Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
She looked over at Evan, whose skin had drained of color. Even the angry, reddish-purple bruise surrounding his eye looked suddenly pastel. He brought his hands slowly from the bars he’d been holding on to, as though unconsciously drawing back the part of him that had been threatened.
Come with me or we’ll take his fingers.
We’ll.
“Who is we?” she asked, her voice soft and shaky.
“I couldn’t answer that,” he said. “Even if I wanted to.”
He was just a type of servant, then? A henchman? Hired muscle? He looked more soft than solid, a roll of flab at his waistline obvious even under the dark shirt, but she supposed a Taser made brute strength unnecessary. She also was pretty sure she saw the outline of a weapon beneath his coat. He was going to deliver her somewhere. And he was prepared should she decide to fight him.
But that was if she agreed to the terms.
Come with me or we’ll take his fingers.
And if she didn’t go with him? She didn’t need that answer spelled out for her. He’d given her a choice. There wasn’t a third option, not really. Save yourself from whatever unknown fate being rented meant, or save Evan’s fingers. She felt like she was underwater, trying desperately to surface, to shrug out of her own skin rather than face this reality.
Rented.
She turned her head, meeting Evan’s one wide eye. He stared back at her. She saw fear there, yes. Horror. Sympathy. Confusion and disorientation. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out exactly what. Instead, he waited. Waited for her to make her choice. He did not attempt an appeal. He did not give her the permission she might have been waiting for. Let them take my fingers. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to suffer.
She didn’t want that, though. Her choice was already made.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Collector eased back in his chair, the wood creaking softly beneath his weight, as he watched the guardian step back, making room for Noelle to exit her container. He sighed. Stupid Noelle. Brave Noelle. Did she even know why she’d made the choice she had? He thought not. Perhaps she’d puzzle that out later. If later existed for her. For them. The boy, Evan, remained silent, his face turned slightly as he watched Noelle stand and wobble toward the door the guardian had nodded toward.
Evan. Noelle. He knew their names. All those watching did because they all had access to their conversation. But on the screen, they were still referred to as Dodger and Midori. Like horses at the track. They’d been given names. The Collector didn’t know how or why the chosen monikers had been picked or if they were random, and he didn’t care. He referred to them only as Evan and Noelle. He wanted to know them.
He’d viewed the entire exchange with the guardian with breathless interest. When the man had first entered, the Collector had watched as Noelle shrank back as though preparing for an attack. And Evan had raced toward what Noelle perceived as a sudden threat. His response was to meet the danger head on, whereas Noelle’s was to run. Interesting. He tucked it away. Everything meant something. Everything might be valuable . . . later.
Whatever he decided that later might entail.
On the screen, the door slid shut with a resounding thud, and Evan pitched himself forward, his knuckles white on the bars of his cage, head hung as his shoulders rose and fell. The Collector watched his body language, taking in the curl of his spine and the press of his skull against the metal. Then Evan raised his head and pushed himself back very slightly. For a moment the Collector had thought the boy was crying. But he wasn’t. He was enraged. Ah, good. The Collector tapped his fingers lightly on the arms of his chair.
The numbers at the top of his screen refreshed, showing the current odds. His eyes moved over the categories quickly. Those who had bet on Midori going willingly toward the unknown of being rented, had just made a pretty penny. Those who had wagered she’d give permission for the guardian to remove Dodger’s fingers had lost. Interesting that she hadn’t asked how his fingers might be removed. She’d still been in her cage when she’d made the choice, unable to see the array of tools on the high table directly under one of the hidden cameras. Apparently, it didn’t matter whether a hacksaw would be taken to his hand or whether anesthesia and surgery would be utilized. Evidently the method mattered less to her decision than the outcome.
This was all good information to have if he was going to lay some money on the line. If he was going to become personally involved. There might very well be more risk to that than merit, however.