Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
No, she told herself resolutely. She refused to dwell on that possibility. She would take one day—one hour—one minute—at a time.
She drew in a breath and tensed as she heard the sound of footsteps on the spiral metal stairs. Damon appeared in the open doorway. He was dressed in white shorts and a red T-shirt that strained against his broad shoulders. His tan arms and muscular legs were dappled with blond hairs. His sun-streaked hair was wet and combed back, one lock falling rakishly over his forehead. He flashed a dimpled, white-toothed smile at her, looking for all the world like a walking advertisement for surfboards or a beach resort vacation.
Callie had read the Oscar Wilde novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, in high school, and she’d never forgotten it. She imagined that Damon must have his own portrait hidden in some metaphorical attic, the painting’s ravaged face covered in scabs and pustules that reflected the man’s evil heart and sinful ways.
Damon was holding a tray with a tall glass of orange juice, along with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. The knot in her stomach unfurled at the sight, as her appetite returned with a vengeance. She swallowed the sudden rush of saliva in her mouth.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” he said, still grinning at her. “Rest well?”
Again, that creepy mix of cheerful kindness that barely covered the veneer of his cruelty. Fucking asshole. Was she really supposed to answer that?
Remember, he needs to think he’s broken you. You’re his subservient slave girl, and you’re so, so sorry.
“Yes, Sir,” she made herself say in a small, timid voice. “Thank you, Sir.”
He lifted his eyebrows in apparent surprise. His grin shifted into something sly and cruel. “Well, well. It’s nice to see you’ve finally found a civil tongue.”
Good. Her plan was already working.
He strode toward her and set down the tray near the cage. The smell of buttery eggs and crispy bacon pulled a moan of longing from her lips before she could stop herself.
“Hungry?” he asked.
Duh. What the hell do you think?
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Remember that the next time you try to pull a stunt like last night.”
He sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her and reached for the plate of food. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. He scooped a large mouthful of eggs onto his fork, his eyes fixed on her face. She leaned closer to the bars, parting her lips with eagerness.
But instead of moving the fork toward her, he lifted it to his own mouth. “Hmm,” he murmured, a look of rapture moving over his handsome features. “That’s so delicious. I bet you’d love some. Too bad naughty little cunts don’t get to eat.”
Tears of rage and frustration leaped to Callie’s eyes. She pressed her lips together to keep from screaming.
As her empty stomach gurgled and cramped, he shoveled eggs and bacon into his mouth. Try as she might, Callie couldn’t look away. She felt like a dog begging at the table as more saliva pooled in her mouth.
He reached for the orange juice, moisture beading on the outside of the cold glass. He tilted back his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank it down.
When the glass was empty, he set it down with a satisfied sigh. Reaching for the napkin, he patted his mouth and chin. “That was tasty,” he said with a cruel smile.
Callie looked away, trying to push down the murderous rage that was rising in her throat as a scream. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs for several seconds until the unvoiced scream died away.
Damon got to his feet and moved closer. Crouching in front of the cage, he reached into the neckline of his T-shirt and pulled out a thin gold chain. Instead of a pendant or other jewelry, three keys hung from the chain.
Gripping the smallest of the keys, he leaned forward and unlocked the padlock on the cage door. He released the latch and pulled open the door.
Callie tried to get to her hands and knees to crawl out, but one of her arms was apparently asleep, and it buckled beneath her weight. Damon reached in and hauled her out by the shoulders, pulling her onto the thick carpet.
She grunted in pain as she tried to straighten limbs that had been curled so tightly for so long.
He moved behind her and pulled her upright into a sitting position. Dizziness assailed her. She placed her hands on the carpet on either side of her body to keep from falling over.
Damon reappeared in front of her. “That was a really fucking stupid thing you did last night, Callie. You know that, right?”
A direct question. Be contrite, she urged herself. You’re so, so sorry.
It was all too easy to allow the tears to gather as she fixed him with a wide-eyed, doleful gaze. “Yes, Sir. It was a really stupid thing to do. I’m very sorry, Sir.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she struggled to keep her expression meek and regretful.