathe normally and be quiet, I glance at the door again. He’s gone silent. What is he going to do next?

Panic pounds at my temples in time with my heartbeat and I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth. It feels like I’m rubbing a dry stone over damp tissue paper. It’s disgusting. What should I do?

Gathering what I know about this man, I can make a few judgments. Clearly, he’s not going to stop. If he’s willing to kidnap someone, then he’s willing to do bad things, criminal things.

I need to hide.

Under the bed? At a glance, I know that’s not a good idea. Everyone always looks there first. I’m not a fucking five year old playing hide and seek, I’m a grown woman needing to escape a terrifying man-beast who’s obviously gunning for me now.

I wonder what Cami is doing? Is she cowering in the other room, thanking her lucky stars? Or is she working with the man trying to get into my room right now?

I need to think clearly. Hiding is a stupid idea. Unless I hide in such a way that I can get away.

Glancing around the room again, my gaze comes to rest on the door as he knocks again, saying he’s room service.

My half formed plan suddenly slips into sight like a kaleidoscope shifting into a familiar pattern. If I get behind the door, he might come into the room looking for me. That bathroom shadow that looks like a person might be enough to lure him in. Once he’s in the room, I can slip out the front door and run.

With terror backing bile up my throat, I walk toward the front door. My heart is hammering so hard against my ribs, I’m worried he’ll hear it even now. It feels like such a thin barrier between us. On the other side of this wooden slab stands the man whose voice makes me melt, but whose questionable life choices leave me terrified of him.

Still, my heart beats quicker at the thought of him being so close.

I hear what sounds like him shifting his weight on the other side. The floorboards under him groan a little and I want to silently congratulate myself. Clearly, he’s tall. And beefy. Because I don’t make the floor boards make noise. Then again, I’m a tiny, slim girl.

Still, now doesn’t seem like the time for showboating.

I hold my breath. What is he doing? Is he considering his next move? I stare at the wall, seeing how dirty the paint seems. Up this close, I realize that this spot on the wall is clearly touched a lot but not cleaned a lot. Gross.

He knocks again, this time with a soft, gentle knock.

I wonder if he can hear me as I let out my breath. My heart is thundering against my ribs and I feel faint. The suspense is killing me. Why doesn’t he do something? Why not make some move? Put me out of my misery.

“Room service,” he says again, this time quieter. As much as I want to tell him I didn’t order anything, that I’m not interested, I still feel that it’s smarter to stay quiet. I don’t want him to know I’m here. I want him to think that he imagined hearing me.

However, with him still hovering right outside, I know that’s not an option.

My eyes stray to the door and I realize it’s not locked. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Oh, god. If I lock it, he’ll hear it. I bet it won’t stop him even if I do lock it.

But, my brain reasons, what if he tries to open it and finds it locked? That might deter him, right?

Of course. Because a criminal always stops and thinks; Hey, I shouldn’t do this. It’s a crime. I wouldn’t want to be a bad guy.

Rolling my eyes at that stupid, shortsighted line of thinking, I decide not to lock it. The sound would tell him I’m right here on the other side of the door and would ruin any chance of a getaway. At least this way he won’t break the door.

Still, what are the odds he’ll actually try to come in? I mean-

The door handle turns and my heart stops.

Oh, fuck.