Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” I was almost to the top. All I had to do was pull myself to the other side and run for it. It would take him just as long to climb the wall, and by then, I’d be long gone. All I had to do was make it to a house or follow the road to town.
When I reached the top, I lowered myself to the other side and tried to climb down, but it was pitch dark and my fingers slipped. I fell until I hit the ground, and just as Cauldron warned, it was on a slope. My foot landed at an odd angle, and I clenched my teeth hard so no one would hear my scream.
Fuck, he was right. It was too dark to know if it was broken or just sprained.
Less than a minute later, he landed beside me, a flashlight between his teeth.
“What are you, a monkey?” I snapped. “You climb fast…”
He kneeled and pointed the flashlight at my foot. “What did I tell you? You’re lucky it’s not broken.”
“It’s not?” I asked, trying not to wince in pain. “It sure feels like it.”
“Here.” He handed me the flashlight.
“You’re going to throw me over your back and carry me?” I asked incredulously.
He scooped his arms underneath my body and lifted me to his chest. “Point the flashlight.”
“Where?”
“Ahead.”
I pointed the light along the wall.
In silence, he carried me, like he knew where he was going.
Defeated, I just sat there, my eyes down on my thighs in shame. This was the closest I’d come to escaping, and I screwed it up.
Moments later, he walked through an open gate onto the property.
“There’s a gate?” I climbed that wall for nothing?
The mattress was gone because his staff had already picked it up and carried it back into the house. The rope of bedsheets was crumpled on the ground from where he’d dropped it. His strong arms didn’t tremble as he carried me to the front doors. “Call for Roger. She needs a wrap for her ankle.”
“Roger?”
“He’s a doctor.”
“It doesn’t even hurt anymore. It’s probably fine.” When I tried to roll it, a burning pain shot up my leg and into my stomach, and for a brief moment, I thought I’d be sick. Okay…maybe it wasn’t fine.
When we entered my bedroom, the maids were still putting fresh sheets on the bed. Cauldron set me on the couch and lifted my injured leg to place it on the coffee table. An ice pack was handed to him, and he applied it to my leg.
I gave a visible wince.
“It’ll feel better once the swelling goes down.”
I couldn’t stop myself from breathing hard, but I hid all the other signs of pain. Refused to admit my escape plan was a big, fat mistake. If my ankle was sprained, it’d be several weeks before I could execute another plan.
Minutes later, some guy I assumed to be Roger appeared. He examined my ankle then opened his bag to pull out the materials to prepare a soft cast. “A mild sprain. Should be good as new if she stays off it for three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” I blurted. “I can’t wait three weeks. I’ve got too much shit to do.”
“Sounds like a vacation to me,” Cauldron said. “Not having to deal with you trying to escape all the time.” He said all that right in front of the doctor, basically admitted I was held there against my will, and neither one of them seemed to care.
What a fucked-up world I lived in.
Roger wrapped my foot and secured it in place. Crutches were retrieved and set against the armchair in front of the TV. Roger and the maids left, leaving Cauldron and me alone together.
I stared at my foot for a few seconds, hoping this was all just a really bad dream.
But it wasn’t.
“I’ll help you get undressed.”
“I don’t need your help, asshole.” I got to my feet. Well, I got to one of my feet. I hopped away and grabbed on to one of the wooden posts around the bed. I could get my jeans off just fine. Getting them back on would be the problem.
Cauldron walked around the living room and approached me, the scruff on his jawline thick because he’d skipped the shave for a couple of days. His sweatpants were low on his hips, the lines separating his chest and abs like they’d been carved with a knife. “Don’t blame me for this. You’re the one who decided to jump off the balcony.”
“I wouldn’t have to jump off the balcony if you’d just let me go, so I do blame you.”
With empty eyes, he regarded me with the chill of a winter storm. “I don’t want it to be this way.”
“Well, you know exactly how I wanted it to be before I found out you were a soulless psychopath.” When I remembered all the things I had said to him, practically begged him for something more, I felt such humiliation. When I imagined him reading all those thoughts I was only brave enough to admit in private, that feeling of humiliation increased tenfold. He could have chosen to preserve his relationship with me and forget about his brother if I were important enough—but I wasn’t.