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)
But then Damon rolled over, both hands pressed over his left thigh, blood seeping through his fingers. “My leg,” he wailed, his face twisted in agony. “You fucking shot me! I’ll kill you for this!”
To her horror, he managed to haul himself upright. He lunged again, reaching for the gun. As they struggled, he somehow wrenched it out of her hand. Panicked, she shoved his chest with all her might.
He fell backward, landing hard on his ass, blood spurting from his wound. The gun went skittering across the concrete.
Callie’s mind shut down, her feet taking over. She sprinted toward the stairs and hurtled upward, taking them two at a time. As she ran, she cried—great shuddering, hiccupping sobs.
Somehow, she got to the first floor. Her shoulder and hip were badly bruised from the fall, the skin rubbed raw from the concrete. She could hear Damon dragging himself up the stairs behind her. Fear propelled her forward.
As she sprinted down the hall, she heard commotion from the living room. It took her a moment to process the sound. The doorbell was ringing repeatedly, accompanied by loud banging against the front door.
“Help me!” she croaked, stumbling forward toward the sound. “Oh god, whoever you are. Help me!”
She could still hear Damon clomping up the basement stairs, cursing and whining all the while.
Somehow, she got to the front door. She grabbed the knob with a hand that was slippery with blood. It refused to turn. The door was locked. The doorbell continued to chime, the banging more insistent.
She wiped her hand on the shirt, which was also splattered with blood.
“Just a second,” she screamed, fumbling for the house key in the shirt pocket. Thank goodness it was still there. Teeth chattering, hands shaking, she eventually managed to get it into the lock. As soon as she unlocked the door, it was thrust open, nearly knocking her off her feet.
For a split second, she didn’t recognize the couple standing before her. Then relief poured over and through her, nearly making her collapse to the ground.
“We heard a gunshot!” Wolf exclaimed, staring at her. “Oh, mein Gott im Himmel. You are covered in blood.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped at the screen. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”
“Ich habe es dir gesagt!” Greta cried, skirting past him to Callie. “I knew it was not okay,” she continued in English. “I saw your safe signal but it was so fast. I wasn’t certain. We are so sorry we didn’t act. So very, very sorry.”
“They are on the way,” Wolf said, pocketing his phone. “Are you hurt, Callie? Where is Lord Demon? What is happening now? Surely, this is not consensual.”
“No, no, never consensual,” Callie sobbed, or was she laughing? She had no idea. “I’ve been this man’s prisoner for weeks. He’s a monster. Thank god you’re here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
A wave of dizziness and exhaustion swept over her in the aftermath of the excess adrenaline still in her system. Greta opened her arms and Callie fell gratefully into them.
“It’s okay, Liebchen,” Greta murmured into Callie’s tangled hair as she held her tight. “You are safe now. He will never hurt you again.”
Wolf’s eyes widened, his gaze moving past Callie. They all turned to stare at Damon as he limped into the room, blood still oozing from the bullet wound, the gun dangling from his finger. He took in the tableau of the three of them and paled visibly.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Then he crumpled to the carpet in a dead faint.
Chapter 22
While waiting for the police, Wolf raced to the kitchen and returned with several kitchen towels. Damon was still passed out on the carpet, his face almost peaceful in repose, his chest slowly rising and falling.
Wolf used one of the towels to create a makeshift tourniquet, which he tied around Damon’s upper thigh. Looking up from his work, he said, “Greta, take Callie into the bathroom and get her cleaned up.” To Callie, he said, “Where do you keep your clothes?”
“I-I have no clothes here that I know of. He mostly kept me naked.” The idea of putting on the waist cincher or frilly apron Damon had forced her wear from time to time made her skin crawl.
“No problem,” Wolf replied. “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll run out to the car and get some of Greta’s spare clothes for you.”
Greta put her arm around Callie and led her into the small bathroom just off the living room. Though Callie understood intellectually that the danger had passed, she couldn’t seem to stop shaking and her heart continued to race. She felt lightheaded and as if she might throw up.
“Shh, take a deep breath,” Greta said soothingly as she unbuttoned the bloodied shirt and gently tugged down the shorts. “We will get you out of these things and washed up.” She spread a towel on the closed toilet seat and eased Callie onto it. Using a warm, wet cloth, she gently daubed away Damon’s blood. “You are not seriously hurt, Gott sei Dank. Your welts and bruises are going to raise some eyebrows with the police. Just be prepared.” Using a fresh cloth, she gently wiped Callie’s face and neck.