Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
No.
Tears prickle at my eyes and a sob catches in my throat.
It’s a trap.
We walked right into a trap.
My legs buckle and the room spins. I find myself blacking out and coming back to as my body bounces. I’m no longer standing, but I’m being carried. Squinting, I force myself to focus on the man carrying me.
Dr. Skeller.
Gone is his jovial smile.
Fierce determination paints his features now.
My heart hammers in my chest, but my body has become useless to me. I’m unable to move or fight. A small whimper escapes, earning his intense gaze on me.
“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. I’m going to take care of you.”
For a split second, I pray I have it all wrong. That, once again, I’m overreacting and being paranoid. That this man—my dad’s friend—is going to protect me, not hurt me.
Where’s Two?
Where are we going?
I must doze off because I wake again in a darker space. Wine bottles line shelves on the walls. A wine cellar? My head lolls to the side and I see Two.
He’s asleep on the ground, arm stretched over to a pipe.
Handcuffed.
All hopeful thoughts fade as sheer terror floods in. Hot tears leak out of my eyes, but I’m unable to do anything else. My eyelids drift closed and my chaotic thoughts start to dull.
“Shh,” Dr. Skeller whispers as he sets me down on something soft. “I want you to rest a bit. Don’t fight the medicine, darling. Everything’s been taken care of. You’ll see.”
I feel him gently remove my shoes and then cover me with a blanket. It’s warm and feels relatively safe. I’m no longer able to fight to stay conscious. Blissful darkness steals me away.
I wake to a slight tickle on my thigh and a banging inside my skull. Nausea curdles my belly as I attempt to gain my bearings. I feel worse than the time me and Dempsey drank a whole bottle of Mom’s wine when we were like ten years old. We threw up. A lot.
But this?
This is worse.
More ominous.
Why?
Cracking my eyes open, I squint to orient myself with my surroundings. I see wine bottles lining a wall.
Where am I?
When I go to rub the sleep out of my eyes, I realize my wrists are zip-tied together, resting on my belly. The rest of my body feels heavy and sluggish, but I’m quickly gaining clarity in my mind.
It all comes flooding back.
The workshop. The sweet tea. Dr. Skeller.
He drugged us.
A whimper crawls up my throat. It’s then I feel the tickling again. I dart my eyes over to my right and see the wicked man himself.
“You’re quite beautiful when you sleep,” Dr. Skeller says with breathy awe. “Better than I imagined.”
Terror prickles its way through me. “I—”
He hushes me with his thumb to my lips. “Rest, my love.”
Bile burns my esophagus and I dry heave. Dr. Skeller slides off the bed I’m on to quickly grab something. The next time I heave, acidy vomit spews out of me. He positions a small bucket in front of me, catching the mess as if he’s expecting it.
When I finish, he takes the bucket someplace and returns with a warm, wet washcloth. Hot tears leak from my eyes as he cleans my lips and chin.
“W-Where…” I croak out, more tears streaming.
I can’t seem to make my voice work. My body sure as hell is barely responding. It’s just me and my erratic, horrified thoughts running rampant.
Dr. Skeller, no longer in a suit and now donning a simple black T-shirt and jeans, strokes his fingers through my hair. I shudder at his revolting touch.
“I always thought you were cute,” he says, eyes twinkling as though he’s reliving a memory. “You probably don’t remember this, but I saw you at the country club once. You were waiting on your father to finish talking to some of his friends. While your brother terrorized the wait staff in the restaurant, hiding under tables and being a little shit, you stood primly right where you were told to wait.”
He’s right. I don’t remember this. Me and Dempsey have spent a lot of time at the country club. Our parents dragged us there a lot when we were younger. Once we got old enough to stay home on our own, they’d go without us.
“The sun was beaming in through a window and found shimmering golden strands hidden in your dark hair. You wore the prettiest little smile and kept your small hands neatly clasped in front of you.” He touches my bound hands. “Like this, sort of.”
A full-bodied shudder ripples through me.
“My wife caught me staring,” he says sadly. “We’d been trying for kids for a while at the time and couldn’t have any. She mistook my longing as something fatherly.”
“S-sicko,” I rasp out.
He chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart. It wasn’t like that. You were barely six or seven at the time.” His hand finds my thigh and I realize it was what the tickling sensation was from before. “I didn’t just want kids, Gemma. I wanted you. You, my perfect little girl.”