Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37896 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Two days, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified that I hadn’t seen anyone the whole time. I could clearly remember the early days of my last captivity. I was cold now, and hungry, and sore from the stone floor, but no one had touched me or hurt me.
There had been three bottles of water in a row in front of the prison bars that sealed me in. I’d avoided them, but eventually, my parched throat compelled me to give in and open one. It was just water. I had tried to pace myself, not knowing how long they would have to last, but a river of tears quickly leads to dehydration it seemed, and too fast, the bottles were empty. There was no water left, but I was no longer crying.
This was it. Naked and alone, I was going to die in this cell. I had no idea how I’d gotten here. The last I remembered, I had awoken shortly after falling asleep in Derek’s arms. The clothes he’d had me put on had been uncomfortable, and I’d decided to test the freedom to make my own decisions by stripping off the pants and shirt. I’d fallen back to sleep pressed against his naked chest, knowing it was right where I wanted to fall asleep every night for the rest of my life.
And then I’d woken up here. It wasn’t a punishment for disobeying him. Derek would never be this cruel, but the alternative brought no comfort. They’d found us. Whoever had been hunting us had caught up. They’d taken me—probably keeping me in an unconscious oblivion with the same kind of sedatives the men who’d first taken me had used.
What had they done with Derek? The question had plagued me, tormented me, every second of the past two days. Was he trapped somewhere in this dungeon, too? Or…had they killed him? The thought had made me sick over and over again, but with an empty stomach, I’d done little more than dry heave in the corner before curling back up and crying on the cold floor on the other side of the cell.
“Derek…” I whispered into the silent, musky air. I just wanted to know he was OK. That’s all. I wasn’t asking for much. But no matter how many times I whispered or screamed his name, there’d been no response. I was going to die never knowing if he was even alive.
Another round of sobs ripped across my parched throat. Apparently, I wasn’t done crying altogether. I curled up tighter, innately trying to escape the cool breeze that wafted in from the window. I don’t know if I closed my eyes or not. It was so dark it was hard to tell the difference.
Open, I realized, as sometime later dawn’s light slowly began to transform my surroundings from pitch black to dingy grey. I blinked back the tears blurring my vision and glanced around.
My scream lodged behind my heart in my throat when I caught sight of the figure on the other side of the bars. I scurried back further into the corner and wrapped my arms tight around my knees as if I could curl myself up into nothingness.
He just stood there, watching me with eyes as cold as another pair I’d seen not long ago. The similarities ended there, though. This man was taller than Marcos, his hair was dark but longer, and his cold eyes were a stormy grey. It looked like storm clouds were brewing in their depths.
He didn’t move. He just kept staring. He was so still I couldn’t tell if he was even breathing.
“What do you want?” I asked when I could find my voice.
He raised one hand and covered his lips with one finger, motioning for me to be quiet. His eyes never left mine.
“Tell me now,” I persisted.
He cocked an eyebrow over one, evil eye, and I couldn’t help but question the intelligence of pushing this man.
Too late. He reached for the handle and slid open the door. It offered no resistance, even though it refused to budge for me all the times I’d tried to force it open. An electronic lock—it must be—but that seemed terribly out of place in this medieval dungeon.
He stepped into my cell and suddenly I wished for the lock, for anything that would have kept him on the other side of the bars.
He strode right to me and yanked me up onto my feet. I tried to struggle out of his grip, but he bent my arm behind my back. The burn in my shoulder forced me to stop struggling before he snapped it out of its socket.
“Please let me go,” I pleaded, though I knew he had no intention of it.
He shoved me forward, keeping my arm twisted back to ensure my obedience, and pressed me against the rough stone wall. I couldn’t move, not without dislocating my own shoulder.