Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“They told me it would last hours,” another voice grunts. I know this one. And suddenly, I remember. Not that there’s very much I can do about it. I’m unable to open my eyes more than an inch before they close again.
Why is Dad doing this? I was so close to being happy, and now I am… where am I? I don’t have the first idea. I’m in a bed, I think. It’s firm but soft, and when I wiggle my fingers, I feel something like satin under them, cool and smooth.
“Right, but that’s not foolproof. She might need a second dose.”
“You want her awake for the ceremony, don’t you?” Dad asks. “I mean, I’m happy to have you as a son-in-law, Clark, but really. I think she should at least be awake.”
Clark? It must’ve been Clark who held me. Clark, who jammed that needle into my neck to pump me full of whatever is weighing me down now. Everything is so foggy, and even trying to think hurts too much. But I have to think. I can’t let myself fall asleep again.
“Are you with us?” Dad asks. “Wakey wakey. Don’t bother playing possum. I know your tricks.”
Oh, my god, that’s what this is about. The ceremony—he’s talking about a wedding, isn’t he? There I was, trying to convince myself it was over, that he couldn’t touch me now while I’m under Tucker’s protection. I tried to convince myself I was being paranoid, and where am I now?
I manage to pry my eyes open, not because he wants me to, but because I need to look at him. Both of them. I need them both to know I understand exactly what’s happening here, and how disgusting it is. Not that I think it will make a difference—even now, barely able to see much less think, I understand that much.
“There she is.” There’s something perverse and chilling about the sound of Dad’s voice. I don’t know how he can stand there, sounding tender and loving when we both know he is anything but. It’s a complete joke. He even smiles as he sits on the bed next to me, where I have no choice but to lie here and stare at him rather than moving away like instinct begs me to do. If only I could.
“Like I told you in the parking lot,” he murmurs, reaching out and stroking my hair, “it did not have to be this way. This is the choice you made. You could’ve gone along with it and not insisted on acting like a spoiled brat, but no. You were so sure you could get what you wanted. I did warn you.”
His shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “I’ll never know the pleasure of walking you down the aisle in a real public ceremony. You took that from me. You took it from yourself. I hope you think it was worth it.”
Fuck him. Fuck this son of a bitch. My tongue moves over my lips to moisten them, but that’s about all I can handle. I’m still so groggy, weak, and even closing my fists takes every ounce of effort I can manage. Whatever they gave me, it was a lot, and I am completely at their mercy. These awful, disgusting men.
Clark comes into view, standing over Dad’s shoulder and wearing an almost happy smile that makes my stomach churn. This pig, this monster. Thinking he can have me just because he says so. Drugging me to have his way. And Dad expects me to marry him. It’s so horrifying. My brain doesn’t want to accept it, but I have to. I can’t pretend this isn’t happening. A single tear runs down my cheek and there’s nothing I can do to catch it before it soaks into my hair.
“See? Tears of happiness,” Dad announces, and my insides burn with panic and rage as they both laugh gently.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Clark tells me in a voice heavy with what could be sympathy, but really is just another reason for me to detest him. “I am going to make a good husband for you—so long as you make a good wife for me.” His eyes narrow, and his lips part to allow breath through. Breath that comes a little faster as his eyes take a slow tour of my body. I might be groggy from the drugs, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind what he’s thinking.
I’m going to throw up. I’m going to choke to death on my vomit. Would that really be a bad thing? That’s the worst part; the way it feels like choking to death would be a good way out of this.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Dad assures me, stroking hair away from my forehead again, chuckling when I flinch at his touch—I have a little more control over my body now, but not enough to get me out of this room. “She’s coming around a little more,” he announces. “We should get this over with in case she decides to be a spoilsport and ruin all our plans.”