Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28678 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
He nods as he turns down a dirt road. “The Army took a backwoods boy and taught him that we’re all the same regardless of our language, religion, or culture.”
I want to travel one day, and I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance. Taking online courses to get a degree in web design was supposed to be the way out of my life. I’d have a set of skills so I could make money and live on my own.
But when Albert locked me in my room, he took everything. My laptop, my phone, my tablet. I think he must have drugged me because when I woke up, even the sheets on my bed were gone. I couldn’t have slept through him raiding my entire room without a little extra help.
I spent two weeks locked in before I devised a plan to get out. Then it took another week to make sure everything was in order. I bet I’ve flunked all of my classes now. I don’t know if my professors or anyone has tried to reach out to me. I’ve been too worried about being tracked to check my email or social media.
I could go to the cops but what am I going to say? All I could tell them is that my stepdad is trying to sell me, but I have no evidence. I doubt they would believe me, and Albert would probably ship me off the moment they stopped paying attention to me.
I wonder if he’s awake. He has to be by now. I was careful with the dosage. After all, I didn’t want to kill him. The idea is almost as horrifying to me as being sold to a stranger. The only thing I want is to be left alone.
Well, that and for Colt to kiss me. I don’t know why I want that so much. I’ve never really been attracted to anyone. I thought maybe I was weird at best and at worst, completely broken. Now I think that maybe some part of me was waiting to find Colt.
He pulls to a stop in front of a beautiful one level farmhouse. It looks like something out of my favorite daydreams. A big tree stands guard over the house, the branches draped in Spanish moss. The white home with the wraparound porch would look so cute with some rocking chairs and a few throw pillows. I can almost see a table between them with sweet tea on it, sweat beading down the sides of the glasses.
An American flag waves proudly in the breeze along with a black flag. This one has the silhouette of a soldier with the acronyms KIA and MIA on it. It’s a way to honor those who have been killed or gone missing while in action. I’m not surprised that Colt wants to honor his brothers and sisters in arms.
The grass is neat and short but there are no feminine touches to the place. I’d put a flower box right out front. I’d fill it with cheerful tulips in bright colors. I’d put a sprinkler over there that our kids could run through.
“Ain’t much,” Colt says when we’re out of the truck.
“It’s everything,” I breathe as I follow him up the porch. His big boots are loud against the wooden boards, and I imagine the sound of smaller boots behind his and the soft giggles of his children. The thoughts fill me with so much longing that my heart is breaking. How can you grieve for a life you’ll never have with a man you barely know?
He opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. The hardwood floors are scuffed and in need of a good refinishing. There’s a pile of gear by the front door, mainly boots and fishing poles and a raincoat. None of the boots are small enough to belong to a woman, a sign that fills me with relief.
The foyer opens up to a living room with two big leather recliners in front of a flat screen TV. It’s on and playing a hunting and fishing station. There are no rugs on the floors or curtains on the windows. No throw pillows or fuzzy blankets. Nothing soft or homey is here.
“It’s just you,” I say softly. I thought he used to be married but maybe I’m confusing things in my memory. I only met Colt the one time, during my father’s funeral. It would be easy for me to mix up details given the circumstances.
“Just me,” he repeats.
I glance toward the dining room and kitchen. They’re just as sparse with no decorations on the walls. The only personal touch is a few photos on the fridge. I cross the floor to study them.
There are pictures of Colt with different groups of soldiers. In the first few photos, his smile reaches his eyes. But then it changes and suddenly, he’s scowling in all of them. I can’t help but wonder what made him change.