Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I kick my feet against the floor, struggling to get any kind of leverage. My body twists, fighting to find an escape, but he’s moving too fast. Too strong. Every time I think I’m gaining some ground, his grip tightens, and I’m dragged farther, helpless against the force pulling me across the room. My fingers claw at the carpet, searching for anything to grab onto, but it’s useless. I can’t stop him.
“Please,” I cry, my words useless. Saint wouldn’t be this rough with me. Even if he were here playing out a Cam-and-Reya scene, he’d be mindful of my fear. Mindful of his grip.
Whoever this is isn’t thinking about me and my comfort at all.
The house is so dark. Darker than normal. The kind of darkness that presses in on you, suffocating and all-encompassing. I can barely see two feet in front of me, but as I’m dragged through the hallway and into the kitchen, I notice something that sends a chill down my spine. The faint glow of the appliances is gone. All the little lights normally blinking from the microwave, the stove, the fridge, are out. Completely dead.
The power’s been cut.
A fresh wave of panic surges through me. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Whoever this is, they didn’t just show up uninvited. They planned this. They made sure the house was in complete darkness, that no one could see or hear what’s happening. They’ve covered their tracks. I’m alone.
I start to scream again, but a hand comes down on my mouth. Hard. Stifling.
All the shades are drawn, blocking any light from the outside. There’s no one to see, no one to help. My stomach twists painfully as I fight against the arm wrapped tightly around me. He’s got both of my arms pinned now with just one of his, locking me in place, making it impossible to move. I’m trapped. Completely at his mercy.
Suddenly, the hand over my mouth is removed, and for a split second, I gasp for air, choking on my fear. This is my chance. I have to figure out what’s happening. Who this is. I need to know.
“Saint?” My voice comes out in a trembling whisper, barely audible through the sobs that are threatening to break free. The sound of my own desperation sends a shock of humiliation through me, but I can’t stop it. “Saint, please.” I can’t believe I’m saying his name, begging for him, but I have to know.
Is it him?
I try to turn my head to look at the figure behind me, to catch a glimpse of his face, but the moment I attempt to move, he forces my head forward with a brutal shove.
Too strong. Too rough.
His hand clamps down on my jaw, holding me in place, and my body vibrates uncontrollably under his grip. He’s so close now, so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin, the oppressive weight of him pressing against me. He brings his mouth to my ear, and for a moment, I stop breathing. I freeze, waiting for whatever comes next, hoping—praying—that I’ll hear something familiar in his voice. But the silence is worse than anything he could say.
But then a chilling, deep voice cuts through it. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”
I’m slammed down hard into a chair, the impact jolting through my entire body.
That didn’t sound like Saint.
My breath leaves me in a sharp, panicked gasp, and the shock of it makes everything feel more surreal. Is this someone else entirely? Am I actually in real danger?
Tears spill down my cheeks, sliding into my mouth. I can taste the salt as I sob.
The uncertainty wraps itself around my throat, making it even harder to breathe. Was that Saint? Since I can’t recognize his voice, the fear bubbling inside me only grows stronger, more suffocating. My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid it might stop.
I try to jump up out of the chair—somehow willing myself to escape—but I’m not fast enough. Before I can even get my feet under me, hands clamp on my wrists with bruising force, shoving me back down. The grip is so tight it feels like my bones are being crushed. I wince in pain, but my mouth is quickly covered with a strip of tape. The adhesive sticks instantly, pressing tightly against my lips, sealing off any chance of screaming for help. I can feel the tape pulling at my skin, trapping me in silence.
Please let this be Saint.
I don’t know why I’m still hoping it’s him, because at this point it doesn’t matter. Even if it’s Saint, I’m in pain and I’m scared and I’m crying. But the thought of it being someone else—someone with worse intentions—makes my blood run cold.
My arms are yanked behind me with such force that a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through my shoulder, up my arm, and straight to my spine. I cry out, but the sound barely escapes my throat before it’s swallowed by the tape. The muffled noise is all I can manage as my hands are tightly bound together behind the chair. The rough texture of the rope digs into my skin, burning with every movement.