Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 83120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
But right now, I can’t think beyond the pain in my body and my deep craving for a fix. Every single fucking night is when I get what I need.
Except tonight.
My limbs are shaking, and I’m agitated. My legs keep twitching, and even my neck can’t seem to stay straight. My heart is racing, my blood boiling, and it isn’t from anger. I need a fix. I need to ease the tremors in my body and ache in my heart. I need to numb the pain that courses through my veins.
I’m breaking out in a cold sweat. First, I need him to untie me.
“Please,” I say, my voice hoarse for some reason. Why is my voice hoarse? I have some dim realization that I was screaming, but I couldn’t stop myself until he threatened a gag. I can’t breathe with a gag, and the thought terrifies me.
He watches me, his dark green eyes stern, narrowed on me. I know this is Tiernan, and if I were in my right mind, I’d know how to process that. But right now, I can’t think beyond the need to slide a needle in my veins and relieve the torment that riddles my body.
“Please,” I repeat, closing my eyes because I’m crying, and I fucking hate crying. “Please make it stop,” I whisper.
He watches me, takes another sip from his glass, then slides it on the table beside him. He rises, and for one brief moment in time, I let my gaze roam over him.
He’s grown up, a full grown man now, the reddish hair darkened and a little on the longer side, and he wears a full beard. He’s all angles and planes and power, intimidating as hell with his muscled grace and strength as he walks toward me. He smells strong and masculine, like pine and whiskey and tobacco smoke, and as he nears, my body begins to respond. My shaking intensifies, as terror fills me.
He crouches in front of me, resting his arms on his knees, his large fingers laced together. “Please what?” His voice is rough and deep, commanding my attention.
I swallow hard. “The pain,” I whisper. My voice, in such sharp contrast to his, wavers. “Give me what I need. I’ll give you anything you fucking want.”
The shaking stills when he reaches a hand out to me. He cups my jaw, his thumb tracing the side of my face.
“You’re strung out,” he says, a note of unmistakable anger in his voice. “You’re fucking looking for a hit.”
I close my eyes, and this time, even through my haze, I’m ashamed. He doesn’t know the girl I am now. He knows the girl I once was. I want to hide from him.
“Please,” I whisper again, opening my eyes reluctantly to plead. “I’ll do bloody anything.”
He shakes his head from side to side, and realization begins to dawn on me. I’m prisoner here. I won’t be able to escape. And there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to get what I need.
Fury consumes me. I open my mouth and howl, tears of rage and hopelessness streaming down my cheeks. “Let me go! Let me fucking go! I’ll call the police! I’ll scream! I’ll fucking kill you, I swear to God I will!”
He shakes his head once, from side to side, raises to his feet, and goes back to his drink. Unperturbed. Barely ruffled. He watches me with cold, narrowed eyes as he slugs the rest in one gulp. He slams the glass down on the table so hard it shatters, the only indication that I’ve affected him. But I don’t stop. I scream again, and again, even though I know I’ll regret this, because it’s the only release I can get.
“Let me out!” My voice sounds as if it belongs to another person, so desperate, so pained it hurts even me to hear.
“I warned you,” he says softly. “I don’t have what I need here, but I know where I do.”
He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a knife. Oh God oh God oh fucking God he’s going to hurt me.
“No!” I scream. “Hellllp! Somebody help me, please,” I sob and scream. “He’s going to kill me! Help!”
“Stop that.” His voice is harsh like a cut from a whip. I freeze. “I’m not going to kill you, but if you don’t fucking stop, I am going to give you a bloody hard spanking you’ll remember.”
I freeze. He means what he says, I know it. My thoughts don’t know where to settle, to fight him or push him even harder. A part of me wants him to strike me, as if it will somehow relieve the brutal pain that lashes at my insides.
I watch him flick open the knife. He falls to one knee, muttering, “Ought to spank you anyway for having a fit like this.” He gives me a stern look. “There are women and children living here that don’t need to be scared witless by your screams.”