Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“I was an office assistant, but at the moment I don’t have a job.”
“Nice.”
“What about you?”
His blue eyes sparkle with amusement—what did I say that was so funny?
“Just a mechanic.”
That’s it?
He seems like so much more than that.
“What’s your name?”
I haven’t asked him that question yet, and it’s in that moment I realize I’m getting a little too drunk, and if we don’t leave soon, I’ll probably end up sick and ruin all my chances of a wicked night with this man. My head is feeling light, and I’m spinning a lot more than I was ten minutes ago. That last drink must have been strong, and I drank it way too fast.
“Johnny.”
Fuck me.
Of course he has a hot name.
“Want to get some fresh air?”
He nods.
As we move through the crowd, with them stepping aside for him, I notice I’m struggling to keep my footing. Why do I feel so lightheaded? I was fine ten minutes ago, getting tipsy, sure, but not drunk to the point I’m struggling to walk. I might be a lightweight but, man, this is bad even for me. Johnny escorts me down the hall with his hand on the small of my back, occasionally stopping me from falling. He’s so scarily calm, moving me through the crowd as if I’m not stumbling and tripping over myself.
“Come on, you need some water.”
He’s right about that.
I pause and close my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell has gone wrong. When I open them again, I see two of him. Well, this can’t be good.
“Something is wrong, how strong was that drink?” I slur.
Is that my voice?
God.
“You’ve just had too much. When you’re dancing in the dark, it doesn’t feel like you’re as drunk as you really are. Fresh air will help.”
Something is wrong.
Alarm bells are going off in my head. I didn’t drink so much that I would be this drunk. Where’s Ava? Did she see us leave? Why do we have to walk all the way out here for fresh air when we could have just gone out the front? I try to pull my hand from his with no success. I’m too drunk and he’s too strong. I’m unable to get one foot in front of the other, let alone escape his hold. I trip and tumble forward, but he catches me with zero effort, hauling me up into his arms.
That’s when I know the situation I’m in is dangerous.
“Let me go,” I slur, struggling to even focus on where we are as he begins striding off toward the darkness.
He doesn’t answer.
My attempts at getting him to put me down are futile.
My words go unnoticed.
With every passing step, my vision blurs even more, and I can’t fight it any longer.
Everything goes black.
THEY SAY INSTINCT TELLS you when something is wrong, or your gut, whichever you’d like to go with. I know something is wrong the moment I open my eyes. Outside of the fact that my head is pounding, my vision is blurry, and I feel like I’m going to vomit. It takes me a moment to gather my bearings, and when I do, I know I’m not at home. No, not even close.
I’m in a room that, upon first glance, would appear completely normal. A bed, a bathroom and toilet, a desk in the corner, clean, tidy, very normal looking. That is, of course, until you cast your eyes over to the window that is barred with large metal poles, or the door that was obviously once wooden, and is now a solid steel with a keypad to enter and exit. This isn’t just any room, this is a prison cell.
I gasp in shock and pull my arms, only to realize not only am I in a stranger’s fucking prison room but I’m tied up. I twist my head to the side, trying to see where the rope I’m connected to goes, but I can’t see a damned thing. I jerk my hands again, and the rope allows just enough room for me to squirm into a sitting position, but that’s as far as I can go.
Fear lurches in my chest as I stare around again and the events of the night before come crawling back into my mind. Johnny, the mystery man who was overly focused on me. He spent the entire evening making sure I was the only one he gave his attention to, and then, he was carrying me away into the darkness as I fought to regain control. He drugged me. He fucking drugged me.
Is he a god damned rapist? Murderer? What the hell is he going to do with me?
A sick feeling swarms my stomach, and I jerk again, desperately trying to escape the rope, but there is no use, they’re secured too well.
The sounds of the keys on the keypad beeping has me whipping my head toward the door. A moment later a small click rings out and it opens. I’m faced with the perfect face of the man I spent the night dancing with, grinding my body against, and imagining a wild night beneath the sheets. This is certainly not the kind of bed scenario I was conjuring up.