You do this, she thought to herself, and you might be able to escape.

But I can’t!

Garrett’s eyes were locked on to her. Coursing over her body. His prick couldn’t violate her any more thoroughly than his red eyes were doing right now. Jesus, he wasn’t just an insect—he was a mutation out of one of Lydia’s horror books, something that Dean Koontz or Stephen King could have made up.

Fingernails clicking.

He was examining her legs now, round and smooth—her best feature, she believed.

Garrett snapped, “Why’re you crying? It’s your fault you hurt yourself. You shouldn’t’ve run. Let me see it.” Nodding toward her swollen ankle.

“It’s okay,” Lydia said quickly but then, almost involuntarily, she held her foot out to him.

“Some assholes at school pushed me down the hill behind the Mobil station last year,” he said. “Sprained my ankle. Looked like that. Hurt like a bitch.”

Get it over with, she told herself. You’ll be that much closer to home.

Fuck me fast…

No!

But she didn’t pull away when Garrett sat down in front of her. He took her leg. His long fingers—God, they were huge—were gripping her around the calf, then around the ankle. He was trembling. Looking at the holes in her white pantyhose, where her pink flesh ballooned out. He studied her foot.

“It’s not cut. But it’s all black. What’s that all about?”

“Might be broken.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t seem sympathetic. It was as if her pain was meaningless to him. As if he couldn’t understand that a human being might be suffering. His concern was just an excuse to touch her.

She extended her leg farther, her muscles quivering from the effort of elevating the limb. Her foot touched Garrett’s body near his groin.

His eyelids lowered. His breathing was fast.

Lydia swallowed.

He moved her foot. It brushed against his penis through the wet cloth. He was hard as the wooden paddle of the waterwheel that she’d smacked trying to escape.

Garrett slid his hand farther up her leg. She felt his nails snag her pantyhose.

No…

Yes…

Then he froze.

His head tilted back and his nostrils flared. He inhaled deeply. Twice.

Lydia sniffed the air too. A sour smell. It took a moment before she recognized it. Ammonia.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes wide with horror. “How’d they get here this fast?”

“What?” she asked.

He leapt up. “The trap! They’ve tripped it! They’ll be here in ten minutes! How the fuck d’they get here so fast?” He leaned into her face and she’d never seen so much anger and hatred in anyone’s eyes. “You leave anything on the trail? Send ’em a message?”

She cringed, sure he was about to kill her. He seemed completely out of control. “No! I swear! I promise.”