Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
I hand the list over, and Rian takes a photo.
“Do you have any allergies?” he asks.
“Huh? Aren’t I the one who should have asked you that?” What’s wrong with me? Why hadn’t I asked?
“I meant food. You’ll have to eat, and I can’t risk you going into anaphylaxis.”
“Not until you’re ready for me to die, at least.”
“Obviously. I have to get my use out of you first.”
“Or you could just let me go.”
Rian sighs. “You’re too smart to pretend like you think that will happen.” He’s right. I am. I know how this turns out for me. “Food?”
“No allergies,” I say. “I can eat anything.” I look away, trying to ignore the hatred filling me. I don’t like feeling that way, don’t like letting that kind of ugliness fill me up, but this man is disgusting. He takes people’s lives without a second thought. Many of them, if I had to guess, and I’ll be the next on his list.
But then…why is he also so worried about what I’ll eat? Why is he making sure all the options are safe for me when all I would have to say is no if he brought something into the house that I couldn’t have?
I shake my head, not willing to let myself try to turn this man or his actions into anything other than what they are. He’s not a good person, even if he does do something thoughtful. I’m sure the evilest of men have had moments where their malicious behavior doesn’t shine through, but that doesn’t change who they are. “I have to piss,” I tell him.
Rian sighs, takes the pen back, then disappears into the garage. He comes back a moment later with keys, freeing me, but leaving one cuff still attached to my wrist.
His gun is in his pants, there for me to see, even though he’s not holding it. He points toward the hallway. “This way.”
I walk first, Rian behind me, until I find the bathroom.
“Door open,” he instructs me, waiting in the doorway, not giving me his back, but not looking at me either.
I’m still in scrubs—though I’d changed them after my surgery and hadn’t seen another patient afterward—so I lower them, pull my dick out, and do my business. I wash my hands, before he says, “My turn. Don’t move.”
He slips around where I’m standing at the sink, leaving me closer to him than he was to me when it was my turn.
Rian pulls his gun from his slacks, looks my way, then sets it on the back of the toilet. He tries to hide his wince when he moves, but I notice it. He’s in pain, and it’s getting worse. The sweating is coming back again, too. I can use this to my benefit.
When I hear the first drops of his piss hit the toilet water, I don’t think, I just run. I’m not even sure the thought was in my head before I started moving, but suddenly I’m sprinting down the hallway, trying to get to the door.
I’m fairly certain I hear him curse behind me, before there are loud footsteps, and he’s running too. My heart is beating out of my chest, one thought running through my head over and over—run, run, run.
I slide on the rug on the hardwood floors, making me stumble into the door, unable to stop myself. When I go to pull it open, it’s locked. My hands are shaking as I turn the deadbolt, and the second the door is open, Rian’s body slams into me from behind.
We both sprawl out onto the porch, the gun slipping from his hand and onto the wood. I’m on my stomach, trying to scramble over to it, but before I can get far, Rian is on top of me again. I throw my elbow back, connecting with his lip.
“Motherfucker,” he spits out, but before I even realize what’s happening or how he does it, Rian has his arm around me, forearm pressed against my throat. I thrash beneath him, but can tell I’m not getting anywhere, air struggling to get past the pressure he’s putting on me. “Settle the fuck down. I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is close to my ear. I feel his breath against me, and it’s like it has some kind of power over me, like Rian’s voice is magic, and I don’t have the ability not to listen to him.
I relax beneath him, the wood of the porch pressed into my chest, the gun not far away, but what am I going to do? Kill him? That’s not who I am, and I don’t think he’s the kind of man who will go down any other way.
His hold on my neck loosens, and I suck in a sharp breath, trying to pull as much air into my lungs as possible.