Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Don’t think about it. Think about escape.
Right, escape. Now, this instant. Jump.
I shove myself out the window before I can think about it rationally and talk myself down. The sweatpants are a real bitch, so with a curse, I shove myself back in. I hike them up, tying them just under my boobs like a makeshift bra from below.
Did I really just think that?
With my pants secure and not so baggy, I find it much easier to swing my legs out the window. I ease myself down until I’m dangling by both hands. I have to angle and swing to the side, but luckily, all those boot camp fitness classes that my best friend, Charlotte, insisted on are paying off. I wriggle and grunt. Then I swing, swing, wriggle, and let go. I freaking make it, landing with a thump into an ungraceful pile of limbs, but I’m safe. I didn’t even get the wind knocked out of me. It’s a lucky thing because I can see the edge of the roof when I raise my head, and I don’t want to contemplate the carnage that would have been involved with missing it.
This roof is only around twelve feet tall, so before I can get on with rationalizing and talking myself out of it, I find myself sprinting over to the edge. I crawl down and swing my legs over, hanging off the same way I did with the window ledge. The shingles are rough and painful, but I don’t let go until I’m good and ready. I land facing the house, my legs taking the brunt of the fall before I sit down firmly on my bottom. I quickly get up, ignoring the pain in my arse cheeks. If a bruised butt is the worst that happens to me, I’m okay with that.
I look wildly around the yard. I don’t know why I didn’t think to scope it out from the window before I jumped. All I can see is the lights from the back patio door illuminating a large square pool, some patio furniture, a wood deck with a barbeque pit, shrubs and bushes along the far edge of the lawn, and what looks to be a ten to twelve-foot fence.
“Fuck two ducks,” I curse. It’s an uncharacteristic moment of very un-librarian behavior, but screw it. I don’t need my good girl skills right now. Right now, I need to put on my big girl panties and leap that farging fence.
There isn’t any other option. I circle the backyard and don’t find a gate or anything. The blasted place is like a prison. Of course, it would be. He planned for everything. The only way out is up the fence. And, of course, the stupid thing isn’t wood. It just has to be some sort of smooth concrete block type of material.
That doesn’t stop me from jumping at it, using my bare hands and feet to try and scramble up. Every single time I get a few feet up, I slide back down.
I’m on my twentieth or so attempt when the back door slides open, the noise like an explosion in the dead of night. There’s a shout, then a huff, followed by heavy footsteps.
“Shit!” I leap at the wall desperately, knowing that he’s coming for me. Alden. I also know his arm is his weak point, and then there’s always the regular stuff like eyes and groin. If my aim is true, I might still be able to get away.
My fear gives me extra dexterity—note for future reference, should I ever be required to escape from being kidnapped and almost forced into a sham wedding again, if that’s what they really wanted to do with me since I have serious doubts about the validity of anything they’ve said. For all I know, Alden might have wrecked his arm doing some poo mountain stunt after all.
I’m just about over the wall. My hands are at the top, and I’m scrambling, climbing with my bare feet like a lizard with sticky feet and a monkey had a baby. Freedom is so close, and I’m almost there. But then a hand closes over my ankle.
“Get down from there before you hurt yourself!” Alden commands. I can hear the very real concern in his voice, but he’s probably just worried that his ticket to billions is trying to walk out the front door. Or rather, leap over the fence.
“Eat dog shit!” I curse at him. I try and tear my ankle from his grip, but his powerful hand doesn’t budge an inch.
“Not likely. If you don’t get down from there, I’m going to have to do this the hard way, and I guarantee that you won’t like it.”
I lift one hand off the top of the fence to flip him the bird. He grunts, and I’m tugged back down with as much gentleness as he can manage. I do realize that. And oddly, I appreciate it, even if I don’t really like it.