Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
From the living room, I head back into the bedroom, flicking on the light as I go. Looking around the room, I locate a closet tucked in the far side of the room. I cross the space and throw the doors open. The inside is stuffed with men’s clothing, all in shades of black and gray. There is everything from jeans to suits, giving me no distinct variation of who this man might really be. I feel like a hamster on a wheel, going nowhere.
I drop my gaze to the floor with defeat, and that’s when I see it—a scrap of champagne silk. I grab the end that’s showing and pull it out from underneath a pair of dirty boots. With the fabric in my hands, I stare at it. The memories swarm me. The night Nicolo took me, sitting on a mattress in the basement, wearing this, and Lucas, Nic’s brother, walking out with it clutched in his huge fist.
Lucas. Again, the memories rush back in, and I recall him coming into the room at the auction. Him knocking me out after saying he’s my… what? His words are a haze.
My knees give out from pure exhaustion, and I sink to the plush carpet of the walk-in closet. A spicy scent permeates the space—like a deodorant or a cologne, not laundry soap. I don’t remember smelling it before, but then again, I didn’t consider Lucas like I did Nicolo. Whenever Nicolo walked into a room, all my focus shifted to him. Prey waiting to be torn apart by the stronger predator.
I don’t know how long I sit staring down at the silk fabric, but it’s long enough that my legs ache from the awkward angle. I notice the knife sitting beside me on the carpet, and I don’t even remember dropping it.
A heavy metallic thud, followed by a sharp clicking noise, drags me back to the present. I grab the blade and scramble underneath the pile of clothes, using them to hide behind. The sound had definitely been the lock, right? Or maybe I’m going crazy.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and the pain biting around the back of my skull intensifies as I struggle to quiet my breathing.
Footsteps crunch on the carpet as they come into the room. There is a pause, and I hold my breath as he opens what I assume is the bathroom door before moving oto the closet door.
The light flicks on, illuminating the small space, and I can’t hold my breath anymore, so I release it slowly, carefully, modulated. It doesn’t matter, though.
“I know you’re in here, Celia. Now get your ass out here, because I don’t feel like chasing you down. I have food, water, and clothing for you.”
It’s the last one that drives me to step out of my hiding spot. I peek out from between his suits. Lucas stands before me, dressed in black from head to toe. My memory wasn’t warped. He really kidnapped me, but the question remains… why?
“Give me the clothes and let me change, and I’ll come out.”
He rolls his eyes and tosses something on the floor. I snatch up the pile, watching him like a snake that could strike at any given time. When he shuts the door to the bedroom, I crawl out from my hiding spot and look at what he brought.
A pair of black leggings, underwear, and an oversized T-shirt sit inside a plastic bag. If I wasn’t so mad and confused, I would probably rejoice about this new wardrobe. It’s my first official set of clothing since being kidnapped.
I quickly put the clothes on, tossing the dress in the back of the closet, and exit, knife in hand along my thigh.
Lucas is in the kitchen, pulling white Chinese food containers from a paper bag. A spicy scent reaches my nostrils, and my stomach lets out a loud rumble.
“Hungry?” Lucas asks like he didn’t just hear my stomach and points to a stool on the other side of the counter.
I take the seat, but he doesn’t do anything but stare at me. His expression deadpan, his eyes narrowing on me.
“What?”
He extends his hand out to me. “Knife. Then you can have this chicken and rice.”
To give up my weapon is a trap, and I clutch the knife tighter, but my stomach betrays me further, rumbling in protest. With a sigh, I slam the knife down on the countertop and hold out my empty hand for the food box.
Lucas shakes his head and returns the knife to the block on the opposite counter. I watch him warily as he places a box in front of me, a pair of wooden chopsticks on top. Before he can change his mind, I snap the box up, rip open the top, and dig into the food—spicy chicken on a bed of white rice. The heat of the chicken pairs perfectly with the rice, and I have to keep my groan of appreciation locked down tight.