Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
At least I won’t die a virgin.
I laugh out loud. Only for a second, but it’s enough to draw Lockwood’s attention. He saunters back into the room, sans hat, giving me a full view of his shit-eating grin.
I glare at him. “What’s happening in an hour?”
“The buyers are coming.”
“To get me and Cross?”
He shrugs. “Maybe just you. Depends on if they want a dude.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Maybe I’ll cook him and eat him.” I can feel the blood drain from my face. Lockwood bursts out laughing. It’s jerky and gaspy, and makes him sound kind of like a choking bird. “Naw. Naw. That’s not the plan.”
“You tried to kill him, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t tie his hands.” Horror washes through me—cold and paralyzing—as I realize this makes sense.
He shrugs. “Nothing personal. But he knows a bunch of things he shouldn’t.”
“How do you know he knows?” I challenge.
“His father told Priscilla. She don’t keep secrets for anybody.”
Of course. Fucking Priscilla. Oh my God, I want to slap her.
From somewhere behind me, I notice a clock ticking. I guess it’s mounted on the wall. “How much longer?” I ask Lockwood. It’s kind of ridiculous to ask, but I figure why not.
His gaze drifts over my head. “Looks like about thirty-seven minutes, seniorita.”
I shut my eyes, and a minute later, I hear a rustling in the cooler, followed by his footsteps and the closing of the door.
Holy hell. This is really about to happen. I’m really getting sold! Not my virginity; me. I strain my abs and get myself half-sitting. I pull against the binds so hard my wrists sport blood-red lines. I’ve got to do something!
As I work my wrists against the rope, the ticking of the clock threatens to drive me crazy.
Try as I might, I just can’t undo the damn knot! It’s complicated and tight.
I wiggle my ankles. Nothing.
I’m lying there, praying and trying to regulate my breathing, when I hear a moan. My eyes flip open. “Cross!”
He sits up, looking dazed, and I think I might pass out from relief.
“Cross,” I hiss, trying harder to be quiet. “Come untie me!”
He blinks at me, and my heart sinks as I realize he’s not really seeing me.
“Cross,” I whisper. “It’s me—Lizzy! And I need your help!”
He blinks, the slack look on his face never changing as he rolls his shoulder. Squinting, he looks slowly around the room. “I feel...stiff.” His voice is croaky. His eyes wander over the ceiling and the walls, and then finally to me. They widen. “Lizzy?” He flinches as he notices my binds, and I can see some of the stupor fading. “What’s going on?”
“You don’t remember?”
He frowns. “I fell asleep waiting for you.” He looks around the room again, but I hiss. “Cross! Come untie me! I’ll explain later, but you have to untie your feet and help me!”
He swallows as he blinks down at his feet. He leans over, placing one palm on his ankle, and I urge him, “C’mon! You’ve gotta move fast!”
“Okay.” He gives me a concerned look while his fingers grapple with the rope. “Damn,” he mutters, “I’m thirsty.”
“I’m so sorry, Cross. But Priscilla Heat and Jim Gunn kidnapped us!”
His eyes bug out. “Holy fuck.” He grits his teeth and goes harder at the ropes on his ankles. “Where are we?” he asks while he works.
“Mexico.”
“Are we getting sold or something, like Missy King? Because that would be unbelievable.”
I nod. “I really think we are. Except you...” I’m about to speculate on why they didn’t feel a need to tie Cross’s hands when the door opens again, and a tall Mexican man walks in.
Chapter 34
Elizabeth
HE’S WEARING ALL black, from his boots to the fedora-like hat on his head. He’s an attractive guy with an in-charge vibe, but once I see the dead look in his eyes, I know he’s not here to help us. In fact, he’s probably here to buy us. Damn.
His assessing gaze flicks over me then over Cross, who has managed to slump over onto his side. Did he do that in time to fool the buyer? I watch the buyer’s face; he’s looking down his nose at Cross. I don’t think he’s spared a look for me yet.
He steps closer to Cross, poking his bicep with his long fingers.
Then he turns toward the door, flicks his hand in a come hither motion, and two other men walk in. Neither is as tall as the buyer, and it’s clear they’re working for him rather than the other way around. They’re wearing black like he is, but they don’t look as clean or well-groomed, and where he points, they scurry.
I tense, terrified because I expect them to skip right over Cross and come to me, but instead they each grab one of Cross’s shoulders, and they roll him over. He’s so limp I wonder if he actually passed out. One of them starts to unbutton his blue jeans, and I shriek.