Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“I’ve got as good a chance of getting out of here, before I serve these ten years, as a whale squeezin’ out of a baby’s nostril, but bad odds never stopped me before. Talk to Mom?”
“I can’t get a hold of her. She’s probably back at Benny’s.” He felt his lunch repeat. Benny was her on and off again boyfriend. A real lousy piece of shit.
“I should’ve killed Benny when I had the chance.” She took a loud inhale—she was probably smoking a joint, which was easily accessible despite her surroundings. “Send me some money. I’ve got some shit to take care of in here.”
“Have you been gambling again?”
“Just send me the fucking money.”
“I’m tired of paying off your debts. This is the last time. It’ll be there in the morning.”
He disconnected the call before she could respond. Moments later, he slipped into a black shirt and jogging pants, tied up his black and white Nikes, grabbed a basket of items, and headed back to his reluctant guest. When he entered the chamber, he expected to possibly have to restrain her again, but instead she was sitting on the bed, her bowl of fruit half gone and both bottles of water drained. She had changed into a white top and pants, but he’d brought something else instead.
He reached into the basket and placed a black shirt and pants, similar to his own, on the bed. On the floor, he placed a pair of black sneakers. He then put a paddle brush, some miscellaneous hair products, and a wide tooth comb onto the bed, too, along with a pair of black ankle length socks.
“The very thing you were going to do to me, you’re going to do for me to someone else, with my guidance. Not tonight, not tomorrow. It’s going to take a minute. This has to be done correctly. I need to brief you on the situation, give you vital information. That will be your story when you return to California. You’ll get what you need, and I will get what I want, too.” He glanced at his watch before continuing. “I’ve looked over your pre-scheduled work timetable, and you’ll be going to your planned assignments for work again, starting tomorrow.”
For a split second, she looked hopeful. Those twisted spokes of her mental wheels were turning.
“With an armed escort, of course.” The trundles stopped spinning… “I don’t need anyone in your camp coming out here getting suspicious. This is the best solution. Tonight, you’re going to make a couple of calls. Let people know you’re feeling better, good to go. If you say anything to try and tip anyone off, that’s a bullet to Chasity’s head. No second chances. No questions asked. Have I made myself clear?”
As she slowly removed her white attire, she nodded in the affirmative.
“Good. We’re going out. I’m going to show you some things, then, when we return, you’ll be in a bedroom. A real room, not here.”
“Inside your house?”
“Yes. You can take a warm shower. Eat what you wish.”
She took the brush and began the process of detangling her hair. He stood there watching her wiggle her fingers in looped curls, then use some of the spray and oils he’d provided. When she appeared finished, he broke the silence. “Turn around.” She finished her hair by placing it into a ponytail, and did as asked. He placed handcuffs on her, but was careful to not make them too tight. Her wrist needed to heal. She was a photographer after all, and her eyes and hands were her money and claim to fame.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he grabbed her arm and escorted her out of the door.
“Off to see the Wizard…”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Pieces of her lost memory began to weave together, congeal, and become whole again. Flashes of his strong hands pulling fabric up her body and over her head came to mind, too. Yes, he’d washed her… dressed her… looked at her… longingly… but nothing more. Nothing less.
Now, as she sat in his car, the passenger seat felt like an omen. A slow ride to a deep grave—her own. Was she a passenger? Or a prisoner? She eyed him discreetly from the crook of her eye. What are cruel men made of? What did God grab when he was creating demons in the flesh to run amuck on Earth? Definitely not sugar and spice and everything nice.
His skin must be made of flesh-ripping thorns and burning sand. He felt like scorpion stings and sounded like buzzing wasps. He’s the darkness at the end of an ink drop, rich and velvety like the inside of a pleasant dream. He’s the acrid, bitter taste of hate, and the blinding color of debauchery. She wracked her brain piecing together more tidbits, a scattered jigsaw puzzle of facts she’d read about the fellow while digging into his past online, hours before her abduction. Her brain scrambled to recall them all, for they may be what would later save her life.