Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
If I pull the trigger now, I will get him in the chest and won’t need to fear for my life any longer.
But I can’t bring myself to do it when he’s looking straight at me, without even a shadow of fear.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Saint says, breaking the silence.
My teeth chatter, and I panic as the muzzle of my gun shakes, revealing how uncertain I am. “Don’t come any closer!”
Terrible memories of my parents being killed rush to the forefront of my mind, as if to warn me that I might share their fate if I don’t choose myself over this stranger.
“I read your letter. The one you threw away when leaving your therapist’s office last week,” he says as if this isn’t fucking insane.
My brain can’t handle it, and I stutter out, “What?”
He moves fast like a cobra, ducking to one side and grabbing my handgun as I pull the trigger. The bullet tears through the air, but he wrestles the pistol out of my hand before I can defend myself.
Struck by nauseating panic, I grab the hunting knife from my pocket and slash at him, but he’s so much faster than me. I did catch something with the blade, but it might have been his coat. He smacks my hand so hard I drop the knife, and by the time I try to run off again, he’s closing a handcuff around my wrist.
“Let me go!” I whimper, struggling like a wounded animal, but only manage to slip in the wet snow, falling to my knees as frightening thoughts cloud my mind with promises of a painful end.
“Careful!” Saint shouts and shoves me face-first into the snow. Cold steel closes on my other wrist, and as I try to pull away, I can’t, because he’s on top of me. What next? Is he going to strap me to a tree and gore me?
But he stills, straddling the backs of my thighs, and just as I expect him to punch the back of my head, he shoves his hand into the pristine snow next to my face. “Oh, this is such an interesting texture, with the shell of melted ice over the snow. Like a good meringue. You know they have meringue with fruit and cream for Christmas in Australia and New Zealand? It’s called a pavlova. Maybe we could have that this year. You know, to change things up a bit?”
My brain stops, crashing into his words without understanding. “‘We’? For Christmas? What—”
What the hell is he on about? There’s no us. And the upcoming holidays couldn’t have been farther from my mind when he’s pushing me down like prey he isn’t yet ready to consume. But when he gets off me and rolls me to my back in a single move that feels frighteningly practiced, questions lock in my throat as I meet his dark gaze.
The wind whistles in the trees and rustles Saint’s hair when he smiles. “You look quite delicious like that. But I don’t think this is the best place to have a chat. I know somewhere quiet and comfortable. Just righ—”
I lash out when the meaning of his words gets through to me at last. He’s going to drag me to some hole where he can torment me for as long as he wants, and I’d rather die than see it happen. My leg flies up as I try to kick him, but he must have anticipated that, and his shins block my knees from moving. I scream for help when his fingers dig into the sides of my face.
I try to bite his fingers when he stuffs a rubber fucking ball into my mouth, but he seems to expect that too, and none of my efforts phase him one bit. Before I can even attempt to push the gag out, he closes it at the back of my head, as if he’s done it a hundred times.
That’s it. A deranged psycho has captured me, and there’s nothing I can do but cry in sheer terror.
Pathetic.
Shame flushes through me when tears drizzle down my cheeks, warming cold skin.
And yet, I continue struggling as he uses two straps to bind my legs together. “There, all ready,” he tells me with a wide grin. “We can’t have you hurting yourself or screaming your head off. Unless you’re ready to cry out my name,” he says and… winks at me as if this is a play fight between lovers.
I scowl at him, but wiggling around like a fish out of water won’t help, so I give up when he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder as if it’s something that requires very little effort. He pats my ass, making me stiffen.
Why? Why me? He said something about my letter. What the fuck was that about? Is he a friend of those four bastards and has decided to silence me forever? Why am I not dead yet then?