Ruthless by Carolyn Lee Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

a Jerry, and that name doesn’t ring a bell. I can’t remember what they called him when he worked for us, but it wasn’t that. To me, he looks like a Wolfman. He will always be Wolfman to me.
    His home address is two towns over from mine. If his plant job is around there, he’s making one hell of a commute. No wonder I was alone for so long.
    During our next card game it will be my goal to find out where this cabin is. Maybe even how far away from civilization. But first and foremost—food and water. I need to get some fuel into mybody. Once I make my escape, I’ll need all the energy I can get.
    The heavy steps of Wolfman are coming closer. I tense, waiting; the nerves on the back of my neck prickle as he looms over me. So close his breathing ruffles my hair. His breath is sour.
    He says, “You stink.”

    Out behind the cabin there is a garden hose, and I am being sprayed down with it. I’m naked. I’m freezing. My body convulses with cold. My underwear now sits on the end table with the rest. Everything in me wants to curl up, hide, cover my face. But it’s not going to happen. Standing straight and tall, my eyes open and on the Wolfman’s, I try to think about nothing but the water dripping down my face and pulling every little droplet into my mouth.
    I’d hoped to get food before I left. I’d hoped to get more information and a kitchen knife. I’d hoped to maybe steal his truck. Those things didn’t happen. This is what did, and this is what is important:
    I am outside.
    He didn’t bring his gun.
    But he did bring a whole new expression to his wolf eyes. He’s done thinking, done planning, done preparing. Things are about to get real. I can feel it. I recite my goals. Number one, I will not be raped. Number two, I will escape. Number three, I will bring him to justice.
    â€œTurn around and bend over.”
    My pulse quickens.
    I turn very slowly, catch some of my red hair in my mouthand suck the water from it. Bending over, I drink as quickly and as much as I can, even using my hands to cup the water. He says nothing. All the while I’m listening for even one footstep forward. These moments are precious. This water is precious.
    Then the water becomes uneven. Instead of a steady spray against the back of my neck, it travels down my body, off it ­altogether, and then back to my neck.
    Curious, I hang my head down and glance through the space between my ribs and my arm. He’s masturbating. He had to juggle the hose and his zipper. That’s why the spray of water didn’t stay steady.
    But it’s not revulsion that strikes me. It’s something else. I think:
    This is good.
    This is excellent.
    Taking the tiniest steps, I inch away from him.
    When I go, I want as big of a head start as I can get.
    Inching, inching, inching, I’m amazed he doesn’t realize what I’m doing. Inching more, drinking water, inching more, drinking water, and perhaps best of all, feeling smarter, better, superior to my opponent. It is the fuel that feeds me like none other. What is this but a contest? A competition to be won or lost? A competition I am going to win.
    There, a crack of a twig. Glancing back again, jockey-style, through my armpit, I see he’s putting himself away.
    Now.
    I spring forward and am in full stride before he even moves.Instead of heading for the driveway, I speed toward thickets of mountain laurel. Being small can be an advantage. I’m hoping the tangle of limbs will let me slide past and hold him back.
    Behind me he charges, a thundering rhinoceros.
    Into the woods now. Branches and twigs and leaves and even thorns don’t seem to touch me. Or maybe I just can’t feel them. Everything I am reads the terrain ahead. Left, right, duck, jump, racing and maneuvering and pushing my body to its limits. After only a handful of minutes, I register the fact that the crashing behind me has stopped.
    He’s