Page 52 of Double Obsession

Fluffy watched with skeptical lime-green eyes.

Hunter began his agonizing snake-like crawl. Five minutes later, he had almost reached the stairwell. His shoulder had just made contact with the first step when the cellar door creaked open and the light bulb flickered on.

Ignoring the pain, he tried to push himself to his knees. He could do it! He had to do it.

“Halkimina!” she shrieked before leaping down the stairs and crouching close.

The woman reeked of stale cigarettes, coffee, and sweat. Repulsive! And that was saying something since he smelled like vomit, urine, beer, and blood.

“What are you doing?” She stared into his eyes.

“I have to use the restroom,” he lied. His bladder was empty because while unconscious, he had used the basement floor as a toilet.

“I will make you a private room down here,” she said. “You are too injured to make it upstairs.”

Hopefully she couldn’t see his eyes roll with his face practically plastered against the cement. “I can make it.”

“Don’t be silly. You have two left feet.”

“I was the quarterback of my high school football team, and I’ve won three Tough Mudders.”

Her glare sent chills up his spine. So much for persuasion through logic.

“We could go upstairs and have breakfast together. Just you and me and the dogs.” He gagged, then struggled to breathe as he prayed she hadn’t fed him his pets the night before.

“We can have breakfast down here. Remember how romantic last night was?” The maniac held her paw to her chest and looked into the heavens.

“Are my dogs okay?”

She bent to stick her nose inches from his and waggled a finger in his face. “I keep telling you they are fine. But I don’t know why they aren’t eating, and I am late with our breakfast because I had to clean up Buddy’s pee-pee mess.”

If Buddy had made a mess on the floor, at least he was still alive. Hunter considered asking her to bring them down, but the poor elderly dog needed to be carried up the stairs and he wasn’t sure he could even get himself up them. Besides, he had gone through a lot of kibbles training Lizzie to stay out of the basement.

Since his neck hurt from staring up at her and she had no intention of letting him out of the cellar, he laid his head on the ground to think.

Twenty-four hours ago, he was at a swimsuit shoot with one of the top designers in the world. He was an adored man with fans and money. He even had an amazing, talented multi-millionaire girl. Currently, he was two inches from death, face down on his basement floor, wearing wet underwear, and covered in his own piss.

His captor whistled something that made him think of a red-eyed demonic witch dancing with demons. Although, she probably thought she was a princess dancing with birds and field mice. The clang of brick on brick was so chilling that he eventually turned his head to the side.

The nutball was building some sort of Edgar Allen Poe-ish wall.

He hated to leave the cat behind, but he’d get help and come back for him. Hunter used his thigh muscles to crawl up the first step. Then the second. He took a half-second break to peek over his shoulder. Still whistling maniacally, she was absorbed in her task.

His dad once said, “Never trust a woman who blows wind through her teeth or whittles.” His father may have drunk too much, but he knew women.

He faced forward and continued his trek. He was almost to the top step when Lizzie’s nose appeared at the open door.

Although relieved to see her, he cringed. “Shh,” he whispered as he stared into her eyes. A second later, Buddy peered out around Lizzie.

“Shh,” he begged them as he pushed with all of his might.

Lizzie jumped up and down as she barked with unbridled enthusiasm. A joyful Buddy joined her.

Hunter slithered faster.

Freakishly strong hands clasped his ankles and yanked.

“Fuck!”