Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“Do you know where he is right now?”
“I’m not sure, but he left a while ago. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
“What should I do now? Will you take me back to my cell?” I’m not sure how Enzo will react when he sees me out. He might be angry with me, though, the only person he should be mad at is Eli. Actually, he probably should be angry at himself as well, for locking me up in the first place, but remorse seems highly unlikely with Enzo.
“Just go upstairs, child. The basement is no place for you. You can tell him I sent you up.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble. I’ll be fine downstairs as long as Eli leaves me alone.”
“I always hated that guy. Don’t worry about me. Enzo won’t harm me, just go upstairs. Trust me.” She seems so sure in her words, so I believe her, hoping that she is right. I would never forgive myself if something happened to this sweet woman.
Getting up from the chair, I give her one more hug, wrapping my arms around her tightly and taking in her sweet flowery scent, which reminds me of my mother. She hugs me back just as fiercely, making me not want to leave her at all.
When we do finally break the hug, she gives me a reassuring nod, and I leave.
Sneaking upstairs, I watch over my shoulder at every turn. I’m not going to be taken off guard by Eli again. I vow to tell Enzo all about it whenever he gets back.
Entering his bedroom, a calmness washes over me. Somehow this room has become a safe space. I feel like no one can hurt me in here, which rationally, I know, is nothing more than an illusion. Eli could easily come in here and hurt me, so could Enzo.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I hold on to the fantasy of safety instead.
For a few minutes, I simply stand there, trying to figure out what to do now. Should I just wait here for him? Maybe sit on his desk or the bed?
Thinking about the bed triggers a wave of exhaustion, but then I remember I haven’t showered in days. The maid brought clean clothes and soap to wash up in the sink every day, but that’s not the same.
Heading to the bathroom, I strip out of my clothes and take a hot shower. The water feels wonderful, and after, I feel a hell of a lot cleaner than before. I dry off and wrap a towel around myself before leaving the fogged-up bathroom to walk to the closet.
My clothes are still there, neatly folded, and hung up as if I’ve been here all along. Dropping the towel, I dress in one of the silky pajama sets.
I really don’t want to fucking care about him or care about whatever he’s doing. Except, as I crawl into his bed, all I can do is see him, smell him, taste him. I feel the weight of his body on mine, his lips on my skin, and relish the passion and fire he stokes within me.
As soon as I close my eyes, I hear laughter from somewhere in the house. Someone is talking loudly, then laughing again. Footsteps follow suit. The sounds come closer, and I sit up. One final feminine giggle meets my ears, and then it is quiet for a moment.
Suddenly, the door opens, and Enzo appears. The bedroom is dark, but the light from the hallway filters in shining a spotlight on me.
Immediately, his gaze finds mine. His eyes are slightly glazed, but he mostly looks tired. I hear the same giggle again as he turns around to talk to the woman in the hall.
“Goodnight, Alessandra.” His voice is velvety soft when he says her name, and I won’t be fucking surprised if she has her legs spread, begging for him. His voice just has that effect.
The girl says something back that I can’t hear before he closes the door and turns around to face me. Shock and something else evident in his gaze.
“Who let you out?” he asks as he takes a drink from the glass in his hand.
There is no hi, hello, how the fuck are you. I’m pissed, furious. I so badly want to throw in his face what Eli did to me, but seeing him and the way he is acting, I don’t think it will matter to him. He won’t care, and that part hurts the most.
“I’m not a fucking dog.” I try my hardest to sound mean. I want to lash out at him with words because let’s face it, I won’t ever be able to hurt him physically. Mentally, though…I can do that. I can break him down, cut him, and turn him inside out, just like he does to me.