Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Not so fast, miss.”
That voice, it’s the same one as before. I shiver.
He lets me go, steps away, and then heads back to the door. “Eat! It will do you good.”
“Why am I here?” I yell.
He doesn’t answer, just looks down and closes the door with a loud thump. I hear the lock click, and I collapse on the floor.
This is all his fault.
I know it is.
Atlas.
My life was normal until he came into it. Now, it’s completely fucked up.
I storm over to the bed and see food as well as a drink. I flick the tray so it sprays everywhere, then fall back on the floor.
The night’s almost over and the sun is starting to rise, so I grab a blanket and walk over to the door, laying in front of it and closing my tired eyes. If someone comes, I don’t want to be asleep when they do, so my best bet is to lie against the door so when it opens, I wake up as well.
Food comes again interrupting my sleep, but this time it’s someone else who guards the door, stopping me from being able to escape. I don’t eat that food either. I stay where I am at the door, only moving once to find the bathroom.
The room I am in is large, and the en suite isn’t just a toilet, it contains a free-standing claw bath, a walk-in shower with multiple heads and a large vanity area. I see different liquids and sprays I could use to take a shower, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to take a chance that they will walk in on me.
I want to leave.
I have work.
What do they plan to do with me anyway?
Who has me?
And why are they keeping me locked in this room?
When night rolls around again, the same guy who brought me two meals and calls me ‘miss’ walks in carrying a bag. He drops it on the floor in front of me and offers me a small smile then he walks back out.
“How long am I meant to be here? And more importantly, why?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
So I run at him and jump on his back.
He chuckles as I pull at his hair and try to stop him from going any farther. He maneuvers me so I’m now in front of him and my legs touch the floor.
“I’m sorry, miss, but I cannot answer those questions.” He pauses and looks down at me, my fingers are on his chest, and my nails are digging in. “Are you done?” he asks, and that’s when I notice blood on my fingertips and on his shirt from where my nails must have dug into his skin.
“I want to get out. I have places I need to be. People who will search for me.”
He simply nods his head and walks out the door.
Goddammit! I walk over to the bed and crawl into a ball. What am I meant to do? This room is a fortress with no way to escape. The windows are strong, I know because earlier I tried to throw a chair across the room at one. It didn’t even scratch, actually it didn’t even move. I even tried throwing myself at it.
Hard.
Nothing happened but pain in my shoulder.
I lay on the floor again. Fuck them! I am not using that bed. Who knows whose bed that is. The last thing I want to do is be compliant—I want out of here.
As I roll over, music blasts through the room. It’s slow music but so loud. It echoes all through the room, and I feel the vibration through the floor.
Closing my eyes, I listen—it’s a song about a love that can’t be broken.
My eyes fly open, and when they do, I stare up at very familiar amber eyes smiling down at me, amusement shining in their depths.
“You,” I spit.
Of course, it’s him.
I suspected as much, and part of me hoped it would be him because if someone else was kidnapping me, I know I would be in for a world of hurt.
“Me.” He smirks as he offers me his hand, and I brush it away while shaking my head.
“You plan to make this a reoccurring thing?” I ask, sitting up.
The music is still playing, but because we’re close, I can hear everything he’s saying perfectly clearly.
“I had to do what I had to do to get your attention.”
Those words just make me angrier.
How dare he use that as an excuse.
I stand, and he stays where he is. He’s so close to me now. I move and reach for the water next to the bed I was sipping on and throw it in his face. He doesn’t react at all. It’s almost as if he was expecting me to do it. Atlas lifts his hand and wipes at his face, his nose ring shifting with the movement. He reaches for his shirt, which is now soaked, and lifts it over his head, revealing his toned, ink-covered body.