Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Or wolves.
Or hungry, horny vultures that start at his mutilated balls first.
“I want her extracted!”
Slight thrumming in my head convinces me to momentarily keep my eyes closed.
Shield my face further with my shoulder.
Pretend the drugs are keeping me dormant and docile the way they used to.
“I want her extracted. Now!”
Mumbles of rebuttal are faintly heard this time.
They’re low and unclear.
Seemingly uncombative but then again everyone in comparison to that Aristocunt is nonhostile.
“The weather?!” she hisses, words eerily echoing around me, sending a chill up my spine.
More muttering.
“No! That’s unacceptable!”
There’s barely a beat before she’s yelling again.
“No! I wanna talk to the fucking pilot!” Audible stomping can be heard. “We’ll see if he doesn’t change his mind for the right price!”
Slamming of a door – or what I envision is a door – definitively precedes a meek male voice stating, “She’s gone.”
Much like the shrill shrieks, I recognize the mousey masculine one.
Curtis.
Curtis McAdams.
The man responsible for providing the seed that sprouted my greatest nightmare of all time.
“I know you’re awake, Bunny,” he gingerly announces, tempting me to redirect my attention to him. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
My face thoughtlessly twitches.
“I know you don’t believe me, but…” slight clanking noises are followed by a small thud, “I never wanted us to find you again.”
The thing is I do believe him.
I believe him because during a brief second of non-poison clarity he heavily aided in my escape.
Inspired by the declaration and the dropped object, I slightly crack my lids to see a thick blanket on top of orange bedsheets and two small, ugly pillows. Rather than reach for them, I simply shift my gaze to his and note his cloudy crystal stare that rarely changes.
Drugs keep him repressed.
Easier to manipulate.
I used to wonder why and how he could let such atrocities happen under his watch, why and how he could let the woman he chose to love, to marry, to have his child, treat him like a prisoner tasked with being nothing more than a face the world thought she was fucking, when in reality he was usually just watching his son, his own flesh and blood, fulfill his role in every way possible.
And then I experienced exactly what being chemically controlled does to you.
Not saying I excuse him or his behaviors.
Just saying I understand.
Sympathize.
His wrinkled tanned face attempts to smile and offer solace as he gestures to the bedding below him. “It’s supposed to get below freezing tonight.”
Once more, I opt out of speaking.
Briefly drink in my new surroundings.
Decide to make mental notes while it’s possible.
There’ll be plenty of time for panic and worry and panic again but for now, I have to stay focused.
Determined.
Figure out where the hell I am and how the fuck to get out.
Between the wooden panels surrounding me and the tiny metal bar opening that appears to slide open along with closed, it’s easy to assume my location.
Especially if you also take into account the terrible fucking smell.
Combined that with how many places close to town that actually have these, and the mystery is solved.
We’re on the farthest side of the property that houses the barn they do weddings and host our townhall in.
Findable.
Reachable.
Escapable.
At least for now.
Wonder if my engagement ring could double as a weapon or a tool.
My thumb immediately goes to graze the band only to touch nothing.
They took my ring?!
They took my fucking ring?!
“It’s not a heated horse stable,” Curtis informs on a small shiver, interrupting my mental outrage. “That’s bad for the horses.” He defeatedly rests his arms on the edge followed swiftly by his chin on top of them. “I’d know. I grew up with them.” His head tilts just the slightest. “I always wanted some of our own but Beverly…”
Whatever the end of the sentence is dies in his own head.
Although, it’s not hard to figure out.
She controls him the way Brad controlled me.
We’re possessions.
Not people.
“Thirsty?” quietly leaves Curtis prior to him revealing a bottle of water. “I heard the pharmacist tell Beverly that his new knock out formula would leave you with a really bad case of dry mouth, which she believed worked in her favor. You’d need water, and she’d have the perfect opportunity to begin drugging you like normal.” The clear object is extended in my direction. “That’s why I got you a fresh – completely sealed bottle – from the mercs supplies. They didn’t even notice. It means you’re gonna have to fake being drowsy.” He dangles it a little more playfully. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say you remember how.”
I wanna smile.
Reminisce.
Thank him for what he’s done for me in the past and is currently trying to do for me now.
I wanna put these in the “good human” column yet can’t deny that that would be an oversell.
Good humans don’t help captors kidnap or keep victims…especially not pregnant ones.