When his hand covered her breast and squeezed, it was all she could do not to recoil. But she remained perfectly still. He was starting to get aroused; she could tell by the shallowness of his breathing. She needed that, needed the testosterone in his system to interfere with his thinking.

“You feel like a goddess,” he whispered. “And it’s been so long for me. All I did was dream about making love to you while I was away.”

At some point, he’d realize her legs weren’t tied. If he planned on mounting her, he’d expect to untie them first. She’d have to act as soon as his hands wandered low enough, but he wasn’t in any hurry to get down to business. He seemed to relish the anticipation, wanted to make a whole production of it.

She kept telling herself to ignore the way his fingers were caressing her nipple, the overpowering scent of his cologne and the breathless quality of his voice, all of which acted on her nerves like nails going down a chalkboard. But she couldn’t manage to lie still when he removed the gag and his wet, soft lips closed over hers, licking and sucking.

The second he slid his tongue into her mouth, she bit down as hard as she could, until she tasted blood, and brought the screwdriver around to stab him.

She wanted to feel the metal slide into his abdomen all the way to the hilt. Only then could she be somewhat assured that she’d hurt him as badly as she needed to. But she couldn’t get it to go any deeper than an inch or so.

She must’ve hit a rib!

She drew back to thrust again; she had to act fast.

He slugged her in the jaw before she could. It was a knee-jerk reaction to the pain of her bite and her first thrust, both of which had happened at the same time, and not a particularly powerful blow. She didn’t feel his full response until a second later, when the initial shock wore off and he realized she wasn’t only awake but free of the ropes and fighting to achieve her freedom.

Using the leverage of his body, he rolled her onto her back and pinned her right hand to the floor, squeezing so tightly she had to release her weapon. Then he seemed to fumble for something he couldn’t find—A weapon of his own? Maybe a knife or a gun?—buying her a few precious seconds before his hands closed around her throat.

He cursed at her as he began to squeeze, just like he had with Edna.

Unable to pry his hands away, Evelyn began to buck, knocking him off center just enough that he had to let go of her neck to stop himself from being thrown to one side.

She screamed for help the second she was capable, as loudly as possible, and she kept screaming and thrashing around, trying to reach the screwdriver again, or the hammer.