So instead I sit quietly, taking in his eyes, hazel and almond shaped, the way they droop down at the outside corners. They’re frighteningly familiar but in the same way a Labrador retriever is, or a pink-edged tulip. Seen one? Seen them all.

He moves closer, a rabid animal on the prowl.

For all my aggression earlier, now I shrink into the chair, pushing my body backward into the stuffing, but there’s nowhere for me to go. The chair I’m strapped to is already pressed to the wall.

“Hold still.” He bends down, and I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it—his hot breath against my skin, his gloved hands clamping down around my throat.

This is it. This is where I die.

Something brushes my cheek, and I flinch. The sensation stops, then starts again, a steady pawing on the skin just below my cheekbone.

I crack an eye and there he is, a black shadow looming over me. One hand braced on the back of the chair, the other too close for me to see what it’s doing, what he’s doing. But I feel and hear it, the flicking of his masked finger picking at a corner of the duct tape.

His breath is moist on my face. He smells like soap and fabric softener and something bitter, like the remnants of an afternoon cup of coffee.

He manages to work a corner of the tape loose, peeling a piece of it away from my skin. His hand freezes, his gaze meeting mine head-on. “This is going to hurt. Are you ready?”

I don’t even have a chance to nod before he rips the tape off in one red-hot snap, shucking the top layer of my skin with it. I’m too shocked to scream. My face, my lips, my cheeks and chin. All of it is on fire, a dousing of acid smack in the face.

He straightens, standing above me with the tape dangling from a hand. I glance down, half expecting it to be dripping snot and spit and blood. “Let’s try this again. What was it you were saying?”

“Where are the kids?” My words come out on a gasp, but they’re all I can think about. Where are the kids? Where are they, where are they, where are they?

“The kids are fine. Watching some cartoon in the other room. I put Beatrix in charge of the remote.”

I don’t tell him this is not a good idea. That neither sibling should be in charge of the channel choice. Cam’s system is complicated, the remote cost a fortune, and Beatrix and Baxter can never agree on what to watch. They’re not used to unlimited screen time. The only way this ends is in screaming and tears.

“Please, I want to see them. I need to tell them to be good. I need to tell them—”

That I love them.