Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
She will feel cheated that there is no body for her handsome son. I’m sure I would make for a very attractive corpse in an expensive, custom-fitted suit.
Oh yes… my poor mother.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and find it odd I’m still a little groggy.
The stew…
There must have been something in the stew Ember cooked to knock me out. No way could I have slept through the night on a cold cellar floor without some sort of sedative. Especially since I can’t remember the last time I went to bed without several glasses of whiskey and two or three sleeping pills. My nighttime cocktail is my way of life, and I don’t judge myself nor do I give a shit who does.
I do me. Do I drink more than mother dearest would approve of and pop pills like a child in a candy store with free samples? Damn straight. And when this entire nightmare is over, I will throw myself a true rager to attempt to erase the awful memories of this medieval dungeon from my mind. It may take me never being sober again to forget this ordeal.
But for now, all I can do is get off the ground to sit on my chair of dignity. It’s how I see this chair. At least I am not on the floor like some animal.
My throne.
For I am now the king overseeing the demented, the unhinged, and the stark raving madness of this depraved empire.
I notice the chain to my ankle cuff is longer. A lot longer.
This must have happened while I slept in a drug-induced stupor.
Standing up and testing the length, I can see this Richard fuck is smarter than I give him credit for. I can make it to the bathroom, which I use instantly, and I can make it around the room for the most part. But I can’t reach the doorway to escape at all. Richard will be able to stand by the door, and I can’t reach him to strangle him to death. I can also reach the wall with the window, but barely. There isn’t enough slack for me to stand on a crate or chair to look out of it. It’s like this asshole measured every single inch of this room and read my mind on what I would do once I knew he gave me enough slack to move more freely.
“How did you sleep?” I hear a soft voice from behind me ask as I stare up at the window. I didn’t notice Ember enter the room.
“I think you know the answer to that since you drugged me,” I say as I walk back to my chair.
“Papa Rich said it would make you more comfortable.” She takes a few cautious steps toward me and points to the chain. “He said if I sprinkled the stew with the powder, he would give you more length so you can use the restroom.”
I don’t say anything but take in her appearance instead. She’s wearing another floral dress that seems to fit her better. The fabric is still worn, and the hem that reaches below her knee is frayed. She is still barefoot, her hair remains in a braid down her back, but her face seems to have more color. More life. The rosy color in her cheeks only brightens the blue in her eyes more. She is actually a very pretty woman, especially considering she clearly gets no assistance from salons or plastic surgeons like all the women I’m used to seeing in New York.
Her wide eyes are full of worry, and her fingertips touch her collarbone. “Are you mad at me?”
Such a simple question.
Such a normal question.
“There are a lot of people worried about me right now,” I say, examining her closely to see how she reacts to my statement.
She looks to her feet. I see guilt. Good.
“Do you have a big family?” She lifts her eyes and looks at me through long eyelashes. “Brothers and sisters?”
“No brothers or sisters, but I have a mother who I’m close with. I have friends and coworkers who no doubt are scared.” I consider telling her of Marissa too, but I do worry that if Richard finds out, he may just kill me and find another poor fool to go through this absurd courting. I need to stay alive long enough to somehow figure out a way to escape.
“Being an only child is lonely,” she says as she walks to the same crate she sat on yesterday. Sitting, she crosses her legs, leans forward, and locks her stare on me.
“I suppose so.”
“What is Rolling Stone? Papa Rich says that’s where you work.”
I swallow hard to force down the growing frustration. She’s acting like we are on a date learning about each other when what a normal woman would be doing is helping me come up with a plan to run away.