Tour Stop, Excerpt & Giveaway: The Escape Artist by Kitty Thomas

Ari jumped, ripped from sleep by a scream coming through the speaker overhead. For a moment he thought she was fucking with him with some kind of sleep depriving sound torture, but then he realized the screams weren’t a recording. They were her.

Agonized, sobbing screams.

“No! Please please please,” she pleaded.

It finally occurred to him, she’d left the microphone on. Her bed must be right next to her surveillance set-up. She was having a fucking night terror.

“Please!” she screamed. It came out a long seemingly endless wail for mercy.

It was the most gut-wrenching sound he’d ever heard in his life. All he wanted in this moment was to get to her and make those screams stop.

Ari crossed the room to the metal door and banged on it. “Wake up!” he shouted. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” He felt more powerless now than he’d felt when she’d been whipping him. He wasn’t sure how far the cell door was from her—if she’d even be able to hear him.

But she just kept screaming and sobbing and begging the man in her nightmare not to hurt her. Something shattered suddenly—like she’d kicked a lamp in her sleep and flailing struggles. The screaming stopped. Then all he heard was soft crying.

***

Claire sat shaking on the edge of the bed, taking deep gulping breaths, trying to slow her panicked heart. It was just a dream. Just a dream. She told herself this over and over as if to convince herself. She hadn’t had the nightmares in a year. And now they’d come back. It was because he was here, so close to her. Even with him caged, she couldn’t sleep with him so close to her. How could she have thought this revenge fantasy wouldn’t break her completely? How had she ever thought the rage could outstrip her terror?

She looked up at the screen across the room to see him staring at the camera as if he could actually see her through the lens. She leapt out of bed and raced to the control panel. The green light was on. She’d forgotten to turn off the fucking microphone. He’d heard her screams. That fucking bastard had heard her screaming and begging him.

And now he knew he still had all the power. He stared quietly at the camera, and she couldn’t read the look in his eyes.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked into the microphone, venom threading her voice.

“No.”

“Why not? Because I know you don’t feel guilt. Was it because I interrupted your precious sleep?”

He didn’t respond. Claire searched through her sound files and selected one.

“Here, let’s have a change of playlist. Here’s a fitting song for you to sleep to.”

She turned down the volume on the sound coming from the hidden microphones in the cell, plugged in a cord that would send the music to him and not her own room, cranked up the volume, and pushed play on Rob Zombie’s, “Living Dead Girl.”

A satisfied smile curved her lips as he paced, agitated, holding his hands to his ears.