My Favorite Kidnapper Read Online Melanie Moreland

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Contemporary, Funny, Insta-Love Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
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My apartment was empty when I got home, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I noticed another small leak by the window and stuffed some wadded-up paper into the crack. I looked around with new eyes. It was a terrible little place. Dark and dingy. I had hung posters, had bright-colored blankets on the small futon bed that doubled as a couch if needed. The one armchair I had found at the side of the road and dragged home, using an old dress to recover it. I’d painted the arms and legs, and I had found the ottoman at a thrift store. The same with the faded rug on the floor. The kitchen consisted of a small stove that didn’t work, a waist-high fridge, and a scarred countertop with an old sink and taps that rattled when I turned them on. The bathroom was minute. The front door of the apartment never locked properly, and the people above me wore clogs and liked to tap-dance in them late at night. Or at least, I swore it was clogs.

But the apartment was cheap and warm in the winter. Too warm most of the time. The window was legal, but grimy and old. It wasn’t forever, and it was just me and Roomba.

However, it was, as Dante observed, god-awful.

I packed an overnight bag, keeping it simple. I loved overalls, the freedom and ease of them. I had several pairs in different colors, some short-length, others full. I paired them with T-shirts and sneakers. I put in a few pairs with some shirts, underwear, and sleeping attire. I didn’t bother with makeup. I made sure I had enough food for Roomba and her kennel had her blanket and some treats at hand. She loved to roam outside when we went to the cabin. She never went far, but she enjoyed the outdoors while we were there.

I had a ticket for the ten-a.m. bus the next day. I got ready for bed early, glancing at the door. Dante had been full of it. I bet he was already gone, laughing over the fact that he’d wound me up. At least I got a couple of hot meals out of it.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected. For him to break down my door and carry me off? Show up at the bus terminal and refuse to allow me to use my ticket? Whatever wild idea my imagination came up with was pure nonsense. It wasn’t going to happen. Why he’d paid off my loan and told me he wanted some cakes was a mystery. Ultrarich people were known for their idiosyncrasies. Maybe he did this a lot. I refused to admit that I felt a small fraction of disappointment at his absence. That I wished I could have sparred with him one more time. Maybe kissed him.

I refused to think about that at all.

I reached into the cupboard for my tin of Ovaltine. I was almost out, and I would have to remember to get more when I got back. One foster home I had been in for a short while had been nice, and the lady had made me Ovaltine and talked to me every night before I went to bed. Sadly, I wasn’t allowed to stay as she became ill, and I was only there for about a week. It was one of the few good memories I had growing up, and when I was on my own, I bought a tin and had a cup at night. It made me feel better somehow. Connected to something pleasant instead of all the awful memories I carried with me.

I lay on my futon, suddenly exhausted. I didn’t bother to change, planning on doing so in the morning. The leggings and sweatshirt I wore were comfortable enough. Roomba climbed up beside me, stretching out behind me the way she always did. I reached back, stroking along her fur, and fell asleep quickly, welcoming the darkness.

Tomorrow would be a better day.

I woke, feeling sluggish. I burrowed back under the blanket, my bed feeling extraordinarily comfortable this morning and the room brighter than usual. My sleep had been filled with dreams. I had felt movement around me. My body being transported. Disjointed voices. Odd sounds. Dante had drifted through my mind more than once. I had felt his touch. Heard the timbre of his voice in my head.

“I’m sorry, Little Bee, but it has to happen.”

“You’ll love it.”

“It’s all right, we’ll be there soon. I have you.”

With my eyes still shut, I reached behind me, feeling the comforting warmth of Roomba as she slept. I stroked her fur, needing her presence to ground me. I wasn’t sure why I felt so groggy this morning. I hadn’t taken anything; in fact, I had fallen asleep fast. I reached for the glass I kept beside the bed and took a sip of the cool water. I frowned as I felt the weight of the goblet in my hand. Traced the heavy pattern cut into the edge. My usual cup was a small, cheap one I’d bought at the dollar store. I swallowed, setting it down on the table beside the futon, gripping the blanket. It was soft, light, warm. It smelled of sunshine and citrus. My blankets were old, rough, and always carried a trace of dampness. My futon felt different. Not hard and unforgiving. The mattress I was on cradled my body—like a cloud.



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