Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
A clamoring crash makes me jump. One of the Russians has slammed a metal bar against the floor, the reverberation echoing through the warehouse. Jason flinches, backing away with hands raised in a placating gesture. The tall Russian stalks off toward the shadows, muttering curses under his breath. From the fragments of English I catch—“no money,” “Chekov,” “this is insane”—I piece together that things are spiraling out of control. That doesn’t bode well for me or Chester.
My eyes drift to the poor parrot. His normally bright feathers are subdued, his eyes half-lidded. The Russians gave me a cheap bag of birdseed to feed him, but it’s not his usual diet, and it shows. He misses the fresh fruits, the varied nuts, the familiar voices of trainers who cared for him. My heart clenches at the sight of him so withdrawn.
“Hang on,” I whisper under my breath, forcing myself to believe we’ll both get out of this. My lips tremble as I stare at the overhead lights, flickering in a pattern that’s become my only indicator of time passing. Three flickers means it’s likely nighttime, I told myself yesterday, but I can’t be sure. For all I know, days and nights blend together here.
Sleep hasn’t been an option. Even if I manage to drift off, the nightmares come roaring in. Scenes of Jason cornering me in dark hallways, Orion’s face twisting in betrayal, Chester’s terrified squawks echoing in my mind. I jolt awake in a cold sweat, heart hammering, sure that someone’s pointing a gun at me. Sometimes I think I hear Orion calling my name, but it’s just a cruel trick of my imagination. The insomnia wears on me, leaving me frazzled and weak, yet too anxious to rest.
Heath’s grating voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s stalking toward my cage now, phone in hand. Without warning, he bangs on the metal bars, making me flinch. “How’s the bird?” he demands, not even glancing at me. There’s no respect, no concern. It’s like I’m an afterthought.
I force myself upright. “He’s lethargic,” I answer, voice croaking. “He needs proper food, a better environment—”
“He’ll be fine,” Heath cuts me off, tapping something on his phone. Probably checking messages for updates on wherever this deal is supposed to happen. “And you—don’t even think about trying anything. We’ve got eyes on you.” He sneers, then jerks his chin at Chester’s cage. “This’ll all be over soon enough.”
One way or another, he doesn’t have to say. I swallow hard, suppressing the urge to spit back some defiance. It wouldn’t help. I’m too exhausted to muster anything more than a weary glare.
Heath stomps away, and my shoulders sag. Jason’s across the warehouse, chatting in a hushed tone with a smaller Russian guy I haven’t seen before. Obsession laces his eyes whenever he glances my way, but he hasn’t tried to get close today. Maybe the Russians told him to keep his distance. I don’t know. I almost prefer his absence—his attempts at conversation only remind me of how twisted he’s become, how I once saw him as sweet.
A soft chirp from Chester draws my attention back to him. I crawl over to the edge of his cage, reaching through the gap in the metal. “Hey, buddy,” I coo, my voice cracking. He tilts his head, and for a moment, I see a flicker of recognition. But he stays put on his perch, feathers drooping. My chest aches with guilt—I can’t even help him like I want to. All I can do is beg the Russians for better supplies, hope they don’t decide it’s too expensive or time-consuming.
Fear gnaws at me. The Russians’ argument keeps cycling, and from the tension in the air, I sense they’re on the brink of making some decision—whether it’s about Chester’s sale or me. I close my eyes for a moment, breath shaking. If they can’t sell Chester… if this deal goes bad… they’ll have no use for either of us.
A wave of cold sweeps over me, chilling me to my bones. I can’t die here, I think, the words a desperate mantra. I won’t. Even if I have no idea how to get out, I refuse to give in to complete despair. I imagine Orion’s face, summoning the memory of his warmth, and cling to that sliver of hope. Maybe he lied, maybe he really doesn’t care—but he’s my last chance.
“I’m sorry, Chester,” I whisper, forcing myself to stay calm. “We’ll find a way.”
He blinks at me, shifting just enough that it seems like he’s listening. My heart squeezes, and for a moment, I dare to imagine a rescue, an escape. If Orion or anyone shows up, I vow to fight with every scrap of will I have left. I refuse to let this be the end for either of us.