Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“How’s your face?” Evan asked.
“The least of my problems.” Noelle sucked in a breath as her fingertips found the open cut on her cheek. She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt and dabbed it lightly, but it had mostly stopped bleeding. Yes, her body hurt like hell, but there was also a current of victory running through her.
Mixed with frustration. 330?
She’d only gotten three out of four numbers. She’d have to bait the man with the red shoes again and hope for the best. But her chances got slimmer and slimmer. Perhaps he’d be counseled about his lack of discipline in allowing them to rile him the way she had. Perhaps someone watching would catch on to what they were actually doing and quickly put an end to any delusions they might have about breaking free.
She’d told Evan she’d only seen three of the numbers by tapping at her wounds with three of her fingers. He’d given a quick nod, then turned away, his mouth set.
Three was better than zero. And if they found an appropriate tool that would allow them to input the codes into their locks, they could attempt to find the last one by going through all ten digits if they were given time.
And if the keypad allowed for unlimited tries.
Which it might not.
A new phase starts in the morning. The choices get . . . bloodier.
She didn’t want to think about what that meant.
Hopelessness began to swirl, but she forcefully pushed it aside. There was no point to that. Because once you turned down that road, it was very difficult to turn back around. Giving up meant certain defeat.
She lay down on the floor, and Evan did the same, their hands reaching for each other, fingers linking, a movement that now felt as natural as breathing air. She exhaled, and for a moment, they simply stared into each other’s eyes. His eyes were an oasis to her now, an island in a deep, dark sea. Something to cling to. A reason to hold on. The knowledge that she was not alone.
She thought of the man with the voice like velvet who had given her pleasure that made her moan. Let it make you angry, Noelle. You’re so hot when you’re mad. Would I . . . break . . . the rules? And then he’d left a pencil for her to write him a note. A pencil that could be broken to extract something that could be used to create fire. Was he helping her? Them? It couldn’t be, could it? He was using her. Playing with her. Some confounding game within a game. But she—they—had no choice but to play along.
And tomorrow, the stakes would rise.
Fear shimmered inside, a nuclear blast in the distance rocking her world and making her want to shut her eyes, hit the ground, and never look up. Instead, she stared into his eyes.
Evan’s expression was more desolate now, even though they’d been—mostly—successful in getting the codes to their cages. Noelle didn’t know if it was because they were closer than they’d been but still so damn far away, or perhaps, like her, he was considering that the level of horror was about to rise in the morning. Or maybe it was because of something that had happened to him upstairs. She wouldn’t ask. They’d come to an understanding, and she didn’t want to talk to him about what happened to her up there, either, the way her body had been used, her soul disregarded.
Like the road to hopelessness, if she started to go to that dark place inside, she wouldn’t return.
She was already standing at the intersection of so many bleak crossroads.
She tightened her fingers on his, creating what felt like an unbreakable link.
We leave here whole.
We leave here together.
Much later, their dumbwaiters dropped, and the doors opened. They both dragged themselves upright and then crawled to the backs of their cages. Noelle pulled out her tray. There was only one slice of white bread and one cup of water to eat and drink, respectively. But she stared down at what was on the other side of the tray, picking them up gingerly and turning them this way and that.
A tiny pair of nail scissors, dull and slightly bent at the end.
A grooming tool?
She turned to Evan, who held something of his own.
“Nail scissors,” she said, holding up the small tool and looking with confusion at what he was holding.
A hammer with a rubber head? “What is that?”
“It says on the side it’s a chime mallet,” he told her. “Like, an instrument or something.” He turned it over, staring down at it for a few seconds, and then tapped it on his open palm. It looked light, less than two pounds. The head was rubber, solid but unlikely to hurt anyone. And it would definitely lose against a Taser and a gun. Disappointing.