Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
A sudden pain crashed into her face. Her tumbling body hit the corners of concrete steps. She was dragged across a dark, dank room and set on top of a mattress. She swung at a pair of legs and bit through the cloth. A kick to her face sent her spinning. Her mouth burned. Loose tooth… A bit of light entered through a small, dusty window. Several sets of small glowing eyes focused on her, then the sound of scurrying feet followed, disappearing into the darkness…
Help me… HELP!
Honey woke up gasping for air. Her hair felt glued to her face. She sat there in the chair panting, trying to calm her racing her heart. Just breathe… just breathe nice and slow… Nice and easy. She talked herself through it. The horrible nightmare had returned. Only problem was that it wasn’t a nightmare at all. It was an old memory…
Honey’s breathing sounded as if she were in an echo chamber. She could hear herself inhale, exhale, and almost choke on her own saliva. Her muscles burned and her right leg was stiff, as if it had fallen asleep. Then she recalled being on her side on the floor, but now, she was upright. She didn’t recall him returning to the room and helping her up, but he must’ve. She looked around, her breathing slower now… yet still loud in her ears.
He’s crazy. I can’t believe this is happening… I have got to find a way out of here.
The room had gone from warm to cold, and as she looked up at the ceiling, her eyes burning with salty sweat born from pure adrenaline, she noticed flashing red dots. Cameras.
In so many ways, this resembled yet another bad dream. Every time she came to, she wished and prayed it was just another one of her nightmares, brought on by alcohol or restlessness, but as she felt the raw sting of her wrists bound firmly with zip ties, she knew better. The burn was real. The heat and cold were real. The harsh concrete walls, small old-fashioned toilet, dingy cot shoved against the wall and wobbly chair she’d been banished to were real. The fact he’d been in that chamber with her, smelling of rich cigars and cologne, holstered gun on his hip, and accusing her of insane conspiracies was real, too. He was a paranoid freak. A man who looked nothing like he behaved. He had a charming appearance—angelic even, dare she say it.
She had stared into a set of beautifully clear, light gray eyes hooded with a veil of thick black lashes. Most of their time together, he wore a slightly twisted smile even when cursing her out, or growing annoyed. His hair was so dark, blue-black, and his clean-shaven face was the canvas for a dimple on his right cheek, as well as a slight cleft chin.
She memorized all of him, for she’d need to remember the details when she was able to get to the police. His name alone may not be enough. She imagined he was a master of identities and roles. He’d have to be; to be a top tier alcohol smuggler, getting away with his dirty work for more than likely years now. She sat there for a moment, and her stomach roiled and churned.
“Shit.” Her nostrils flared. She inhaled, then blew out a burst of choppy air that caught in her throat on its way out.
His smell still filled the room long after he was gone. Earthy. Masculine. Musky and sensual. And yet, he was the Devil’s son… perhaps the Devil himself.
“LET ME OUT! People are looking for me!” she screamed. A burst of energy triggered by terror filled her body. I won’t die this way. I won’t let this happen!
The speaker crackled, like the times the P.A. system would, when her elementary school principal would come on and detail the lunch menu choices of the day.
“I’ve taken care of everything.” His cavernous voice made her insides drop. “I’ve sent messages from your phone, letting the people you speak to know that you’re not feeling well, but will be back to work soon. No one is coming, Honey… Nobody.” And then, just like that, the speaker crackled and fizzled. He’d gone away, disappeared before she could respond. She took a deep breath, her mind racing.
“They’ll know it’s not me! I never call in sick!” That was a half-truth, but she was sticking with it. She’d called in twice over the past year. Once after one of her best friends, Keisha, gave birth, and another time when she had a stomach virus that wound her up in the doctor’s office.
She glared at the cameras, and began feverishly working on the zip ties once again, pausing only briefly once she realized she’d strained and caused so much friction, the skin had broken. She winced at the throbbing pain, then pushed it aside… pushed through it… pushed past it, and kept on pushing and pulling, racing towards freedom. If I can just get a little room in these, I can slip out… The speaker crackled once again. He was still watching. She no longer cared.