Cain, if that was his real name, was squatting in front of me and gripping my chin in his hand. His fingers dug painfully into my skin as he forced me to sit up. It felt like his fingers had the ability to burn the skin he was touching. I couldn’t believe this was the serial killer my mother and the entire FBI were chasing. So far, they had no leads on this man, but here he was, inches away from my face. He was so close, and this might be my only chance to get free. Letting my head lull heavily in his hand, I tested my fingers and wiggled my toes. Everything was still functioning. It was now or never. Giving it my all, I lunged for him with a yell but was jerked to a stop.

“Whoa, I do like your fire, you have such a wild beast in you, Sunshine, and it’s just begging to be let out,” he said and then laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh, though. No, it was the kind of laugh you’d expect to hear at an abandoned carnival as you wandered the house of mirrors.

I whipped my head around and stared at the leather shackles tightly bound on my ankles and wrists. Shooting to my feet, I instantly fell against the wall and slid down like I’d been out for an all-night bender. The remainder of whatever I’d been dosed with slammed into my system, making the room spin violently.

The song, You Are My Sunshine, ended. Moments later, it began again. I gripped my temples as my head pounded in time to the song’s beat. At least he hadn’t chosen rave music. The scent from my strange dream was stronger now, and I realized it was a combination of bleach and something else that made my skin crawl.

“Here you go, Sunshine,” Cain said, and I lifted my head enough to stare at the cup of what looked like water that was held out toward me.

With a roar of frustration, I smacked the cup out of his hand. The clear liquid splattered everywhere as the plastic cup harmlessly bounced off the floor.

Whack!

My whole head whipped to the side. The strike was fast. I never saw his hand move, but I certainly felt the sharp crack across my cheek as the back of his hand connected. The force of the strike rocked me sideways, but I caught myself just before my face hit the floor.

“That wasn’t very nice, Kirby, not very nice at all. You’re in my home, and you don’t treat your host like that. Do I need to teach you manners?”

“Go fuck yourself,” I growled out and dabbed at the corner of my mouth to see if there was blood.