Page 133 of Secrets in the Deep

“You’re sick! You know that?”

“No. I’m passionate. I’m going to kill you, release my movie on the internet, and disappear to some dark corner of the world where no one will find me. But everyone will remember my name.”

He started around the island. She reached for a glass canister on the island and hurled it at his head.

As he ducked, she raced toward the back door and tried the handle.

It didn’t give way. Another padlock. The same kind that had been fastened to the front door.

Shit.

The click of shoes stepping on glass sounded behind her. She spun as Roscoe’s arm flew toward her.

A scream tore from her throat and she dropped to her knees, ignoring the pain that screamed from her left knee.

“You know as well as I do the bad guy never wins.” She plunged her knife into his left thigh.

His scream was loud and pained.

She yanked her knife back, pushed to her feet and raced around him. She was halfway up the stairs when her knee buckled. She fell forward, her chin hitting a step hard. But she barely felt the fire running up her thigh or the sting to her jaw. All she could think about, all she could concentrate on, was gettingaway.

She needed to find a room with furniture to put between her and Roscoe. She needed to hide!

Then what?The terrified words shouted in her head.

A window. There had to be at least one that wasn’t sealed shut, or one she could break. She’d find a way out of here. Therehadto be a way out.

She’d just reached the end of the hall when angry footsteps stomped up the stairs.

She gasped and slipped into a room on the right. Small flickers of light came from behind the curtains.

It was the master bedroom, the one Roscoe had shown to the cast and crew.

Silently, she closed the door, then raced over to the window. No wooden slats. Thank God! She tried the window. It didn’t budge.

And if she broke the glass, he’d come straight to this room.

Quickly, she turned and scanned the space. Where could she go? Under the bed? It was the first place he’d look. The wardrobe? The second.

There was nowhere else.

She had to fight.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she ran behind the door and lifted the knife. She held it so tightly, her knuckles ached.

Breathe. She had to breathe. Through the fear and the panic and the crippling anxiety.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, each one making her heart pound harder.

She’d replicated this fear a hundred times. Played the hunted so well, the viewers could feel her fear as their own.

But there was no acting needed now.

Her gaze caught on the red dot in the corner of the room.

Anger hit her like a bullet.

Asshole!He was a sick, twisted asshole. And he wouldn’t win. He wouldn’t kill her. She wouldn’t let him.