Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
There’s a white box with a picture of a lady on the front wearing some kind of face harness with a ball in her mouth. There’s another larger white box, I can’t tell what’s in it but there’s a picture of a woman kneeling in front of a man with her hands together like she’s praying.
On the bed beside the boxes are two piles of lace. I walk closer and see that one pile is a black bra and panty set, and the second pile is a red lace thong with a matching top that covers a little more than a bra but would still leave my belly button exposed.
He bought me lingerie?
Glancing over and seeming to read my mind—or maybe just the confusion on my face—he explains, “Figured you might need a change of underwear since you didn’t have a chance to pack. They didn’t have a whole lot I thought you might like, but these seemed okay.”
I guess that was nice. Wouldn’t want to get murdered in dirty panties. How embarrassing.
“Thanks,” I murmur, picking up the red lace set and holding it up. Somehow it looks like there’s even less material now that I’m looking at it.
If he plans for me to need to change panties, he must not intend to kill me tonight. That’s good.
Given the pile of naughty items on the bed, I have to assume he plans to do something else, though. That’s less good.
“Do you want a shower?”
Jasper’s voice draws my focus back to him. The motel room is cold, so a nice hot shower would be great. “I’d love one.”
“Can I trust you to behave yourself, or do I need to come in there with you?”
“I’ll behave,” I promise.
“You only get one chance,” he tells me. “If you scream or try anything you know I wouldn’t like, you’re done. You won’t get another shot at privacy.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I’m not sure exactly how to make it out of this predicament alive, but I’m sure wisely picking my battles is a better method than making him actively dislike me.
Once I’m back in the bathroom, I strip off my clothes and pull back the shower curtain. I’m relieved to find the water pressure isn’t bad. I feel much better once I move under the hot spray.
That is, until the door opens. My heart does a somersault. “Jasper?”
“Yep. Just checking. Everything all right in here?”
I just started showering, what could have possibly gone wrong? “Everything is fine,” I assure him.
“All right.” The door closes again.
I pull back the curtain and peek to see if he’s still in here, but he’s gone.
That was a bit odd.
I don’t pay it anther thought, though. I have too much else to think about—like how I’m gonna get out of this.
The man at the porn store was my best chance at escape today and I was too afraid to take it. That was probably a bad call.
It’s okay, though. Jasper doesn’t intend to kill me tonight, and tomorrow is another day—hopefully one with a few better opportunities for escape.
At the porn store, it would have been easy for someone to believe Jasper’s story, but tomorrow we won’t be at the porn store. That exhibitionist story he made up won’t work anywhere else.
I wonder where he’s taking me. He said he was going to see his family. He can’t take me with him, so if he’s not planning to kill me tonight…
He must be planning to do it tomorrow. He’ll have to dump my body before he gets there and if I were committing a murder whilst on a road trip, I would definitely ditch the body somewhere far from home and far from where I’m heading, that way there’d be no logical way to track it back to me based on the geography. If he dumps me in some random small town in Wisconsin, the local authorities would be more likely to assume a local man killed me.
Damn, he’s totally going to get away with it if he kills me. Unless he’s sloppy. Leaves DNA on my body.
I’m gonna scratch him. I saw a show once where a murderer was found because the victim had his DNA under her fingernails after she scratched him. Unless he’s such an accomplished murderer than he knows he needs to clip my nails…
I stop thinking about it, realizing it’s a bit creepy to be in a position to think about how best to help my own murder investigation.
I’m not going to get murdered. I’m going to be fine. I just have to navigate these waters carefully. Do what he wants. Convince him I’m no longer a threat so he’ll let his guard lower enough for me to find a better means of escape than some creep in the parking lot of an adult store.