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)
She closed her eyes, trying to recall her last memory before waking up to this nightmare. She remembered feeling pretty drunk when they’d left the restaurant. She had assumed the brandy was stronger than she’d realized.
The feeling had intensified as they’d walked to Damon’s car. She remembered a rising sense of dizziness. She’d stumbled at one point, righted by Damon’s steadying hand. She’d briefly wondered if she was getting sick, and hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by puking in the parking lot.
Then…
Nothing.
“You’ve been out for the past twelve hours straight. Guess I gave you a little more of the drug cocktail than I realized.”
He must have put something in her drink.
Why?
Why had he done this? Was it some kind of horrible, elaborate joke? Was Diana in on it? Would she come tripping down the stairs in a moment to tell Callie they’d just been fooling around? The thought was bizarre in the extreme but easier to handle than the possibility that this man had actually abducted her.
“There is no Diana, silly girl.”
How could that be? Diana was real! She had to be. She had a Facebook page, with photos and everything. She would find out what her twisted cousin had done, and she would rescue Callie.
Even as Callie desperately wanted this to be true, she knew in her gut Damon had set her up from the start. Anyone could create a bogus Facebook account. And that voice changer—while she’d never heard of such a thing, that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
Damon’s handsome face loomed in her mind. Try as she might, she couldn’t reconcile the easygoing, charming man she’d met at the restaurant with this terrifying monster who’d drugged and kidnapped her. A chill settled over her as she thought about all the planning he must have done to bring this whole thing to fruition.
Her brain spun for a while, caught in a loop of confusion, denial and panic. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to regain some control. She needed to calm the fuck down and try to think clearly.
Somehow, she had to get herself out of this. The first thing was to find a way out of these restraints and off this damp, nasty cot.
“Good girls get to come upstairs.”
Okay. So, that was the first step. She would be a “good girl.” When he came back down, she would pretend to be docile and compliant. Once she was out of the shackles and upstairs, she could determine a plan of escape.
The sound of heavy footsteps made her whip her head toward the stairs. Damon appeared. His sun-streaked hair was damp and combed back, as if he was fresh from the shower. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Come to that, it was warm in the basement—not chilly as you might expect in Chicago in early autumn.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
Panic curdled in Callie’s gut. She ordered it away, refusing to give in. Fear was paralyzing and she needed to be ready for action. She had to keep her wits about her and gather all the data she could. Knowledge was power.
He came closer, tilting his head as he smiled at her—that deep-dimpled, easy smile of a man who was aware of just how handsome he was.
She stiffened as he came closer. He crouched beside the cot and stroked some of the tangled hair out of her face. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
Callie resisted the sudden, strong urge to spit in his face. Instead, she closed her eyes and drew in a breath.
He smelled good—like expensive aftershave scented with oranges and pine. She, on the other hand, could smell her own stink—sour breath, fear sweat and urine. There was dried snot beneath her nose that made her skin itch.
“Are you ready to behave?”
She nodded.
“Good. Before I let you up, let’s get the first ground rule established. You will only speak when spoken to. I don’t want to hear whining and complaints or a bunch of stupid questions. The only time you speak is when asked a direct question. You will answer respectfully, eyes downcast as befits your station as my sex slave. And with each reply, you will refer to me with the honorific of Master or Sir—your choice. Got that?”
Callie swallowed the bile rising in her throat along with her fury. Who the fuck did this bastard think he was?
The one in charge—for now, she reminded herself. She started to nod her assent, but caught herself in time. Looking down, she replied “Yes, Sir.” No way was she going to call this asshole Master.
“Good girl.”
He got to his feet and reached for something behind her. She tilted her head back, trying to see what he was doing. There appeared to be something hanging on the wall, which he was taking down.
He crouched again beside her and she saw he was holding a metal choke-chain dog collar attached to a leash. “Until I get you properly trained,” he said, “I’m going to keep you tethered. Just in case you get any stupid ideas, the doors are all locked, as are the windows. I possess the only key.”