Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
My head feels as if it weighs twenty pounds. In my state of fear and confusion still tinged with sleep, I imagine I smell…pine and leather.
Oh my God.
I clear my throat and sit up in the darkness. I clutch the blanket to my body even though it offers little protection. “I said who’s there?”
A shadow moves in front of me. I open my mouth to scream, stricken with fear, when a rough hand clamps over my mouth. I scream in terror but the rough, heavy palm against my mouth muffles any sound. A heavy body pins me to the bed. I’m paralyzed with fear, my heart racing and my breathing shallow. I’m shaking, my fight or flight instinct triggered.
Strong, iron-like arms swing around me, effectively immobilizing me when moonlight hits his face. It can’t be.
Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare? Have I conjured up in vivid detail the most terrifying man I’ve ever met?
His mouth to my ear, the words are clear. “You're coming with me, little hacker. If you try to resist, I’ll punish you. Please, give me a reason. I’ve thought of nothing else since you left my office.”
Pain pricks my neck. A strange sense of grogginess and loss of control spiked with terror-soaked adrenaline courses through my veins. I try to fight, but it’s useless.
I'm vaguely aware of how easily he picks me up, as if I weigh nothing at all. How the way he holds me is almost gentle as he walks to the open door. He doesn’t even attempt to use the window or something more discreet, just bodily carries me out the door.
I scream in my mind but can’t seem to make words come out of my mouth. I stifle a dry sob and lift my hands to push back, but I’m completely incapable of defending myself.
Why hasn't Tatiana heard him? I imagine he’s as quiet as a mouse, the only sounds magnified in my state of fear, but…The front door is wide open. There must be a dog, a surveillance camera, something, but I quickly realize there's nothing at all between us and the wide-open space.
I'm being…kidnapped. Like you hear about on the news. Only then…those people very rarely come back.
My mind reels with this realization.
As he steps over the front threshold, the chill of the night bites my skin. I’m half-naked, groggy, and disoriented, and I can’t fight him. My senses are dulled. I can barely comprehend where I am or where we're going, except I know that it's cold, and we're outside.
My mind reels with fear. What’s he going to do to me when he gets me alone? Why is he taking me? The last time I saw him, he was unceremoniously kicking me out of his office and being a total prick about it.
And yet now he’s surprisingly…tender. Holding me to his chest as if to shield me from the wind. When we get to the car, the door opens as if by magic. I find myself laid down in a warm interior, the seats cushioned, and a thick, velvety blanket pressed over me. I vaguely wonder if he’ll gag or bind me, but it seems he doesn’t need to. I can’t move or speak.
I'm so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. I try, but my head falls against the padded seat. Tires rumble beneath the car.
Help I try to scream, but the words never leave my lips.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Aria
When I wake, I don't know where I am.
The room is dark, but I know my abductor is nearby.
I can smell that scent.
I can still feel his strong arms about me, and even though I knew I was in danger, I had a strange sense that I wouldn't be accidentally hurt.
No. If this man hurts me, there will be nothing accidental about it.
I'm still too drugged and disoriented to really appreciate where I am. I know that it's a large room, with very few windows. It's definitely not a cell, or underground, or really hidden anywhere. The faint touch of blue hints at sunrise out the window.
The smell of coffee and toast makes my stomach rumble.
Asshole. No one should turn the smell of morning coffee and toast into a negative thing.
"You're waking up.”
I know that voice. I hate trying to piece things together like a toddler with a puzzle, but I can't help it.
I'm too drugged. Too disoriented.
I open one eye. So it definitely wasn’t a hallucination or a dream. Mikhail Romanov didn’t send one of his henchmen, either, but apparently took it upon himself to keep guard over me.
Dressed in faded jeans and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows, he’s leaning forward, looking at me.
“It will take a little while for the effects of the drugs to wear off." He says it so casually, as if it's not terribly wrong.