Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back,” he snarls at the three of us.
I don’t respond; there’s no reason to. I got the information I need; now I have to find Elyse before it’s too late.
CHAPTER 4
ELYSE
It never made sense to me why some people are afraid of the dark. Sure you can’t see anything, but I think there's a certain kind of peace which can only be found in the darkness. It isn’t what’s in the dark you should fear but instead the people hidden in plain sight. They’re the ones you never anticipate doing something bad. A friend, your parents, a police officer. It’s always the ones who are supposed to protect you who end up failing. So in my mind the real monsters aren't those hiding in the shadows but instead the ones sitting in the light.
My thoughts drift with the sudden sensation of floating. It’s hard to figure out if I’m awake or asleep. Everything feels the same. Dreams, or memories—who knows which?—spiral around me.
I'm in Sebastian's foyer, lying on something cold, but the edges of my vision are fuzzy. The room beyond is the study, where Sebastian works sometimes. Not often, though. Most of the time he seems to want to avoid the room.
He's there now, and something in me shifts, easing. I can breathe, except each breath hurts. How can he be so beautiful and so brutal at the same time? He's arguing with someone, but I can't see them through the hazy halo obscuring my vision. There's a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and he's waving it around. I want to call out to him. Beg him to come and get me. Save me, anything. But I can't speak. I can't move. I can barely breathe.
"You can't do this, owning people like this for your sick perversions!" Sebastian shouts, and the words echo in my head.
"Sick perversions, boy? You don't think I know what you get up to with your little school sluts? Or your own stepmother, for that matter?"
Sebastian goes rigid and takes a long drink of the alcohol. Something uneasy worms its way through my belly. There's a metallic clicking sound somewhere, maybe the man with the older deep voice. He steps closer to Sebastian, and finally his face comes into view.
White hair styled elegantly, a perfect tuxedo, collar undone at the throat.
There's not much of a resemblance to Sebastian outside of the way the man carries himself, so very restrained and rigid.
The memory fades, and I drift in and out, my world tilting on its axis even more.
Sebastian holding a gun. Sebastian kneeling by the crumpled form of his grandfather. Sebastian reeling around the room, drinking his bottle of alcohol in gasping gulps.
He killed him. Sebastian killed him. Horror shimmies its way up my spine.
Then nothing. Blessed blackness until I open my eyes and find myself back in the other nightmare. It's funny. I'd take Sebastian's nightmare over anyone else's. Even if it kills me.
Hot tears cascade down my cheeks, and it takes me a second to breathe through the sobs that seem to come unbidden. I press my hands over my mouth to stifle the sound so Yanov doesn't hear me.
The more attention I draw to myself the worse it is. My priority should be to get out of here but my body feels leaden, unable to move, to even think of a proper plan. The memory, because I know now that's what it was, keeps replaying in my mind, reminding me Sebastian is not my savior in all of this.
He’s as dark and fucked up as everyone else.
He killed his own grandfather.
Murdered him without thought or care and walked away.
I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. What kind of person are you to be capable of something like that? From what I remember, his grandfather was not a nice man, but still. We can’t play God. We just can’t.
Bile claws its way up my throat once more.
How could I have given myself to him?
He’s no better than my father, than Yanov. I squeeze my eyes shut and settle against the wall.
What’s the point? Where do I go from here?
Safety feels a million miles away. The hope of someone, anyone, saving me becomes a distant dream. I'm never going to get away from Yanov, and he's going to kill me in this nasty motel room. Worst of all, he’ll get away with it. No one will know I'm here except maybe my asshole father, and even then he's not going to do anything to stop him. To help. Nothing. There will be no justice for me.
The door swings open, and I try to pin myself to the back of the closet. It's a stupid idea since there is nowhere for me to escape. A tiny squeak of fear escapes me when Yanov reaches inside and sinks his meaty fingers into my arm with bruising force. With little effort, he tugs me across the crusty carpet like I’m a rag doll. I lash out, slapping at his hands. When my useless attempt doesn’t seem to work, I dig my nails into his skin, scratching him. He doesn’t even flinch.