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Why would she call the police? Anya had never told her what was going on. All she was sure her mother would think was that she was just late and got busy doing other things.
Not that she was in danger and about to die.
Her sobs rocked her body. If she ever made it out of here alive, she vowed to never keep anything from her family.
Ask for help.
Don’t think you can do it all on your own.
Those were good suggestions, but by the looks of it, she wasn’t going to make it out of there alive. She sent up a prayer that someone would come to her rescue. She begged, pleaded, and bargained, desperate for God to hear her plea.
She eyed the bed and tried to think. How the hell did he get the handcuffs around the railing? Even if she pushed the mattress and box spring off, the frame was still bolted together.
She pulled on her hands, trying to slide them through the opening of the metal, but a pain shot up both arms. The more she moved, the tighter they got.
Anya glanced back toward the door and watched in horror as the flames made their way to the doorframe of her bedroom. The wood burned hot, and the heat and smoke intensified.
There was going to be no chance she would make it out of here.
This was it.
This was how she was going to die.
