Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“I don’t care.”
“I care.” If she rips her stitches, Doc will return and put his hands all over her golden thighs. I’ll probably end up killing Doc and having to find a new, discreet medical treater, which isn’t as easy as it should be.
“You should have thought about that before kidnapping me.”
I throw my pen down and stomp over to the sofa. I grab her wrists and push her back down. “Little bird, if you don’t listen to me, I’m going to tie you to this sofa. If you want to fly free, don’t annoy me.”
“Or what?” she snaps. “You’ll kill me? You’re too weak to kill a woman, or you would’ve done it by now.”
I laugh at this. “Trying to prick my ego? That might work on others but not on me.”
I lean close until our faces are an inch apart. “I’m a nightmare, little bird. Listen to me and live. Disobey me and you’ll wish you would die.”
Or maybe it will be me in the end that meets their demise. My little bird is more powerful than either of us truly realize.
CHAPTER 4
LAUREL
I stare at the food tray that’s sitting on the table in front of me as Kane stares at me from behind his desk. I’m not sure what to make of this man. Every now and then, he clicks away on his computer or phone, but his eyes keep coming back to me. I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to do that he has to keep a personal eye on me himself. I guess there was that whole gun thing, but I don’t have access to a weapon now.
“Eat,” he finally snaps. I turn to glare at him. Didn’t I already tell him not to tell me what to do? Kane scares me, but I can’t help myself in my defiance to him. I’m poking the bear, and I’m not sure why. He made it clear if I disobey, there will be consequences worse than death. The very reason I tried to do what I’d done to begin with was because that was my true fear.
He stands abruptly, making his chair hit the wall behind him before he stomps over to me. I flinch, immediately hating myself for showing any sort of reaction. “I’m not going to hit you.” He picks up the fork and stabs it into one of the pieces of steak. When the food arrived, he cut up the steak and took the knife back to his desk with him. I can’t say I blame him. “Open, little bird.” His tone drops, a trace of softness to it, confusing me.
I part my lips, letting him feed me the bite. The second the taste hits my tongue, the sensation of starvation comes alive inside me. He feeds me bite after bite. I swear I see approval in his eyes every time I eat a little more. It does something strange to me that I’ve pleased him.
“I don’t think I can eat much more,” I admit when the steak is almost gone. He drops the fork, grabbing another.
“A few more bites.” He dips the fork into the cake, bringing it to my mouth next. I moan when the sweet taste explodes through me, my eyes falling closed. “When was the last time you ate?”
“He feeds me.” It might not be a ton, but I always prepared the food at home. The older I got, the more my father wanted to control my life. He’d be so cruel at times, but I knew he didn’t want me to leave. If he hated me, why not just let me go? I don’t think he is mentally stable, but I'm not sure I am either.
Does a stable person try to kill themselves? Or had that actually been rational for what I thought I knew was to come? I can still hear my father’s screams from when Kane’s men tortured him. Him pleading for a quick death. How fucked up is it that I wanted to choose to kill myself? I didn’t want them to have that option. That control. I’d failed.
“Fed,” Kane corrects, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Right.” He’s dead, or I’ll never be seeing him again. No emotion fills me at that thought. What would be the proper response to one losing their abusive father? Should I be sad or happy? All I feel is a sense of nothingness.
“Drink.” He moves the glass of water closer before pulling a prescription bottle out of his pocket and setting two pills down.
“What is it?” I stare at the two white tablets.
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.” I grab the pills.
“It’s for the pain.”
“Right.” I snort a laugh and pop them both, chasing them down with water. My thigh hurts. The doctor had put a few shots near the cut, I think to numb it, but it’s wearing off.