Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
It’s obvious to me now that no matter what I do, Sara won’t let go of the past, and if that’s the case, she might as well have another reason to hate me.
Resolved, I close my eyes and force my tense muscles to relax.
When I return, there will be no more condoms. One way or another, Sara is going to have my child.
If she can’t love me, she’ll love a part of me.
43
Sara
It takes me several minutes to compose myself after Peter leaves, and by the time I head into the kitchen to talk to Yulia again, Kent returns and politely but firmly ushers me to my room.
“You should get some sleep,” he says, and from the implacable look on his face, I can tell he’ll use physical force to make me obey if he has to.
He has no intention of helping me, of that I’m certain.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I say evenly when we get to my room, and he nods, his pale gaze inscrutable.
“Good night, Sara,” he says, and as he closes the door behind him, I hear the faint click of a turning lock.
I wait thirty seconds, then try the door handle to confirm my suspicions.
Sure enough, I’m locked in.
Taking a breath to calm myself, I walk over to the big window. It looks like the bottom portion should open by sliding up, but no matter how hard I try to push it up, the thick glass doesn’t budge. It’s either sealed shut or simply too heavy for me to lift. Some kind of bulletproof glass, maybe? That would make sense given Kent’s profession.
Either way, opening the window is out.
Next, I explore the small window in the bathroom. It has the same thick glass as the window in the bedroom, and there are two additional problems with it: it’s too small for me to crawl through, and there’s no opening mechanism as far as I can tell.
Frustrated, I leave the windows alone and go through the closet and the dresser, looking for a forgotten phone or an old tablet. The odds of finding such a device here are slim, but back home, people would leave their electronics everywhere, and it’s feasible Kent and his wife might do the same. After all, this is their house, not a place where they regularly keep prisoners.
At least I’m hoping that’s the case.
Unsurprisingly, I don’t find anything. The closet and the dresser hold what one would usually expect to find in a guest room: extra bedding and towels, along with some unopened toiletries.
Feeling increasingly drained and dispirited, I decide to take a shower and get some rest as Kent suggested.
With some luck, I’ll get to talk to Yulia tomorrow.
At this point, she’s my best, if not my only, hope.
To my disappointment, I don’t see Yulia the next day, nor am I allowed out of my room. Kent himself brings me my meals—a mix of leftovers from dinner and new gourmet concoctions undoubtedly made by his wife—and then he carries away the dishes an hour later. I don’t know if he’s purposefully trying to keep me away from Yulia, or if it’s just an unlucky coincidence, but by evening, I’m going stir crazy, frustration about my predicament mixing with growing worry about Peter. All I have are a few books that Kent brought me around lunchtime, and it’s not nearly enough to keep me from dwelling on the dangers Peter’s team might be facing at that very moment.
“Have you heard from them? Are they okay?” I ask Kent when he brings me dinner. The hard-faced arms dealer intimidates me, but I’m determined not to show it.
After all, I’ve been living with four equally dangerous criminals for months.
At my question, Kent looks coolly amused. “You want to know if they’re okay?”
I nod, though a flush warms my face. I understand how this appears. Given Kent’s treatment of me so far, he obviously knows I’m not here of my own free will. Still, I’d rather he believe I’m suffering from Stockholm Syndrome than continue to remain in the dark and worry about Peter all night.
“They’re okay,” Kent says, placing the tray on the dresser. His face is expressionless again, though a trace of amusement glimmers in the icy depths of his eyes. “Peter messaged me a couple of hours ago, asking about you. For now, they’re just gathering intel for the strike, so I doubt anything will happen tonight. You can rest easy.”
I exhale in relief. “Thank you.”
He nods and turns to leave, but I decide to push my luck. “Wait, Lucas… where’s Yulia? I haven’t seen her all day, and I wanted to thank her for these lovely meals.”
He gives me an inscrutable look. “I’ll convey your thanks to her.”
This is my cue to be a good captive and slink away, but I’m not about to give up so easily. “I’d rather do it in person, if you don’t mind,” I say, pasting a slightly embarrassed smile on my lips. “Is she really busy? There’s actually something I wanted to ask her… about some female items, you know…”