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)
I’m in Mikhail Romanov’s residence. He’s taken me and I’m not sure what he’s planning on doing with me, since all he’s told me is “we’ll talk about the consequences for what you’ve done” and threatened to kill me.
I don't know what I'm going to find when I open them, but I can barely think beyond the pounding in my head. It hurts so badly I feel nauseous. My stomach rolls, and my mouth feels as if someone's stuffed it with a T-shirt.
I do a quick mental assessment. I can wiggle my toes and my legs. Good. I don't feel any pain, so I don't think I was hurt in any way, which I guess is a good thing. I try to remember what happened. I was definitely drugged so I’m not sure I can trust my memory.
I finally venture to open my eyes then quickly shut them. It's blindingly bright in here and it hurts my head.
I usually get up at the crack of dawn to go to school.
School.
They'll be looking for me. There was an attack at the school, because they were trying to find me. Dammit. Despite my definite dehydration, I feel tears prick my eyes. What has happened?
I open my eyes again, and this time the first thing I see is the gun he left on the bedside table. I try to sit up, but it's surprisingly difficult to do when your hands are secured together.
"You're awake."
My heartbeat spikes at the sound of his low, husky voice. He’s fully dressed, sitting on a desk chair a few feet away from me, leaning on his forearms. He likes to roll up his sleeves, I note, as I look over his corded, tattooed forearms.
My skin prickles in response. I swallow and nod, leaning into false bravado. “Obviously, yeah. Now do we want to talk about what the fuck happened last night?”
“No,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Use that tone of voice with me again and I’ll teach you to watch your mouth.”
He says it like he’s half hoping for a chance to school me. I stare at the challenge in his eyes, meeting him with a challenge of my own.
But now isn’t the time to push him, not when I’m at a disadvantage like this.
“You’re dying for a chance to show me, aren’t you?” My voice doesn’t sound as brave as I hoped.
His eyes narrow as his lips twitch. “You have no idea. You’ll see soon enough, little hacker.”
His voice is tinted with a Russian accent. A mild accent means he's been here a long time, because the older someone is when they immigrate, the stronger the accent. He came from Russia, then, and Russian mafia. It seems he’s the old-fashioned sort.
“I’m just trying to sort out what really happened and if my mind’s playing tricks on me. After the whole drug thing.”
My eyes fall to the gun on the bedside table, and I realize I probably didn't imagine much of what happened last night, if anything.
Clouds shift outside the windows, nearly blinding me. "You hacked into my computers. You came to me for assistance. You're on the run because you found out information that had nothing to do with you. Your life is worth nothing, because not only are you on the run from every major organization in this country, you also decided to pull one over on me. Your life belongs to me now. I could kill you, but that would be such a waste. I need more than your dead body.”
I open my mouth to speak, but I quickly shut it because I feel like I'm going to be sick.
"What is it?"
I shake my head and cover my mouth with my hands, which I hope is the universal sign for "I'm going to vomit.”
"Are you sick?"
I nod and try to sit up, but it's awkward covering my mouth with two bound hands, and my ankles are tied together, which he must have done after I fell asleep. He unravels himself like a coiled snake, rising to his feet. Damn. I forgot how big he is. How strong. "We can’t have that. Not today. It's a special day."
I watch him walk away.
A…special day. Why does that make me shiver with nerves again? What’s he planning to do with me?
A moment later he comes to me with a glass of water and three pills in the palm of his hand. I turn my head away. I don't want to be drugged again.
"Open your mouth and take these. They’re pain relievers. The small round one is anti-nausea.”
I shake my head again. “No more drugs.”
Leaning forward, he puts his mouth to my ear. I feel stubble against my cheek, the smell of pine and leather lingering in the air. “I warned you, little hacker. If you disobey me, I’ll punish you.”