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)
The corner of his full lips twitch as his eyes seem to flare. “Boo,” he mutters, the single word lingering in the air between us, and then all too soon, his hand whips out and covers my face, instantly sending me into a dark abyss of haunting nothingness.
7
Loud drumming seems to shake the walls as I peel my eyes open to find the window above my bed flooding the room with sunshine. I groan as the glaring light instantly makes my head pound. I’ve been trapped in the darkness for so long that the blinding sunshine is almost painful, add the fact that Roman De-Fucking-Angelis decided to drug me with something last night, and today is already shaping up to be one of my worst.
I drop my hand over my eyes and press down, trying to relieve the dull ache that’s booming inside my skull. Who the fuck is even playing the drums? And why now? Those assholes stalked me through the night. Surely, they’d still be asleep, but I guess there’s no rest for the wicked.
What even was last night and how the hell am I still breathing? I thought for sure that Roman was going to end me. I was about to become a chew toy for one of his big-ass dogs, or one of his fucked-up brothers. So why the fuck am I still here now? This doesn’t make sense. All I know is that coming face to face with Roman like that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.
Disappointment floods me, and for just a brief second, I wish that he had killed me. I just want this over with. I can handle being held in this twisted little torture chamber and the weird as fuck dinner parties, but their games are where I draw the line. They’re fucked in the head and I’m simply not strong enough to go on like this. I’ve never felt this level of torment and fear pulsing through my veins before last night’s games. But something tells me that they’re only just getting started.
I’m not going to make it through this.
My bed creaks as I roll to face the dirty wall, desperate to block out the blinding sunshine. If I were smart, I’d be soaking up every moment of the light because once the darkness comes around again, I’m sure the brothers will be coming right along with it.
“Don’t,” comes the devilish growl of Marcus’ low tone through my cell, “turn away from me.”
A loud, fearful gasp tears through me and I scramble back on my bed, forcing myself closer to the wall as I flip over to find Marcus hovering in the furthest corner of my cell, shadows covering his face. He leans against the wall, his hands buried deep in his pocket with his foot propped up like he’s more than prepared to spend hours in this very spot.
My eyes widen as my back stiffens with fear, watching the way he takes me in with interest. Anger pours through me as I slowly adjust my position, pulling myself into a low crouch on the bed, more than ready to lash out if I have to.
Marcus doesn’t miss a damn thing. His eyes are sharp, and though he hasn’t taken his hard stare off mine, something tells me that he can read my every thought and intention as if it were written across my face.
My heart races with dread and I quickly realize that these three brothers are never going to tire of tormenting me. They’ll never tire of sneaking into my cell, and they’ll never tire of watching me fear for my life.
I’m their play toy. I’m their bullshit entertainment and there’s no way out.
They’re never going to give up the game, especially when my reaction to their bullshit torture makes it so damn worth it for them. If only I was capable of not reacting, of being so okay with their shit that it didn’t even phase me. Then perhaps they’d get bored of trying and leave me alone. I doubt they’ll ever let me go, so my choices are to be so boring that they forget I’m even here or to be ended quickly and quietly.
This is my life now. This isn’t just a game of fucking with my head, this is a game of survival and my sanity is the prize.
Maybe my life has always been a game of survival. I struggled long before my father ransacked my home and sold me to these animals. I’m not missing out on some big adventure in my old life, and no one is mourning my sudden absence. But at least I knew how to survive in that meager life I’d carved from nothing, keeping my head down and working my ass off. But here? How does anyone know how to live in a world like this? I’m barely breathing.