Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“What time did he arrive?” I point to the monitor of the driveway up to the warehouse.
Soo patters on his keys some more and loads the van arriving. It was right as the auction started. The bastard saw the event, decided not to bid, and then stole her right from under our noses.
I spin and take another shot at the doorframe. My knuckles scream, the pain once again cuts through some of my rage.
“Figure out who he is,” I order.
Soo says nothing, already working his magic. He types furiously, and I wait, the time ticking through me a second at a time. Each amping me higher and higher.
When he stops again, I turn and focus on the screens. One image fills all six screens. It’s an angled shot of the van, arriving at the event, through the windshield. It’s dark. The face and head of the man are concealed, but his hands, gripping the wheel, are bare. He must have put gloves on before he entered the building. It’s obvious he was trying to cover his tracks.
But there’s no hiding what I see on his right hand. Clear as day, perched at noon on the steering wheel, is the word ‘hate’ tattooed across his knuckles. All-consuming dread fills my stomach. While anyone on Earth could have a tattoo like that, I know of only one man.
The one man who’s been missing through this entire operation.
Fucking Lucas.
2
Celia
My head aches. It’s the kind of ache you get from being out all night making indecent decisions. The pain radiates from the back of my skull forward like some macabre crown. It wreathes my senses.
I blink my eyes open to stare at a high, white ceiling with delicate crown molding skirting the edges. It’s dark, but there’s light filtering from my left, like a lamp that was left on in another room.
I let my eyes flutter closed and drift into a middle space, a dreamy place where the pain ebbs and flows instead of being in a constant state. When I open my eyes again, I shift to the side, pressing my face into a soft white pillow. I lift my head and peer down at the sheets underneath me, they’re white, and the blanket at my feet is a deep navy. I sit up and look around the room, trying to make out what little I can through the dim light leaking in.
There’s a bedside table, a minimalist piece, with a stainless-steel lamp on it.
Beside it, an alarm clock blinks red numbers back at me. Four a.m.
The memory of the night before breaks up the headache. Images flicker through my mind. Me sitting on Nicolo’s lap. The stupid red dress, which as I look down at myself, I realize I’m still wearing. Him threatening me after he fucking sold me.
He fucking sold me. Disgust churns low in my gut. The bastard actually did it. That’s the only thing sticking out in my mind right now. His angry face looming over mine, his cruel words, his eyes saying goodbye.
I sit up, dragging air into my lungs, panic creeping in. I can’t believe he fucking sold me. I look around the room, wondering where the hell I am. Is this my buyer’s home? I listen, focusing the best I can around the raging heartbeat pounding in my ears. Nothing. Silence surrounds me. There isn’t a single sound to break up the noise.
Gingerly, I push off the bed. My bare feet sink into a shaggy rug. When I can stand upright, I wobble toward the doorway.
Stepping out of the room, I find there is a lamp on a side table near a long black leather couch. There’s art on the wall above it, a big flat screen opposite, and a balcony beyond. I’m so high up, I can see the tips of skyscrapers lighting up the dark in the distance. Knowing how high up I am, there is no escaping from a window. My only option is the door.
I head toward it, past a large kitchen and another doorway. My fingers shake as I grasp the knob in my hand. One twist is all it takes to discover it’s locked. Someone locked me inside this house.
But who? When I try to remember, it just spurs the headache on, the damn thing raking its claws through my brain.
I turn back to the room and scan the décor again. If I can’t find a way out, maybe I can find a weapon. My eyes touch on the block of knives sitting on the countertop. I rush into the kitchen and whip out the biggest one I can get my hands on. Whoever’s holding me captive is an idiotic man. With the knife heavy in my hand, I walk back into the living room. Having a weapon makes me feel better, but I need to know more about who purchased me.