Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
The pain dims as soon as I hear the door open to wherever I am. My body freezes, and nothing matters anymore. I’m alert, and all I care about is finding a way out. My freedom. I try to keep still and pretend I’m still knocked out, but it doesn’t work.
They know.
A man’s rough laugh cuts through the air as he says, “She’s up.”
My heart pounds, but I stay motionless. In this position, my options are limited, but I’m ready to fight. I’ll do whatever it takes. It sounds like there are two men in the room judging by the two sets of steps that walk on the left side of me. I hear them sink into what sounds like a sofa, and I wait. I can hardly breathe, waiting for their next move.
This could be my chance. My father is who-knows-where, and maybe these men will underestimate me.
The fear of the unknown is what restrains my actions. I’m not going to be submissive for them. I’m not going to keep my head down and wait for them to tell me what they want from me, because I don’t know if that will save me from whatever their intentions are.
In this moment I hate my father more than I ever have. I hate my life.
I hate myself for being so damn pathetic and not fighting hard enough. Death is a comforting thought, but I won’t give in to that weakness. Not when there’s still a chance.
Deep voices echoing Italian words that I vaguely recall from my childhood seep into my bitter thoughts. I never learned the language. My father didn’t want me to. He enjoyed being able to speak without me understanding. He sends me in here to spy, and I can’t even do that. Pathetic. The Romanos are old school, but hopefully English will be spoken more than Italian.
I know some though. I know the words slave and princess. Both continually appear in the conversation, and I know they’re talking about me. The Rossi princess. Slave. I guess that’s what I am now, or at least what they want me to be. I swallow thickly, hating that my initial thought is to want to be back home. Back to that prison. No! I refuse. That’s just the fear talking. I don’t want to go back. Anything but that.
I turn sideways and scoot away from the sound of someone approaching. But it’s useless. I fall to the hard concrete floor, my head and shoulder slamming onto the cement with nothing to break my fall. I wince from the pain and then scream from the violent hold on my arms, hauling me up and against a man’s body.
I struggle against him and he shakes me violently, spitting Italian words that I assume are a threat, although I don’t understand.
Stupid girl, be still. Save your strength for the right moment. The voice I hate calms me.
The thought makes my body still, and the other man laughs at my weakness.
If only they knew. With nothing to lose, I’m the strongest I’ve ever been.
Small shreds of light filter through the burlap bag over my head, and I realize I’m currently outside. I must be under a street lamp, because the light quickly fades and the sound of a van door sliding open fills my senses.
My heart speeds up, but I don’t react yet. I listen and try to gauge what’s going on. There’s a third man. I can hear him now.
The one holding me tries to toss my body into the van, but I twist and kick out as hard as I can. However I’ve hit him, it’s enough that he releases me and I fall back to the ground, nearly stumbling, but I right myself as best as I can, bound and blindfolded.
“Fuck!” he screams out as I weakly stand, balancing my body against the cold metal of the van door.
I try to run, but a fist slams into the side of my jaw. It forces me off balance, and I fall, my head slamming against the unforgiving ground. Fuck! The worst part is that I didn’t see it coming. I couldn’t even try to defend myself.
The pain is overwhelming. A foot swings into my ribs, and nausea threatens its way up my throat with stinging pulses of agony.
Stupid girl. You can never run from me. You can never hide from me.
My body freezes as the words of my father haunt me, momentarily crippling me.
Another kick to the gut forces a strangled cry from my throat.
A deep voice yells out, “Don’t fucking touch her!” as I hear the loud crunch of a punch and the sound of someone keeling over. I'm worried about the implications of knowing they’re fighting, but I don’t waste a second. I can’t. I need to run.
The fools didn’t tie my ankles, and I take the one chance I’m given and bolt. The muscles in my legs scream with pain as I pump them, running aimlessly in front of me with my arms bound behind my back. Light and shapes whip past the bag over my head, but I have no idea where I’m going.