Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Nolan gets to his feet and yawns, stretching his arms up over his head. “Suit yourself,” he says, but it looks as if he only feigns nonchalance. He is indeed afraid of Keenan, and frankly, I don’t blame him.
She comes to me and takes my hands, eyeing me up and down. “You’re about five foot four, no?” She murmurs to herself. “Fifty-five kilos, give or take.”
I shrug. “I… I have no idea.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a wide-eyed stare before responding. “Reeallllly. Not know?”
I shake my head. She looks back down at my dress and absentmindedly fingers the fabric. It troubles her, somehow. But before she can respond, she sighs. “Right, then.”
Maeve walks around the room, picking things up and straightening the bed as if tidying it, though it already seems immaculate.
“Get to it, then, Keenan,” she says. “What do you need from me?”
I blink in surprise, thinking she’s rude, but he doesn’t even flinch. Something troubles her. Something about me.
“Clothing,” Keenan says. “I want her out of these old things and into something fresh, clean, and appropriate.”
“Aye,” she says, taking his perfectly fluffy pillows off the bed and fluffing them before returning them. “Naturally. When?”
“Before dinner, please,” he says. “Will you get them for me?”
She turns and faces him but won’t look at me. “Of course,” she says. “Anything in particular?”
He shrugs, then looks back in my general direction, his eyes traveling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes before responding. He shrugs. “Nothing too… modern. Sleek. I kind of like the look of her in a dress, and for the love of God, nothing revealing.”
I don’t like how they’re talking about me as if I’m not standing right here before them. It feels weird.
“Certainly” she says. She turns from me and leaves, without even casting a backward glance my way, and I’m left with a sadness that feels heavy on my chest. What did I do? I’d hoped for a friend in her, or… something.
It’s confusing, all of this interaction with other people. I’ve never spoken so much in my life, and it’s exhausting.
Keenan’s walking to a large closet, bigger than my room at home. “I mean to find if you’re telling me the truth, Caitlin.”
“Of course I am,” I tell him. “What use would it be to lie?”
He turns to face me, a length of rope in his hands. For some reason, the combination of the rope in his hands and the way he’s eyeing me makes me shiver. “Not much use if I caught you in a lie,” he says truthfully. “Doesn’t mean you won’t try it. But I’ve work to do and can’t trust you. Give me your wrists.”
Panic wells in me at the sight of the rope. He restrained me once, and I hoped he wouldn’t again. I hated being restrained.
“Why?” I ask, but it’s the wrong response. With a firm set of his jaw, he spins me around and cracks his hand against my backside. I gasp in pain and move to get away from him when a second hard blow follows the first. My cheeks flame with embarrassment. I’m humiliated at being punished like this.
“Stop!” I say, but he lands one final smack of his palm against my ass before he spins me back around to face him.
“I should punish you properly,” he says. “Give me cheek like that again, and I will.”
It’s not lost on me that his father demanded just this, that he punish me. Is this what he has in mind?
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I protest.
He spins me around he grabs my chin so roughly, his fingers hurt. I wonder if he leaves marks. “Obedience,” he says tightly. “Submission. I’ve given you more leeway that I should have. But I have my reasons. And your warnings are up, Caitlin. Now give me your wrists, or I will punish you properly.”
With tears in my eyes, I obey. I hate him. Hate him. I was hidden away, apart from others, and my first interaction with people outside the confines of my home has destroyed my faith in humanity. My father had good reason to be hidden away like he was. Good reason. I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the way my nose tingles while he ties a knot around my wrists.
“Good girl,” he says. “Now, you’ll wait on the side of the bed while I get ready.” His voice drips with condescension, as if he thinks I’m only a child who needs correcting.
I scowl at him. I hate that this is my first interaction with the outside world, and he’s taught me hate.
“I don’t like that look on your face,” he corrects. “Wipe it.”
I hate him. I hate him.
It’s almost like I hear an audible snap in my brain, like my resolve’s been tied with string that can’t bear any more weight.