“No more wailing!” And then he was back at it, humming and singing as he tinkered at the bench, working on . . . what? Nothing good, she thought. She didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to imagine what horrid, twisted fate he had plotted for Chloe and herself; the hollow pit in her stomach warned her that whatever he had in mind would be more horrible than she could imagine. A sick, slow torture and probable rape, considering the fact that he’d stripped her. No, she wouldn’t think of the possibilities, couldn’t go there.

With renewed conviction, she worked at her bonds, feeling the cords on her wrists slacken a bit more. She didn’t have a plan. She knew only that the first step was to break free before he realized what was happening, somehow get the drop on him. Get herself and her sister out of here. Maybe lock him inside if it were possible.

But first, the rope. It cut deep into her wrists, rubbing her skin raw, stinging as she plucked at the knot. With her back to him, she could only hope her movements were veiled by the darkness. Her sister sobbed a little more softly now, though it was still enough to distract him.

“I said knock it off,” he yelled angrily over the steady ticking of the clock. “Fuck!”

Snap!

Her heart stopped. The earthy-smelling room seemed to close in on her.

Oh, no!

She hazarded a glance over her shoulder and again saw the thin belt in the dim light that fell softly over his massive shoulders and back. Looming in a pool of gray light, still holding the horrid belt, he placed his hands on his hips and stared into the darkness, no doubt toward her twin.

“Didn’t you fuckin’ hear me?”

Oh. Dear. God. Chloe!

Snap!

He moved so quickly to crack the belt again, Zoe nearly jumped. In the silence that followed, Zoe wanted to cry for her sister, who had probably just received the worst whipping of her life.

“Don’t make me use this again,” he warned, his voice low and gravelly. He raised his arm again, and the leather snaked from his clenched fist.

Her throat turned to sand.

Fear slid through her blood.

Frantically she worked, watching him while the rope began to give. A little. Then a little more. She could move her hands more freely, felt the blood pumping through her veins again, sensation returning to her tingling fingers.

And then, almost magically, the cord gave way. The tight manacle fell free into a loose braid, and the tension on her neck relaxed.

Hallelujah!