Part 40
Sally began to panic as Peter dragged her along the outside of the camper and truck, the knife edge digging into her flesh. He opened the passenger side door, grasped a handful of her hair in his fist so she could barely breathe through the stinging pain, and reached into her glove compartment.
Damn.
He pulled out the only weapon she had left and tucked it in his waistband. She felt all hope disappear. The only thing she could do now was try to get away from him, but he covered that, too. When the knife wasn’t threatening to cut her to shreds, his hold on her didn’t allow her to struggle without yanking her scalp clear off her head. How did she ever think she loved this man?
He grinned at her, the whites of his teeth glinting off the street lamps. “Did you think I didn’t know, Sally?” he asked as she reluctantly eyed the handle of her handgun sticking out of his pants. “I know you better than you think. Now get in.”
Using his grip of her hair, he tossed her into the truck and pushed her over to the driver’s side. If he’d let go for just one second… Sally scanned the parking lot, hoping someone saw what was happening to her, but this was just one of those Mom and Pop gas stations and probably closed down at dark. The only sign of life around them was the moths flitting around a fluorescent light over the front entrance.
They were utterly alone.
Peter hopped in next to her and pointed the barrel of the gun low at her side. “Let’s go.”
Okay, she thought as her shaking hands fumbled with the ignition, I can just keep driving until I think of a way out of this. He doesn’t know where Wilson was staying. She just had to find the opportunity to jump out of the truck…at a stop light or maybe if she drove by the police station – or better yet, an IHOP…there were always cops hanging around the pancake palace this time of night.
She could “accidentally” smash into one of their cars, possibly get arrested for it, but it’s better than the alternative, and surely they’ll understand when she told them—
“You’re stalling,” Peter said. “Go on. It’s only a few more miles, right? The BearRock Resort…room 412.”
Sally stared blankly at him, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Come on, Sally,” he sneered. “You thought I didn’t know where he’s at? I’ve been keeping tabs on your Mr. Martin. The wonders of the internet these days.”
She sat there, getting colder on the inside, not seeing anything but Wilson’s handsome smile in her mind. There was no way she was taking Peter to him, just so she could watch him die. Slowly and decidedly, she lowered her hands from the steering wheel.
“No,” she said, barely above a whisper.
“What’s that?”
“I won’t do it,” she said, her voice growing stronger, and she turned to him, meeting his stare. “You can’t have him. I won’t take you to him.”
“Oh, darling, that’s sweet…it really is, but it doesn’t matter if you drive us there or not,” he replied, hoisting the gun up level with her face. “By morning, he’ll be dead, just like you. At least this way, you’ll get to see him one last time…don’t you want to tell him good-bye, Sally?”
He cocked the pistol, the clicking sound echoing menacingly in the dark night. “What’s it going to be, sweetheart?”
Sally couldn’t help it. She knew it was weak of her…but to look into Wilson’s eyes one last time, to feel his warmth and hopefully, touch him again, even for the few moments they had left… If she was going to die tonight, she’d rather die with Wil. She drew in a strong, steady breath and gripped the wheel again. Ignoring the tears sliding down her cheeks, she shoved the truck into gear.
“Smart move,” Peter muttered and lowered the gun.
She ignored him, too.
Two more miles down the road, her phone jingled loudly, startling her out of her skin. “Leave it,” Peter commanded when she reached for it. He took it off the dashboard stand and threw it out of the window. “You’ll see him soon enough. Won’t that be nice? You’ll kiss each other, and hug and then I’ll watch him strip your clothes off…”
Sally shut out his voice as best as she could, but he continued to describe all the things he’d make her and Wilson do to each other while he observed. He said, “I’ll wait until he’s inside you before I slit his throat…” and Sally felt her stomach heave, and he giggled evilly and went on, “…and his blood will be all over you while I’m fucking you…”
Sally swallowed, but she couldn’t hold it in. Peter didn’t seem to notice her green, pallid face or the convulsions of her throat and stomach. When he got to the end of his tale, she no longer had control over her body.
Slamming the truck to a stop and feeling the camper swerve behind them, she jerked open her door and threw up in the middle of a barren intersection. Peter cursed at her and tugged her back into the truck while she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Jesus Christ, Sally! God, now you stink!”
Good, maybe he’ll not touch me now, she prayed as her insides reeled. She never should have let him got the better of her, but what he planned was sick, just crazy and demented and evil and…and sick! What kind of man got off on another’s blood? Rolling around in it while violently raping a woman?
And how did she never see this in him before? Surely, there must have been signs…
Too soon, she pulled the truck off the road into the hotel’s parking lot. But her body refused to move from the truck. She was frozen to the seat, clutching the steering wheel like it was her life vest in a stormy sea. She hoped Wilson could think of a way out of this, because she was all out of ideas.
*****
A tentative knock sounded on the door to the hotel suite, and Wilson tripped over his feet getting to it. Finally, she’s here. “Sally?” he called as he worked the stupid locks.
“It’s me,” she said, and she sounded like she’d been crying. He cursed the door and the locks and the person who installed the damn things until he figured out the right combination of maneuvers to get it open. And there she stood.
“Sweet Mary! What happened to you? Were you in an accident?”
Cuts and bruises lined her face and her neck. Her golden eyes shone tearfully at him, and she trembled in the threshold. “I’m so sorry, Wil,” she whispered and was shoved from behind into his arms.
He caught her, bewildered, and she clutched his shirt, sobbing into it. That’s when he saw the dark hole of a gun barrel aimed at his nose.
“You bastard,” he roared at the man behind the gun and pushed Sally behind him. She tugged on his shoulders while Peter grinned maliciously at both of them.
“No, don’t Wil…he’ll kill you,” she pleaded, trying to get him away from Peter, who now stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“This is cozy,” the bastard said, scanning the suite of rooms, keeping one eye on him and Sally as well as keeping the gun pointed at them and minding his distance. Wilson tensed, ready to jump him, prepared to take a bullet for what he did to Sally. A trickle of blood ran down her throat, and Wilson saw rage in his vision. She sensed his emotions running rampant and gripped him tighter.
“Please, Wil,” she begged him. “That's my 44 Magnum. At this range, it'll blast a hole through you and kill me, too.”
He made an effort to calm his breathing and temper. He stared down at her, framing her lovely face with his hands. “What did he do to you? Did he...?”
She smirked, growing that spark of mischief in her eyes. “No,” she said, “he couldn't. He's sick in the head and couldn't even get hard unless I fought him.”
“You didn't fight?” He blinked at her, astonished.
“I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, so he brought me here. He wants to watch us have sex.”
That gave him pause. “He wants to...what?”
Sally sighed dramatically. “Watch. He's been spying on us this whole time. He gets off on it. I don't understand it either.” She shook her head, and Wilson's gaze swiveled back to Peter. The man really was sick. He gazed longingly at the two of them, embraced together – hoping for something more to happen?
Not in this lifetime.
He'd better just shoot them now because death would be a blessing before Wilson allowed Peter, the sicko, to leer at Sally while he loved on her. But then Linc groaned again from the carpet, and Peter's gaze shot across the room. “Who do we have here? Is this Lincoln Martin? The infamous, grieving brother?”
Peter and his handgun stalked over to Linc, who'd raised up on his elbows, and Wilson's chest constricted sharply. “Hey...what's going on?” Linc asked groggily, blinking the three of them into his drunken focus. Peter kept the barrel aimed at Wilson's chest, but he curled his lip at the older brother.
“This is perfect,” he said in a giddy voice. “Kill the cowboy, fuck the ex, and frame the vengeful brother...I couldn't have planed it better myself.”
Linc frowned, dazed and way too drunk to comprehend. “What--”
His brother never saw the kick targeted for his skull. Peter's shoe connected with Linc's temple, and he went down, head lolling sickeningly to the side.
“No!” Wilson roared and surged forward. Sally tried to hold him back, but it was the gun that stopped him. Peter dropped it, pointed it at Linc's head, and said, “Ah, ah, ah...here's the question of the day – what's stronger? A brother's love, or a woman's love?”
Wilson stopped short of the couch, bristling with more anger and fear than he'd ever felt before. Sally vibrated with the same crazy, mixed sensations, and he held her close as he peered down at his brother. The sad thing is, he thought, Linc wants to die...he said so.
Nonetheless, Wilson couldn't choose between the two of them. He loved them both, equally, but in different ways. He didn't have it in him to turn his back on either.
“What do you want?” he growled, knowing he would do whatever it took to save the two people he loved most in this world...even sacrifice himself.
“Oh, come now, weren't you listening?” Peter said in a voice that parents use to scold a child. “Sally explained it quite well, actually.” He rolled his eyes briefly and focused on Sally. “You chose the brain-dead, shit kicker over me? How...insulting.”
He waved the gun in the direction of the nearest bedroom, “Move,” and they stepped over Linc to go through the doorway. Sally was furious. Wilson could tell by the way her fingers dug into his arm – like she was holding herself back by anchoring to him – and the way her eyes flashed like gold infernos. Wilson needed to think of something fast before she did something stupid and got herself killed.
“Let's get this party started,” Peter announced, leaning on the doorjamb, feet away from Linc's unconscious form. Wilson and Sally stopped at the foot of the king sized bed and turned to look at him. “Kiss her.”
No one moved.
“Kiss her!” he screamed.
Sally shook with suppressed hostility. Wilson knew she held it back by the skin of her teeth, seeing as how she glared at her abductor with enough unspoken promises of pain that he was surprised Peter wasn't writhing on the floor in agony.
Instead, he leveled the gun at them – once again; Wilson was kind of getting tired of that – and cocked it. “I won't tell you again.”
Wilson conceived that if voyeurism was what Peter needed to get excited, Sally might gain a chance to escape while he's distracted. Wilson didn't know what to do about Linc, but his plan hadn't fully formed yet. All he knew was that if they did this thing and went slowly enough, he might be able to reach Peter and land one good punch before the man realized it.
One punch was all he needed. He's smash Peter's nose straight into his gray matter.
Wilson moved to block Peter's view of Sally and set his hands on her shoulders. “Wil? What are you doing?” she asked, wide-eyed and still savage with fury. “You're not seriously going to--”
“Shh,” he said in a soft whisper. “Trust me, okay?”
She didn't hesitate to nod and he could have kissed her just for that. Instead, he kept Peter and the gun in his peripheral vision as he lowered his mouth to hers.