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He felt his heart thundering in his chest, and his palms grew slick with sweat. Rolling his wrist slightly, he noted the time on his watch with a lurch in his gut. {Five minutes. Five minutes until I sell my soul.}
The bourbon roiled uneasily in his stomach, and his mouth was dry, accentuating the leftover taste of alcohol and nicotine. He held his hands out before his face, trying to control the palsied shaking.
He couldn't take his eyes off the wedding ring on his left hand. After staring at it for many seconds, he slowly slid it off his finger, not needing the fading sunlight to read the inscription that was also engraved upon his heart: FOREVER, KC.
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he pressed his lips against the band and opened up the glove compartment to store his ring for safekeeping. The spare gun he spied there riveted his attention, and for a fleeting moment, he considered taking it inside with him. Unbidden, his own words came back to haunt him. {I'll come alone and unarmed. No tricks.}
He set his ring next to the weapon and carefully closed the small door, hearing it latch with a small click. Taking a deep breath, he opened his door and stepped out of the car, heading for what he could only hope was the first step toward the recovery of his wife.
As Peter knocked on the door to Unit 7, a battered tan Ford sedan pulled into a parking space across the lot from the Stealth. The ignition switched off, but the driver remained in place, staring into the rear view mirror as he watched the dark-haired man disappear into the weatherworn cabin.
The driver got out of his car, wearing a gray overcoat and pulling a fedora low over his eyes. He walked quickly into the front office building, emerging moments later, opening his trunk, and removing two large suitcases. He carried them to the doorway of his cabin, and set them down to unlock the door. After letting himself in, he snatched up the cases and closed the door behind himself.
Jason Fischer was a large man, nearly six feet six and close to two hundred and forty pounds, his physique that of an athlete whose muscle was giving over to fat. He sat sprawled in a chair, nursing a beer as he surfed through the cable channels.
Shifting his weight restlessly, he started to think about what Sara had planned for this guy, Caine. Shaking his head ruefully, he thought, {Wonder if he has any idea what he's in for tonight?} His hand dropped into his lap to scratch an itch, and the fingers lingered a few moments as different mental images began to cross his mind.
Finishing off his beer in a few quick gulps, he tossed the empty can onto the already littered floor. {Wonder how my house guest is. It's only fair that if Sara's getting to have some fun tonight, I should, too.} A slow, anticipatory smile spread over his face as he got to his feet and strode purposefully down the hallway.
Mouth dry, he called out hoarsely, "All right. I'm here." He stood frozen at the door, waiting for a response. When he heard none, the hairs on the back of his neck began to tingle, and he stepped toward the bathroom to check it out. Finding it empty, too, his first panicked thought was that he had been duped. {It was a lie. It was all a lie. She never intended to keep any part of her bargain. God! I am so stupid!}
The sound of the unit's door opening caught his ear, and he stepped from the bathroom, stopping short in the doorway to stare at the figure before him.
Kacie lay curled up on the floor, huddled in a shivering ball under the blankets she had been thrown earlier in her stay. Head pillowed on her arm, her teeth chattered as she muttered to herself in a delirious state.
Fischer stooped down and gathered her up in his arms. He lifted her easily, straightened, and carried her out the door and down the hallway, climbing up a short flight of steps.
Her head lolled against his chest, and she complained plaintively, "Kev-Kevin, I'm gonna tell Daddy on y-you. You m-made me f-fall, and Dad-Daddy's gonna be m-mad at you."
"Who's Kevin? What are you talking about?" Fischer fumbled at a doorknob with his hand and then kicked the door open with his foot.
Kacie continued to shake with chills as she mumbled deliriously, "Peter? Peter?" She rested her palm on Fischer's chest and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I knew you'd come for me. I knew you would. Take me home. Take me…" Her voice faded along with consciousness, and she became a limp weight in his arms.
"Take you?" Fischer's lip curled with a carnivorous leer. "Now there's an invitation if I ever heard one." He laid the still form on the bed and stretched out beside her, reaching out a hand to stroke her face. There was no response to his touch, but he murmured huskily, "You may not remember this, Baby, but I'm sure I will." His thick fingers traced a path down her cheek and over her throat, stroking her collarbone before he insinuated his hand inside the stretched-out collar of her sweatshirt. He sighed in satisfaction as his groping hand found the curve of her pregnancy-swollen breast, his palm held firmly in place against the soft flesh by her bra cup.
Kacie stirred fitfully, arms moving instinctively to try and block the advances. "No. Don't. I don't want to, Peter. Stop it. I don't feel good." The fondling went on and her weak struggles increased. "Don’t, Peter. Stop it!" Her face crumpled as she started to cry. "You're hurting me. Why are you hurting me? Stop it." Her lids fluttered open, and she stared at the male form next to her, eyes glassy and fever bright. "You're not Peter. Get away from me." Her struggling began in earnest, even though she was no match in strength.
Fischer fed on her fear, her ineffectual exertions arousing him all the more. "Oh, yeah, Baby, fight me. I like that. See how much I like that?" He grabbed her hand and pressed her fingers into his growing erection, grinding himself against her hand. As she tried to pull away, his moans of pleasure obscenely blended with her cries of abhorrence.