Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Well, unless it’s a woman’s pussy.
The thought would make me smile if I weren’t in the damn mess I’m in. The girl’s face comes to mind, and not for the first time I have to wonder what it is about her that’s gotten my attention.
I slowly scan the entire room, hoping to find something to cut this damn chain with. There’s nothing close that I can see. There’s a hacksaw across the room, and if I can somehow talk the girl into helping me, I just might be able to use that. I file that information away for future use.
My head jerks up when I hear yelling. The sounds are faint and muffled, and as a result, what I hear comes out in broken words.
“…told you… stupid bitch…”
The voice is male, and he’s definitely angry. I hear some muffled movement and then a girl crying out. I instinctively know the female is the one who was here. Anger surges through my blood, because I know he’s hit her. There’s the sound of furniture scooting across the floor, as if she fell against something.
“…your fucking nose… business…”
I hear the sound of glass shattering and then the slamming of a door.
I sit there a few more minutes, listening and waiting. It doesn’t take long before I hear the sound of the girl crying. It’s strange, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but the sound of her misery and knowing she’s crying, big tears probably slipping down her cheeks, is ten times louder than the screaming fight earlier.
I don’t have a way to know how long it lasts, but I figure the girl cries for at least ten minutes, although about halfway through she was moving around, putting furniture back in place. She’s got spirit, I think, but she’s been beaten down so long it’s hard to tell for sure if it’s fire in her veins or just the will to survive.
I can hear her muted mumblings coming as she moves around up there. Knowing she’s slipping me food and risking that asshole’s wrath shows me that she isn’t a piece of shit like the life surrounding her. The mystery with this girl just keeps getting more and more confusing.
I lean back against the wall, wondering what the men of my club are doing. They’ve had to discover I’m gone by now. Did they see anything on the surveillance cameras? Will they know where to find me? The questions keep firing off in my head, and all I can do is get more frustrated, because I have no damn idea what is going on.
I let my rage focus on one person—the man who took me. I figure the asshole will make his appearance down here soon enough, and I’m just waiting for it. I’ll be prepared for it. For him.
I want to see the face of the person I’ll take great pleasure in killing.
Chapter Seven
Langley
I can’t concentrate, not when all I can think of is the man down in the basement, not when I want to help him but also know he’ll kill me in the end. My life is a mess. A fucking mess.
Pain throbs on the side of my face from when Einstein threw the plate at me yesterday. Asshole. I tried to cover the bruise with makeup before I went to work, and of course I failed miserably. I don’t even know how to put it on, but Mama had some old-as-hell makeup in her bathroom from before she got sick.
I look at myself in the mirror, the bathroom dingy and dirty, the once white tiles having a dirty and yellow cast over them. The fluorescent lighting above me flickers as if it’s struggling to hold on to life.
I tip my head back and look at it. “Same here,” I whisper.
I look back at my reflection and sigh. The mirror has cracks in it, age showing through. And the girl who stares back at me looks run down, tired, and broken.
I turn my head to the side and look at my cheek, the bruise starting at my temple and ending right by the corner of my mouth. Einstein had come home high and drunk, per usual, already pissed about something. He demanded I make him food and go check on Mama. I didn’t argue and just did what he wanted, because in the end it was easier than fighting.
But because the food hadn’t been hot enough, he’d thrown the plate at me, the chipped ceramic hitting my face hard. The pain had been instant, a cry spilling from me. And he sat there and laughed, calling me a slew of disgusting names. But I’m at the point in my life where his words mean nothing.
I’m already this void, this darkness. He can’t say anything, do anything to me that hasn’t already been done.