Page 9 of Not Another Dark Romance

I need to know more about this guy before I can make this big of a decision. Which means I need a phone charger. Which means…

I guess I’m going to take him home with me?

Is it still called kidnapping when it’s a grown man I’m planning to trap in my basement?

My stomach is in knots, and I feel like I’m one wrong move from throwing up for the entire drive home. I have the heavy flashlight in my cupholder as a backup in case he wakes up and I need to hit him in the head again, but at one point, I swear he starts snoring.

The transfer into the house seems the most likely opportunity for him to bolt, but I have no idea how to prevent him from running if he wakes up. Stupid detached garage. My over-a-hundred-year-old house, which I thought was so fun and unique when I bought it, now looks so fucking outdated as I pull into the driveway and park right next to the steps that lead up to my back porch.

It’s got to be after ten p.m. now. The older couples who live on either side of me are never up this late, so I doubt anyone will see me back here, not to mention the privacy fence at the back and all the hedges separating the side yards.

I’ll just be really fast, and it’ll be fine. It has to be.

I’m normally not the best at locking my door, so I say a quick prayer to whoever’s listening that today wasn’t the one time I decided to actually lock up, and run around the truck. The man appears to still be asleep when I open the passenger door, so I scoop him up in another bridal carry and hurry up the stairs to my back door.

All I can think about is how hopefully he’s not pretending to be passed out with plans to use this moment to break free and escape. But so far so good as I continue supporting his weight up the steps until I’m able to awkwardly twist the handle.

Thank fuck it isn’t locked.

After kicking the back door shut, I immediately head to the basement door, repeating the same clumsy maneuver to open it. I take him down into my unfinished basement, one step at a time, before carefully setting down his flimsy form on the floor.

The space is creepy for sure, but at least we’re headed into fall, so it shouldn’t get too hot or cold down here. Not that it really matters if I end up killing this guy, but whatever.

I look around the completely empty basement, confirming there’s nothing that he could use as a weapon. I’ve only been in this house for a few months, and the apartment Grant and I were sharing in Phoenix before he moved here didn’t have much room for storage. All of my childhood belongings are still with my mom since that seemed easier than renting a bigger trailer to drive here, and I liked the idea of starting fresh.

The space is open with uneven concrete floors and an old utility sink I’ve never used next to the original laundry hookup. The last owners moved the laundry to a closet upstairs, and it was one of the things I liked most about this particular house when I bought it. I thought I wouldn’t have to go down into the creepy basement much, if ever. Joke’s on me.

Never considered its suitability for containing a prisoner, but with no exterior door and only one small window at the top of the wall, it’s not the worst place to keep this guy while I figure out what to do with him.

He’s still not moving, so I decide to quickly check the window. I try to shove it open, but this thing must be sealed shut after years of disuse. Still, it would be big enough for me to crawl out of, so this guy definitely could. I haven’t even stopped to really look at him, but I’m positive he’s smaller than me. I’ll have to board it up somehow, block it in a way so the glass can’t be broken.

Right now though, I should probably focus on tying him up so he doesn’t attempt to escape or attack me when he does wake up.

I run upstairs and grab one of the chairs from my kitchen table to bring down. I don’t have any rope or even duct tape, so I have no idea what I’m supposed to use to tie him to the chair. A belt? I only have the one I’m wearing, but it could work. Maybe I can cut a shirt and use the fabric to tie him up? Guess I’ll grab scissors too.

Once I gather everything and am back in the basement, I put the chair next to the support beam that’s in the middle of the room, then pick the guy up to move him onto the chair. I secure his chest around the back of it with my belt. The chair has a bunch of vertical wooden bars that make up the back of it, so I weave the belt through them for good measure. It’s only just big enough to wrap around him, so it’s a good thing he’s smaller than me.

Next, I remove my shirt and use the scissors to cut it into the longest strips possible. I tie his legs and ankles around the legs of the chair with those, then secure his wrists behind his back with another piece. The knots seem tight. I don’t think they’ll come undone if he starts squirming, but I should probably get a stronger option.

Somehow this guy is still passed out, even with all this moving around.

He’s breathing though. I place my hand on his throat to check, and part of me envisions just strangling him. But I hate that he’d probably wake up gasping for air.

Nope, choking is only fun during sex.

I step back and assess my handiwork. It’s… sloppy at best. Definitely amateur, but it’s my first kidnapping.

Fuck. As soon as this guy wakes up again, I feel like he’s going to rip out of my attempted restraints and escape. Then he’ll turn me in, and my life will be over.

All because of one stupid fucking mistake. An accident.

Well, and my shitty response to that accident. But it was barely my fault to begin with, so this whole situation is infuriating.

I wish I had handcuffs. Or rope. Something to actually restrain him.

I groan. The BDSM porn I like is full of that shit. Why haven’t I ever worked up the courage to try anything that kinky in real life? It would be so convenient if I already had that stuff lying around.

Wait. That’s actually genius.