Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“Cute,” he says.
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but something tells me to hold my tongue.
“You’ve wasted everyone’s time, including mine. Look at all those poor people having to wait out in the cold and rain for you to do as you’re told.”
“I don’t know what you think this is, but we live in a civilized society. That contract you had my father sign before you put that rope around his neck wouldn’t stand in any court of law. So just get away from me. Get off this train and let us go.”
“You make quite the accusation. I believe you were safely tucked into your bed the night your father hanged himself. In fact, I tucked you in myself and even tried to comfort you when you were frightened.”
“Comfort me?”
“Tell me something,” he starts, cocking his head to the side. “Are you still afraid of the dark?”
Something in his eyes fills me with dread.
It’s a question. Just a stupid question. He’s trying to scare me. Threaten me. And probably embarrass me while he’s at it.
“Because if you don’t walk off this train by the time I finish my sentence, I have a very special place in mind to put you once we’re home.”
Home?
He leans toward me, and I lean backward. “No nightlight, Cristina.”
My heart is beating so fast, I feel the flutters of each pulse at my chest, my neck. The hand that’s not clutching the backpack is tightly fisted.
He pulls his hands out of his pants’ pockets and reaches into his jacket to take something out of the breast pocket.
It takes me a moment to process that it’s a syringe. It’s just all so strange. So unreal. This is stuff you read about. Not reality.
“I brought this for you. In case you decided to do something stupid rather than going quietly,” he says. I swallow as his eyes move to it and mine follow. “But you know what?” He tucks the needle back into his pocket. “I don’t think I want you to go quietly.”
He reaches out to caress my hair and when I try to pull away, he fists a handful of it. We didn’t cut it short enough.
His expression changes, hardens, and I should scream for help. They’d come, wouldn’t they, all those people outside?
Damian tugs me close so our foreheads are almost touching. “When you run, I will come after you. I will always come after you. You belong to me now, Cristina. For better or for worse.”
“Let me go,” I say, the strap of my backpack slipping out of my hand.
Seemingly without any effort at all, he forces me to walk ahead of him, my head tilted at a painful angle, his fist too tight in my hair.
“Get away from me!”
“You’ll be punished when we’re home,” he promises as the automatic door swooshes open, and cold, wet air slaps my face.
We’re not on any platform, and the step down is too far so when we reach it, he shifts our positions. He goes ahead of me, releasing my hair. But instead of helping me out, he wraps an arm around the backs of my knees and hauls me over his shoulder.
“Let me go!” I shout, seeing one of his men follow with my backpack in his hand. I’m watching as the passengers who were on the train with me stand there, mouths agape, eyes wide at what they’re witnessing. Yet no one moves to do a thing. No one helps me. Not even the conductor who shifts his gaze away from mine when I catch his eye.
“Help me!” I cry out, struggling against Damian’s grip, which is like a band of steel around the backs of my legs. His shoulder is as hard and unyielding as a brick wall.
We’re moving toward one of three SUVs, all of which have windows tinted black.
I fight. I fight with all I have because I know once I’m in one of those SUVs, it’s over. It’ll be that much harder, if not impossible, to escape.
But it’s already impossible. He has a half dozen men with him, at least of those I see. And they all stand so casually by, some even smoking while Damian Di Santo kidnaps me right under everyone’s noses.
“Please help me!” I pound against his back, wriggling in every direction. He just keeps on walking, never increasing his pace because he’s casual too. Not worried that someone might call the police. Not worried that someone might try to stop him.
I crane my neck to see we’ve reached one of the SUVs. One of his men opens the back door. Damian shifts his grip and I’m lowered toward the back seat. The back of my head hits the frame of the door.
“Careful,” he says with a chuckle.
Once I’m in, I hear the conductor give the order for the other passengers to board the train again. Damian climbs into the back seat beside me and closes the door.