Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Just like in my dream, my legs are tied, and my arms are positioned behind my back. It isn’t exactly uncomfortable as much as it is terrifying. The ropes aren’t digging into my flesh and hurting me, but the fear surrounding me is real. How did I sleep through being tied up?
I guess it’s because my mind transformed the actions into a nightmare, and my exhaustion prevented me from realizing the truth.
Simon is purring beside me somewhere in the room, but I must be mistaken. Could he be so pissed about a change of food bowl that he’s content to watch some man tie me up and hurt me? If I make it out of this alive, I swear I’m going to get a dog instead, or some animal that’s a little more loyal and a lot less picky.
Before I can attempt to escape or use mind control to urge Simon to attack, I’m thrown over the guy’s shoulder with a grunt. When the hotel room door opens, the tears I refused to cry before going to bed begin to fall. I beg and plead, all words getting jumbled in the cotton stuffed in my mouth.
I don’t want to die. Twenty-three is way too young for things to end for me, but I know that’s exactly what’s going to happen when I feel the cool night air on my legs as this man carries me out of the hotel. I’ve seen self-defense videos. I know the chances of survival after being moved from one location to another greatly decreases, but my wiggling and begging are ignored.
It’s not long before I’m tossed in the back of a vehicle, but before I can question why he put me in a back seat rather than in the trunk, the car is roaring to life. I’m sobbing, trying to tell myself to calm down so I can try to keep track of how many turns we make and in what direction, but I’ve never been to Des Moines before tonight. I don’t know a damn thing about where I’m going. Hell, I couldn’t tell you the name of the hotel I was staying at because I was dead tired when I checked in.
It seems like we’re only driving for a couple of minutes, but it could be hours or vice versa. My head is spinning, and I’m dangerously close to getting sick when the engine dies. I prepare to kick and scream the second he opens the car door, but he must be a genius because he doesn’t come at me from that end. Instead of opening the door at my feet, my attacker opens the door at my head, pulling me out of the car with ease and hoisting me over his shoulder once again.
A door beeps, and the cool night air is replaced with warmth. As I jostle along, ready to give up and just let whatever is going to happen, happen, I think about Simon. He betrayed me tonight, but that doesn’t mean I hate him. People get fooled by people pretending to be good all the time. It shouldn’t make a difference for animals. More tears are forming when I wonder if he’s going to be okay. Will housekeeping find him? Will they send him to a shelter or take him home? Will he find a new family? Will he miss me? Or will I be forgotten the second someone shows him a metal bowl full of food?
I’m utterly defeated by the time I hear a second door beep. Not a split second later, I’m tossed onto a bed with a bounce. Hands touch my calves, and I do my best to kick them away. A chuckle fills the room and it makes me pause. I scramble until I’m halfway sitting up, halfway lying with my back against what feels like a headboard, and I realize if I concentrate enough, I can see shadows passing in front of me.
Is he pacing? Having second thoughts? I spend an ungodly amount of time urging the gag out of my mouth with my tongue, and when it finally falls free, I take a breath of air so large, it makes me bend over wracked with a cough.
A warm hand touches my back and it freaks me out.
“Did you think it would be that easy to get away from me?”
My pulse is pounding because the voice is familiar, but my heart rate won’t slow enough that I can actually determine who it is?
“J-jones?” I manage, but he doesn’t confirm.
He’s FBI. Wouldn’t it just be easier to kill me and dump my body in the river or something? I’m hours from home with only fake IDs. It’s not like the cops are going to work that hard to solve a crime, plus I’m sure he’s got years of experience in shit like this, right? He’s a criminal mastermind. He’s hurt people. He’s hurt people’s families, their children. The man has no moral compass to speak of.