Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I find the phone shoved into the couch where I last left it.
“Hello?!” I answer in a rushed whisper, mostly just to stop the thing from ringing. I’d forgotten all about it again, and a part of me resents the phone for forcing itself back into my life.
A man’s voice comes from the other end, almost like it’s at a great distance. “There’s so much you don’t know. There are things he’ll never tell you. There are secrets—”
“Who is this?” I ask, trying to cut in, but the man keeps talking.
“—and layers and so many lies. You don’t know Massimo Cardone and you never will. There is a man in the west wing, Allie. You have to find him. Speak to him. He’s the key to everything. Find him, Allie.”
“Who is this? What do you want from me?”
“The man in the west wing. He’s a prisoner. He’s been tortured and beaten to within an inch of his life. What they’re doing to him, it’s a nightmare. You have to help him, Allie. You can’t trust Massimo. You can’t trust any of them.”
“Stop it. I don’t understand. Slow down!”
“There’s no time. Find the man in the west wing. Help him get out of here. The code is 842891. I repeat, the code is 842891. The code will now repeat until the line goes dead. 842891. 842891. 842891…”
“Please listen to me. I don’t understand what you want! Who is this?!” But the person on the other end keeps saying those numbers, over and over again. I listen for a little longer, memorizing the code, and try to ask more questions, but nothing changes.
I end the call and sit alone in the quiet of the living room.
I don’t want this.
Upstairs, in that dress, with Mass’s hands on my body, I could picture myself living here with him and Rosie. I could imagine being his queen.
I don’t want hidden rooms. I don’t want tortured prisoners.
But I heard the singing coming through that door. It sounded so familiar and it’s still bothering me now.
If there really is someone inside that room… if he really is being tortured by Mass…
I have to find out the truth.
Even if it breaks me in the process.
ALLIE
“Good morning, baby.” Mass kisses me lightly. I blink up at him, surprised to find he’s holding a steaming coffee. “I made this for you.”
“Thanks?” I sit up and rub my face as he places the mug down on the nightstand. It’s a little past eight in the morning. “I slept in.” I frown as that sinks in. “I haven’t slept in since—”
“Rosie’s fine.” Mass grins and hands me the monitor. “See?”
I turn it on, fighting back panic, and find Satya sitting in the rocking chair while Rosie plays with blocks on the floor. Satya’s reading a book to her and showing her the pages.
I groan and look at the ceiling. “I should’ve been awake. I can’t believe I slept through her waking up.”
“I got up and took care of it. Then I called in Satya so I could make you breakfast.”
I stare at him in pure surprise. “You got Rosie up?”
“I did.”
“You changed her? And fed her?”
“It’s not that difficult.”
I laugh sharply. “Imagine doing that every single morning!”
“I could if you’d let me.” He leans down and kisses me lightly, brushing his fingers over my cheeks. “Would you like that, wife? If I let you sleep in and took care of our daughter myself?”
I try to picture it. Mass the domesticated husband.
But the voice on the phone last night breaks through the nice daydream.
He’s torturing people here…
“I can handle Rosie. Honestly, it’s okay. You have work to do.”
He kisses me again. “Nothing’s as important as the two of you.” He stands and stretches. “Drink the coffee and come down when you’re ready.”
I watch him walk off, admiring his lean body despite myself. My head’s a mess of worries and reservations, but I force myself to use the bathroom. The coffee really is good too, and the caffeine helps clear out the cobwebs.
Rosie’s happy when I go check on her. I hug and kiss my little girl, but Mass makes me leave her with Satya.
Breakfast is simple. Eggs, bacon, some pastries from the kitchen. He claims to have cooked it, but who knows. It's hard to imagine Mass doing anything with food. We sit together at the table, and he talks in vague terms about his day and the amount of work he’s got to do.
“There’s always more,” he murmurs, frowning slightly into the distance. “Do you ever feel like you’d rather be somewhere else?”
“You did kidnap me, remember?”
He grunts like he actually did forget that part. “You’re still trying to escape?”
I freeze suddenly. He says it so casually, but the words are cutting. Like he knows about my meeting in the solarium. And the dead body in my wake.