Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
"Careful," he growled in my face, voice vehement enough to make the words spit onto my skin. "You're not in fucking charge here, Jules," he added, slamming me back against the wall hard enough for my teeth to crack together, for another wave of pain to overtake my skull.
This time, a wave of nausea accompanied it, making me wonder how I could throw up when I couldn't even breathe. My lips were tingling. My head getting fuzzy.
Just when I thought oblivion - both welcome and horrifying - would overtake me, his grip loosened then slid backward, sinking into my hair, yanking viciously, hard enough that I couldn't keep in the whimper, not even to save my pride.
"Yeah, bet that is hard for a control freak like you. But this is my world now. I'm in fucking charge here."
"What's your endgame then?" I asked, fighting back the tears the crippling pain in my scalp was causing. "You know Kai is going to figure things out eventually."
"Yeah, that puppy is the least of my concerns."
That puppy walked into heavily guarded compounds, told men toting semi-automatic weapons that, sorry, but they can't have back their wives, children, key witnesses in their murder trials.
That puppy stared down men and women far more ferocious than this man before me.
That puppy cared about me, would go to war for me.
That puppy still snarled when you rattled his chain.
I felt a sick, sordid, gruesome need to see him when he broke off said chain, when he lunged at my ex, as he ripped out his throat with his teeth.
"That puppy is part of a pack," I reminded him instead, not letting him know how big a threat I thought Kai could be, not wanting to put Kai in danger until he knew to be on the lookout for it. "They could rip you apart and not leave a trace."
"Luckily, that won't be a problem," he declared.
I didn't know his exact intention until it was too late, until I felt myself jerked forward off the wall, then slammed face-first into the jamb of the door.
But by then, I was unconscious again.
I woke up faster the next time. My subconscious must have been aware of the danger this time, cognizant of the fact that this could very well be a life or death situation, and I really needed to be awake to try to handle it.
Soaking wet still, I knew I couldn't have been out for too long.
The wetness was compounded by something else as I became aware of cinder block walls and dirt floors. I could feel the grit of it down my legs, arms, the side of the face that was resting against it.
Dirty.
I hated, hated being dirty.
I felt the immediate swell of panic, the need to shower.
I tried pushing it down, knowing it was useless to hope for things I clearly could not have, but there proved to be no way to stop myself from shooting upward, ignoring the whirling of my brain, trying to slough the dirt off, only managing to make it rub against my skin, gritty and uncomfortable.
I wiped my hands against a small patch up my side where the material wasn't filthy, deep breathing, trying to think, to focus, to search for an exit.
There were windows, the kind you found in basements, a foot or so long, maybe eight inches wide, enough to let in light, but not to drag myself through. Even if I could get myself up that high.
My eyes drifted over the exposed beams of the ceiling, following them down the unfinished walls, before I finally saw the staircase - wooden, steep.
I pushed myself up, forcing my body to hold my weight, to ignore the pain in my skull, scalp, and face.
That could be dealt with later.
I was halfway to the stairs when I realized I couldn't just... climb them and walk to freedom.
Not-Gary wouldn't have gone through the trouble of kidnapping me if he planned to just run off like he could have if he hadn't taken me.
He would be there.
Waiting.
All-too happy to hurt me some more.
With words.
With blows.
At this point, I didn't know which was worse.
I took myself to the dark corners, finding empty buckets, one half-full can of paint, some rope, and - blessedly - a pile of rebar.
My hands both reached down, taking one into each hand, always preferring to be over prepared than under.
Armed, I made my way back to the stairs.
I had no idea how well I could defend myself, if I had the skills necessary. But there was one thing I did know. I had the will. To fight my way out. To beat the man I had shared a life with to get away. To kill him if it was necessary.
It wasn't until my foot hit the somewhat slippery to my wet and dirty feet stair that I thought to look up.