Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
It’s the smallest one I could find, and it fits perfectly down the front of my pants. Considering Mex isn’t perve enough to have inspected me when he drugged me, he doesn’t know I have it. He has my other phone, of course, and anything else I had on me. I’m always one step ahead, and there was no way he was taking me this time without there being a way for me to communicate.
Taking it into my hands, I toss the rest of my clothes over and then turn the shower on. I hold the phone away from the water, wondering where I can stash it that he won’t see. Generally, my pick is covering it in plastic and putting it in the top of a toilet, but he will see me do that, and I don’t have any plastic. I’ll need to find somewhere to put it that he won’t see. Placing it on the soap holder out of the way, I continue on with my shower.
I take my time.
If he wants to stand there, being all guard like, then he can work on my watch.
Once I’m finished, I turn the shower off and pick up the phone. I send off a few quick tests, mostly to keep people from wondering where I am, and then I call out for a towel. Mex tosses one over the top quickly, and I wrap it around myself, tucking the phone between my breasts and making sure the towel is up high enough to cover everything. Then, I step out. Mex is standing, my clothes on the ground at his boots.
His eyes rake over me, settling on the scar on my shoulder.
“My mother let me get shot,” I say casually, before he even asks what it is. “She wasn’t going for any mother of the year awards.”
Mex doesn’t say anything, but the way his eyes flash tells me my sentence hits something deep inside him. I wonder what his story is. I figured most bikers are in a club because they have shit lives, otherwise why the hell would you join one? It’s like being in my world isn’t something you’d choose for yourself, it’s usually something you end up in because you have no other options.
I reach down, picking up my clothes. “At least turn around. I don’t have time to tell you the story of every scar on my body because believe me, there are a few.”
He obliges, turning his back to me. I quickly get dressed, tucking my phone back into my pants, and then I toss the towel over the railing.
“So, tell me biker, how long do you plan on keeping me here?”
He glances at me as I step past him and walk out the door.
“As long as it takes for you to give me what I want.”
“Well, you better get used to me then, because I won’t break.”
The room he has me in is small, with one bed in the middle and a small table and two chairs by the window. It doesn’t even have a mini fridge. A television is the only form of entertainment in this tiny space. I’m going to need to be creative if I’m going to get out of here, or, at the very least, if I’m going to be stuck here, I need entertainment.
“I’ve got an idea,” I say, turning to Mex, “let’s play a game. If you can out drink me, then I’ll consider answering some questions for you.”
Tipping his head to the side, Mex’s eyes flash with challenge. “I could outdrink you in a fuckin’ heartbeat.”
“If you’re so sure ...”
He steps up to me, and my breath hitches in my throat as he looks down, those eyes intensely roaming my face. Then, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. Before I can say a word, he slaps one around my wrist, before putting the other one on himself.
“What the hell, man,” I growl, jerking my hand.
“You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?”
Dammit.
He has thought of everything this time.
“Don’t bother wonderin’ where the key is. You’ll never find it.”
With that, he jerks me as he turns, making me stumble after him. He moves to a bag on the ground and he reaches in. Straightening, he produces a large bottle of vodka. At the very least, he has thought of the main things. Here’s hoping he has food to share after this because if he doesn’t, things are going to get very messy.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
I hold his eyes, my determination strong. “Let’s go.”
This biker really has no idea who I am.
He’s about to find out.
SLAMMING THE BOTTLE down, I stare across the table at Mex.
We’re halfway through and both of us are still going strong. I’m feeling the effects of the alcohol, and I can see in his eyes that he is, too. Still, nothing stops us from taking another sip, then another, until we’re both more than a little drunk. Being drunk is the only reprieve from my world that I have. It takes me to another place. It relieves the pressure in my mind for just a moment.