From the Author
He was aiming the pistol at her. "I say when we eat. I tell you when you can feign sleep, hoping I'll follow, so you can escape. I call the shots, Nicole."
Her stomach did multiple flips. "I'm . . . not trying to leave."
He fingered the trigger. "Now, why am I not believing that?"
Blood was oozing from where the bullet had grazed her skin. "I'm going to need a bandage . . ."
He stuffed the gun in his waistband, appearing suddenly cheery. "The medic is on his way!" He raced to the duffle bag, and returned with a first aid kit. "He'll patch you right up, providing you agree to follow instructions. "Is that understood?"
"Because people who don't usually require even more care providing they make it to the hospital. And something like a brain injury can be fatal if you don't have some luck. . ."
"You aren't going to do to me what--"
"Shut up, already!" He threw the kit aside and whipped out the pistol again. "If a tire iron can cause that much damage, imagine what this puppy can do!" He fired the gun in the air, his perverse expression causing him to resemble The Joker.
Nicole covered her ears again, her heart racing.
He picked up the axe with his free hand and swung it in her direction, missing her chest by less than a yard. "Or this . . ."
"Stop!" she shrieked, tears swamping her eyes. She slumped to the ground and scurried to the tent, then cringed against the canvas. "Just stop it!"
About the Author
Through the years, her interest in writing and preferred reading material switched from heartfelt prose to spine-tingling thrillers, and the image of Charlie Brown being depicted on any portion of her current work no longer seems fitting. Not that she doesn't still adore him immensely, just that he's too wholesome for that.
Now, Lucy could be a different story, but she'd likely be charging only five cents, and considering the cost of living these days, that wouldn't be feasible. . .