The smell of mold and fetid water burn my nose. I blink, trying to adjust to the dim light, but I can’t seem to focus. I have no idea where I am or what time it is. The last thing I remember is getting into a car.

My eyes still burn from whatever was sprayed in my face. I try to rub them, but quickly find, I can’t move.  Arching my head, I see a thick rope wrapped around my wrists, tying me to what looks like a stair banister.

The bitter taste of fear coats my mouth as I realize I’m all alone. No one is going to come looking for me. I quit my job. Told off my mother. And, fuck, I left that note. Leo and Asher are going to assume I left. Well, I was leaving. But I had hoped that with a little time and distance, we might be able to overcome our problems.

I’m such a fool. They’ll assume that I’m off living somewhere, happy to be rid of them, and never know that some crazy person took me. I’m going to die alone, and no one will even miss me.

Tears pool in my eyes and I blink, trying to hold back the flood. God damn it, there are those tears again. Now’s not the time to fall apart. There’s no rescue party coming, and if I’m going to survive this, I need to get out of here myself.

I look around for any clues as to where I am or who took me, my eyes finally adjusting to the low light. I’m in a basement. No, that’s not right. It’s more like an old root cellar. The floor is dirt, and the walls are bare stone. In the corner of the room, there’s what looks like an old broiler for a steam radiator system, and next to that, an old coal chute.

If I can get loose, I might be able to escape that way.

I turn back to the ropes and give them a tug. They’re tight—so tight, my fingers are cold and tingly. My hands are tied far enough apart that I can’t reach the knots to loosen them. The rope itself is thick and sturdy, but the banister looks old. The paint has rubbed off the slim, wooden spindles where the rope is secure and the wood underneath looks dry and cracked. I give an experimental tug, and the wood bows under the pressure. Given the right leverage, I think I can pull them free.

I stretch, trying to get a better footing when I hear a door open above me. The stairs behind me creak and groan as someone comes down. I hurry to get back to my original position and close my eyes, feigning unconsciousness.

“You are quite the gift, little lady,” a distinctly masculine voice says. “Like a treasure that’s been delivered and dropped into my lap.”

There is a loud thud on the ground next to my feet as the guy drops something. My heart is racing, but I concentrate on keeping my breathing slow and steady.

“Honestly, between you and me, I was starting to give up hope. I thought about killing Leo and letting that rich bastard, Asher, live with the knowledge that it was all his fault. The problem with that plan was that Leo is equally responsible for ruining my life. If I killed him, he wouldn’t suffer—not the way I want him to. But then you showed up.”

He leans over and checks the rope. Then grabs my chin with rough hands and leans in. The stench of unwashed body and alcohol overwhelms my senses. I fight the urge to open my eyes and try to stay as limp as possible as he manhandles my body.

“At first, when I saw you outside the penthouse, I thought you were Leo’s newest slut. But after the accident, and I saw how you rushed to Asher’s side in the hospital waiting room, I knew you weren’t with just Leo.”

I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the act. I feel like I’m going to retch. This lunatic was watching us; at the penthouse, at the hospital. Maybe even before.

“I should have known those assholes would share a woman. They have no respect for other people’s property.” He has to be inches away from my face. His rancid breath heats my skin as he turns my head from one side to the other. With a huff, he lets go and takes a step. “Fuck. I hope I didn’t use too much of that shit. I want to make them suffer, and it’s not going to be the same if you’re still unconscious.”

I hear a zipper and the sound of him digging through the bag. I chance a look, afraid he’s getting a weapon or worse. I hold my breath as I see him reach in and pull something out. Much to my relief, he only pulls out a camera. The guy, who’s still facing away from me, stands back up and searches the room. It’s mostly empty, save for a few rotting pieces of furniture. A rickety table on the far end of the room catches his eye, and he drags it over to where I’m tied.

I have no idea what he has planned for me, but I’m pretty sure he’s not preparing for a Skype call. I have to get out of here, or at the very least, get my hands free, so I have a fighting chance. I try pulling on the rope again, but I just don’t have the upper body strength.

I must have made a noise because he spins around. “Good. You’re awake,” he says, and a crooked smile spreads across his face.

A chill runs down my spine as I recognize him. He was the guy taking pictures outside of the penthouse. That was three weeks ago. He’s been planning this for a long time.

“Please,” I beg. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not even who you think I am. Let me go, and I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Shut up, bitch,” he says and shoves a filthy rag in my mouth. “Your precious Asher already begged for your life.” That unhinged smile creeps across his face again. “You should have heard the desperation in his voice. I’m going to enjoy this.” He checked the camera and frowned. “I need more light. Don’t go anywhere.”

He laughs and races back up the stairs.

Once he’s gone, I spit out the cloth and take a deep breath. I can’t wait another second. I’m not sure what he’s planning, but I’m not sticking around to find out. My only hope is to get free.

I twist my arms and manage to catch my foot on the bottom step. The wood bows as I yank, but stays put. I strain against the ropes, but I need more leverage. My shoulder is cocked at an unnatural angle as I try to tuck my legs under my body to turn. The muscles in my arm burn from the strain, but I’ll dislocate my shoulder before giving up.

I can’t be tied up when that crazy man gets back. I just can’t.

Finally, my legs slide across the loose dirt, and I’m able to plant both my feet against the wall behind me. Heavy footsteps tread across the floor above me. The floorboards moan and shower me with fine dirt, and I know my time's up.

I push as if my life depends on it—and I’m certain it does. The ropes tighten around my wrist, cutting painfully into my skin, but I keep up the pressure until one of the spindles snaps. My right hand snaps back, causing me to lose my foothold, and I scramble to reposition myself. I need to get the other hand free.

“What’s going on down there,” the guy yells.

I hear him quickly stomp across the floor and I abandon my plan to free the other hand. Instead, I grab the splintered piece of wood and quickly turn back around. The broken spindle is tucked behind my back, and I’m prepared to use it as a weapon as soon as he gets close enough. But in order to do that, I reach up and pretend to still be tied.

“What the hell are you doing,” he says thudding down the stairs.

He leans in, likely to check my ropes.  He’s wary and looking for any problems. I know if he keeps looking, he’ll know my hand is free. So I kick out, trying to distract him. “Let me go, you asshole. Let me go.”

“Keep still,” he says, trying to get close again.

“Help!” I yell. “Don’t touch me.”

“Shut up,” he screams and backhands me across the jaw.

Bright white stars cloud my vision, but I don’t stop my assault. I kick at his body and writhe on the floor, but don’t let go of my handhold. I need him to think I’m still tied up for now.

I manage to kick him in the shin hard, and he stumbles. Cursing, he scurries away from me. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters.

Turning his back on me, he starts setting up the work light he brought with him. After he adjusts the light to shine down on me, he checks the camera again.

“You know, I was just going to kill you,” he says looking through the viewfinder. “I was going to make it fast. I’m gentleman after all, and my beef is with the guys.” He looks over the camera, and I catch something manic in his expression. These are not the eyes of someone in control. “But you, dear, are no lady. You’re a fucking whore and don’t deserve mercy.”