Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
A piercing scream tears through the old storm cellar as agony rips through me. He yanks the blade straight back out and I cry out again, tugging at my bound wrists, desperate to hold the wound and ease the burning pain.
Blood pours from my thigh as I wish for certain death, the aching throbbing too much for me to handle. He’s only just getting started. There’s no fucking way that I can endure this type of pain. I wasn’t built for it. I’m not strong enough.
He peers over the edge of the bathtub, his eyes glowing as he watches the blood spill over the wound and pool in the tub beneath me. Taking both of my legs, he presses down on them, keeping me pinned as he brings his knife down in a shallow arc, slicing his blade straight through my skin.
I cry out, squirming beneath his weight to try and kick him off me, but he’s too heavy, too strong. More blood pours from my thigh, pooling with the rest of it beneath my ass as the heavy sobs get caught in my throat, making it hard to breathe. He’s careful not to nick one of my arteries and something tells me that’s all part of his big plan to keep me alive long enough to fill this stupid tub. It’ll never work. I’ll surely pass out after I lose enough blood and then hopefully, I’ll just slip away into nothingness.
He comes at me again, slicing even deeper and moving higher on my thigh before working his way up to my arms. Each cut of his blade gets more aggressive, more forceful and full of anger, making it clear that his sick need for blood is quickly being replaced by the fury of losing his rapist brother, and rather than taking it out on the three brothers who brutally slaughtered him, he’s taking it out on me.
I have to fight back. I have to survive this, but how? He’s got me trapped and with each passing second, I’m losing precious blood and energy. He comes at me again and I give it everything I’ve got, determined not to give up without a fight. If he’s going to kill me, then it’ll be because I physically couldn’t keep going. I just need to hold out long enough for the boys to find me and then everything will be right in the world.
The knife slashes down over my collarbone, slicing through my chest and I just can’t take it anymore. I pull my legs up, fighting through the deathly ache as I drop my knee over his neck and slam it down to meet the other, more than ready to endure the worst kind of hell if it means choking him out.
His whole body drops like a deadweight under the force of my thighs, his head dropping hard against the edge of the tub, slamming into his temple. The knife clatters on the ground as his body heavily slumps to the dirty floor. He hadn’t expected me to be able to fight back and that’s on him.
I stare with wide eyes, sharp pants tearing through my lungs. I watch him for a moment, waiting for him to get back up with a furious rage, but he doesn’t fucking move.
Is he dead?
My heart races but I’m not willing to wait and find out. My blood is steadily streaming from my body and it’ll only be a matter of time before I pass the fuck out. I only have a few precious moments and I need to make every single one of them count.
Clenching my jaw, I focus on my hand and tug hard against the binds. The material is thick and rough but with blood now coating my skin I have just enough room to move my wrists.
I keep working on it, twisting my hands and loosening the bonds bit by bit as my gaze continually flicks back to the lifeless body beside me. Getting one of them loose enough, I fold my thumb into my palm and pull hard, more than prepared to dislocate my thumb if it means getting my hand free.
A pained cry tears out of me as I pull with every last ounce of energy I have, and finally my hand comes free from the material. Adrenaline pulses through my body as I turn all my attention on my other hand, working tirelessly to release it.
I remember the knife that had clattered on the ground beside my attacker and with my free hand, I grip onto the edge of the bathtub and try to pull myself up just enough to reach over and grab it.
My body aches with every little movement and I feel the blood gushing out of my wounds, but I can’t give up here. I’m sure this guy isn’t dead and if he’s just out cold, he’ll eventually wake up, and when that happens, I can’t be here.