Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Vera took Ghost’s comment as literal, so she made sure every dish that left her kitchen tonight was of a chef’s standards. Ghost’s men and his crew ate like kings, and not a single morsel of food was wasted since Vera gifted the unwanted breakfast dishes to the women in the orlop.
After easing my feet out of the gumboots I shouldn’t be wearing without socks, I cover the gigantic blisters on my toes and heels with Band-Aids Vera supplied me. I should put them on after I’ve showered, but I’d rather they be covered to lessen the sting of the water pelting into them.
As I enter the bathroom, my eyes lift to the vanity mirror. I look gaunt and pale, and I feel dirty, so instead of the hurried shower I’ve had the past three days, I take my time lathering my skin with the products in the shower stall, and wash my hair.
Since my nightie only has the smallest stains on it from the dirty suds while washing up, I spot-clean it before hanging it on the railing in the bathroom. I saw a second set of clothes on the dresser this morning, so I don’t need to wait for the thin material to dry or wear it wringing wet.
When I exit the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I startle. Not just from the detection I’m being watched but because of the large feast displayed on Ghost’s desk. I’m not exactly sure what the meat is that’s still on its bone, but it is plonked onto a generous helping of mashed potatoes and drizzled with gravy. It looks and smells delicious, and I’ve not even taken the time to appreciate the large assortment of crusty bread in the basket next to it.
I drift my head to Ghost when he murmurs, “The lamb shank is for you, and the bread is yours to do with as you wish…” He pauses for a beat to ensure I am aware in no circumstances are his terms negotiable. “After you’ve finished your meal. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I nod to get across my point.
He smirks, appreciative of my swift reply before he stands from the chair in the corner of the room and stalks to the bathroom.
The hairs on my arms bristle when he brushes past me, but it has nothing on the response of his deep exhale when I murmur, “Thank you.”
His hot breaths fan my wet hair when he replies, “You should not be thanking me, маленький ягненок.” My brows furrow in confusion when he adds, “Those women are not your friends. They’re your competition. You step out of line once, and you will be replaced by them.” My stomach gurgles for a completely different reason than hunger when he says, “Except you won’t live off scraps. You’ll be the feast for the grubs and the worms in the garden of the compound.”
12
KATIE
The next few days follow along the same path as my first seventy-eight hours here, except the bread rolls and pastries are delivered directly to the women instead of to my room along with my meals. I’ve gone from eating every couple of days to eating three times a day purely so the women won’t know the hunger I experienced during my first years of captivity.
If I eat, they eat. The guidelines can’t be any simpler.
Although I’ve enjoyed a range of meals the past three days, my stomach feels a little gluttonous. It twists and turns all night, and tonight is no exception. I need to use the bathroom, but Ghost is still asleep, and I’m not brave enough to climb over him.
The cabins on the ship are small, so the double bed we’ve shared the past six nights is squashed up against one wall. I’m usually in bed hours before Ghost, so we haven’t faced any awkward shuffles on a bed far too short for a man of his height.
When my stomach flips for the third time, I bite on my lower lip and breathe through the pain. This is what I get for being piggish. I should have stopped once my stomach was full instead of acting as if it may be my last meal.
“Ghost…” I talk through the bile burning the back of my throat. My meal’s exodus from my body doesn’t want to occur the normal way. It wants to escape how it entered—via my mouth. “Can I please use the bathroom?”
Silence.
“Ghost,” I try again, desperate.
This time, I add a nudge to my murmur, hopeful it will wake him.
It does, but he responds nothing like I anticipated. Faster than I can blink, he rolls over, snatches my hands above my head, then pins me to the mattress with his big, imposing body. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
I try to respond, to tell him the heaviness of his body against my stomach is far worse than anything I can do to him, but a second after opening my mouth, the contents racing up my food pipe rush through the minute crack.