Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I woke up slowly with a thumping headache and aches all over my body. I kept my eyes closed for a few moments, trying to will myself back to sleep so I could sleep off this giant hangover. Unfortunately I was to suffer conscious. Great. I cracked my eyes open, intending to reach over to my nightstand for some water, but stopped short. The plush ceiling was not what I had at my mediocre hotel. I glanced around at the luxurious bedding, realizing I was not in anyplace familiar. I also realized that my hands were above my head and were handcuffed to an ornate bedframe. Why this wasn’t the first thing I noticed I had no idea. Hangovers did weird things to me. Speaking of weird things, what kind of guy did I go home with last night?
I wracked my brain and tried to retrieve some memories, ignoring the sick feeling I had at sleeping with a strange guy. There hadn’t been anyone since...him. That feeling was quickly replaced with dread as the previous events washed over me. My worries consisted of something a whole lot bigger than a Coyote Ugly situation and more in the realm of a fucking life or death situation. Fear crept up my throat and I struggled with the cuffs, trying to maneuver them off the frame.
“She’s awake,” a voice declared and I jumped.
A man strolled from the edge of the room to stand over me, a phone to his ear and a frown on his face. His blue eyes looked familiar.
“Got it.” He ended the call and regarded me coolly.
I gulped, fear crawling up my throat. “What do you want with me?” I demanded, meeting his gaze. I was proud that my voice didn’t shake.
He stepped closer to the bed and leaned toward me. I failed to hide my flinch, expecting a blow of some kind. The pain I expected never came; instead my hands were released from the handcuffs. I rubbed them, eyeing the angry red welts that remained.
“Up,” Blue Eyes commanded.
I glared at him, scrambling up and over to the opposite side of the enormous bed, thankful for the barrier between us. It was an illusion of safety but I clung to it.
“What do you want from me?” I repeated, eyes darting around the tastefully decorated room for a weapon.
He ignored me yet again and nodded to a door in the corner of the room. “That’s a bathroom—got towels and a change of clothes. Clean yourself up, put on the clothes. You got twenty minutes.” He stared at me for a moment then turned to leave.
“Wait a second, asshole, why should I do a single thing you say? You fucking kidnapped me,” I snapped, my temper rearing its head.
Blue Eyes stopped and turned slowly, his expression not cold or detached as it had been moments ago. It was dangerous, sinister.
“You’re going to do as I say because if I come back here in twenty minutes and you aren’t showered and dressed, I get to shower and dress you myself. I can assure you I will enjoy every second of it. I can’t promise you the same. Your choice, cara.”
My stomach dropped at his words; they were a promise and a sick grin decorated his face. He turned again and walked out of the room. I heard a click as he locked the door behind him.
“Fuck!” I yelled to the room. This was some serious shit. I pinched myself. “Ouch,” I hissed.
Okay, so I wasn’t dreaming or in a drug-induced hallucination. At least I didn’t think I was. I tried shrooms once and the trip I experienced was nothing like this. I had been convinced my hair was made of plastic and spent three hours crying because I wouldn’t be able to use a straightening iron without melting my hair. I swore off any kind of drugs after that.
I had to face the fact that this was all most likely real. I had been kidnapped by some well-dressed Italians. Glancing around at the décor which screamed money I deduced I was in some sort of mansion. It was reminiscent of my childhood home, a prison of a different kind. I darted toward the window and tried to push it up. It wouldn’t budge. Shit. I should’ve listened to Gwen and done those gym classes.
I looked through the glass and gathered I was at least two stories up. Men roamed the well-kept lawn with guns; there was not another house in sight. The sparse desert landscape seemed to stretch on forever. I decided I wouldn’t go unnoticed if I smashed the window and tried to climb down a drainpipe. Escape via window was out. I was locked in. I leaned against the wall and wracked my brain trying to think of a miraculous escape plan. But my lack of experience in kidnapping situations coupled with a whopping hangover hindered me. I assessed my options. Waste my twenty minutes turning this room upside down for weapons or secret passageways and subject myself to possible rape? Or I could shower, dress and prepare myself for what was coming. If they were going to kill me I doubted they would care about what I was wearing or my state of cleanliness. I deduced my life was not in immediate danger and my best bet was to comply. For now.
The bathroom was just as impressive as the room I had woken up in. Opulent with black granite flooring, a huge spa bath, and shower stall. A big window treated me with a view of a broad desert landscape and barren mountain ranges. I was in the middle of nowhere. I swallowed the panic at that thought and focused on the task at hand. One thing at a time. Turning into a blubbering mess would not do me any good.
After trying the window and searching the bathroom for any possible weapons, I got in the shower. The blissful hot water and amazing pressure did little to calm me but I busied myself with getting clean using the seriously expensive bath products.