Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
They hadn’t raped me.
But why not? Were they waiting until I was conscious again? Is that what they wanted?—for me to fight them, knowing I was going to lose? If I continued to lay here, eyes closed and perfectly still, would they get bored with me, or think they’d done some sort of irreversible damage with their last blow?—no fun to play with a brain-damaged victim, was it? It was my best plan at the moment, or rather, my only plan until I could come up with something better.
So, I did my best to keep my breathing steady and keep my eyes closed without squeezing them too tightly-shut and giving myself away. I tried to keep my limbs still, but that was lowest on the priority list. It seemed reasonable that the body might move innately when unconscious like it did in ordinary sleep.
And then I moved on to assessing my situation.
I was on a bed, presumably the same one I’d woken up on before, but that was little help because I hadn’t had the time to look around and survey my surroundings then.
I was naked—I cringed mentally at the realization, but I struggled to keep my features smooth. But I could feel the same comfortably warm air across every inch of my body that wasn’t pressed against the mattress. My legs had been left—or positioned—slightly parted, and I felt an overwhelming urge to squeeze them shut. I resisted—just barely.
There was no noise in the room aside from my relatively stable breathing, which suggested there was no one else here. That made it tempting to open my eyes, but not yet. For all I knew, it was a really big room and I just couldn’t hear the others breathing.
All right, so, I was naked, on a bed, in a room, the door to which may or may not be locked, and the men who’d done this to me may or may not be in the room with me. So far, this wasn’t looking very good for me.
I ever so slowly moved one hand from where it laid near my side, just enough to ascertain the likelihood of whether I’d been restrained. My hand seemed to move freely though, which made it unlikely.
That was at least one relief. If they did come at me again, I’d have some small chance of catching them off-guard and escaping—through the door which may or may not be locked. Still, that sounded like the beginnings of a plan to me. Not a good one, but better than nothing.
I’d listen for the sound of them approaching and the moment they did, I’d spring away and out the door—assuming it wasn’t locked from the outside or with a key. There was no point in worrying about it—there was no way for me to know ahead of time. And there was no sense in trying to fight them. I’d failed miserably on more than one attempt, and feared it would inevitably only lead to a repeat.
But minutes ticked by and still no movement. Maybe they’d just left me here for good. But just as I was beginning to entertain the possibility, I heard the grind of a lock and a door opened a second later.
I did my damnedest to fight the panic rising in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, not to lay here and wait patiently for them to approach. But by some miracle, I was able to do it.
As the intruders came closer though, I realized there was only one set of footsteps. Not two. Where was the other one? Was he waiting by the door?—blocking it to impede my escape? Damn it. With my eyes closed and no sounds other than the single set of footsteps, I had no way of knowing. And I didn’t exactly have a whole lot of time to modify the plan. So, I’d stick with the original, and if there was an obstacle in my way, I’d find some way to charge right through it. Maybe there was something I could grab quickly to use as a weapon—like a lamp, or even a heavy book—and I could throw it or ram it into him.
The footsteps were only a couple of feet away, and I could hear him breathing. The sound was faint but somehow reassuring. He wasn’t some kind of larger-than-life monster. He was just human. Flesh and blood. And I could do this.
He stopped right next to the bed, but be remained there. I’d swear I could feel his eyes on me and the urge to cover up skyrocketed. Not yet. Don’t do it, I cautioned myself. I wondered which one it was. The one I’d bit or the one who’d jabbed me with the needle? It didn’t really smell like either of them. In fact, it smelled nothing like them. It was a heady, woody scent, with an undertone of something that could only be described as one hundred percent male—not the old sweat and gym socks kind of ‘male’, but virile, the kind of scent a woman couldn’t help but notice—apparently, no matter the situation.