Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
It was a psychological battle she intended to win, because the boy wouldn’t suffer for his disobedience the way Mom and Mattie would.
Resolve guided her hands, lifting the edge of the rug and unfurling a thin latex sheet from beneath it. Half of the sheath was held down by his body. It was also glued to the subfloor. She folded the loose half over him, crawling quietly to his other side.
He coughed as she hefted the closest shoulder and rolled him on his side, the bones in his arm indiscernible through the hard layers of compact muscle. A few careful tugs on the carpet, his breathing stuttering and steadying, and the rug pulled free from his weight. She set it behind her and returned him to his back.
At his feet, she pulled a zipper around the edges of the latex, sliding it toward his head and removing the chains from his wrist cuffs as she went. Through the night, it would be a plastic sleeping bag. With the sides zipped together, she cinched the latex around his shoulders.
That done, she curled up on the mattress, lit a cigarette, and walked through her preparations for the next day. The nature of mornings in captivity was either they woke up remembering where they were and what was expected or they were punished and dropped in hell. The captive’s first day was always hell.
Chapter 13
The gravity of confinement bore down on Josh’s sleep-dazed utopia. It was a relentless press, dragging against his skin and nudging him to wake. Lying on his back, he reached up to rub the fog from his eyes and couldn’t move his hands. He tried to lift his legs. Couldn’t move those either. His heart rate exploded, ripping the haze of sleep from his brain.
The oblivion behind his eyelids was replaced with the blank stare of a masked face. It floated above him, a ghastly-white monition against ruffled waves of chestnut hair.
Arms pinned at his sides, he blinked to clear his vision as her brown eyes watched him through the eyeholes of the opaque disguise. A nondescript nose, pointy chin, and cheekbones molded the white, oval-shaped face. It would’ve been androgynous, except for the puckered, red-painted mouth, the upper lip arching in two dramatically-peaked points.
He lifted his head, dragged his focus from the mask to where she straddled his ribs and arms, and wasn’t sure which had his heart pumping faster. The blood-red bra and panties that bared her body or the latex body bag that sheathed his.
An impending sense of doom sparked the compulsion to fight. His muscles tightened, heating his skin and constricting against the stretchy rubber. He could give into his rising panic and shout, writhe, and wear himself out. Or he could conquer his impulses, behave with reason, and deny her the satisfaction of his fear. At least his backside was safe at the moment.
He peered into the eyes behind the mask and searched for a human being. The pupils, lifeless and frozen, might as well have been painted glass. His jaw tightened. “Damn. I’m still in this nightmare?”
There, a flicker of raw umber in the glass. His heart danced in his chest. Then the flicker disappeared with a sweep of latex as she stretched the covering from his neck to his crown.
He gulped against sudden claustrophobia, catching pockets of air in the see-through plastic wrap. Bucking and kicking and straining his neck, there was no room to maneuver. The transparent rubber clung to every inch of him, his skin sweating and slipping along it uselessly.
His inhales thinned, every other breath sealing the bag against his mouth and nose. He squirmed toward the top opening, but it cinched around his neck and ensnared his head. He could lift his head to scan down the expanse of his body, but he couldn’t roll, couldn’t sit up. It was as if he was cemented to the floor.
The whine of a motor screeched through the room and vibrated the wood against his back. Oxygen vanished. The latex shrunk, compressing his arms to his sides and sinking his body to the floor. His nerves rampaged with realization. She was sucking the air from the bag with a vacuum, trapping him, suffocating him.
He grunted, tried to scream at her to stop. Breathless. Constricted. Fire lit his lungs, and his heart exploded with terror.
The motor shut off, and the bag loosened. She peeled back the flap, cool air stroking his face and filling his lungs. She smoothed his hair from his forehead. “If there’s a definition for waking up on the wrong side of the bed, this is it.”
Was that a joke? Was the vile witch mocking him while she tortured him? He mustered his most sarcastic tone and smiled. “I’ll pray for your soul, Liv.”
Her fist slammed into his cheekbone.
Ow, dammit. A jolt of pain seared through his skull and burned his eyes.