Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
You had to learn to shut down.
You had to bottle it all up.
Which was likely why her men were so aggressively brutal toward other women. Because they couldn't take it out on the one woman who deserved it.
I almost - for a second - felt sorry for him. Before I remembered that this man had grabbed me off the street, pulled me away from my loved ones, had hurt me, had shackled me to a wall in a basement where he knew I might be tormented and starved. And had done far worse to both Mary and Chris, along with an unknown number of other women.
He didn't deserve my pity just because he had a job where he wasn't respected.
"Oh," my grandmother said, having opened the door, then paused, turning back, eyes even more wicked - something I hadn't known was possible - as a smirk pulled at her lips. I didn't know the woman, but I somehow knew to brace myself for whatever words might follow. She left me hanging for a moment, though, dangling with weak fingers, before she stomped down on my knuckles and made me free fall. "And why don't you bring the other girl up? The one my granddaughter here tried to defend. Have some fun with her," she added with the slimiest of smiles that left me feeling slick in the aftermath as she closed the door and disappeared.
There was nothing for a long moment except the distinct and faded click click clicking of her heels down the hall, disappearing to some wing of the home I did not know about.
A moment where her words landed heavily on me, weighed me down until I was sure my feet were sinking into the ground, like the world was attempting to swallow me up.
Of course.
Of course she would use the one clear weakness I had exhibited against me.
My humanity.
My care of another human being.
And Chris would pay for my attitude, for my relation to this raging bitch of a woman. And I had this awful, gut-churning feeling that with the permission of their boss to 'have fun' with her, that whatever happened would be worse, infinitely worse, than what had happened to her in the past.
There was a tightening around my throat, a stinging in my eyes - small remnants of helplessness before I shifted slightly to keep my grandmother's man in my sight, and the movement made the key suddenly dig into the top of my barely-there boob.
Reminding me that helpless was not something I was. Not anymore.
I had wanted to wait.
Until the house was quiet.
Until there was a lesser chance of someone hearing us shuffling through the house. Maybe we could even avoid seeing another person until we were on the grounds which gave us a better chance to take someone down, or avoid them entirely.
But my grandmother was forcing my hand.
It was now or never.
But I had to get back into the basement first.
Catch him off-guard.
That didn't mean, however, that I would go down without a fight.
Seeming to sense this, his head cocked to the side as his hand slipped behind his back.
I knew that move.
From movies.
From watching people at Hailstorm do it.
Reaching for a gun.
It should have filled me with dread, but all I could think of when he produced the compact black Glock was Uncle Repo.
This is a 9mm, Uncle Repo had told me once when he had pulled it out of the backpack in the woods. Small, compact, meant to be conceal carried. I got a feeling this - or maybe the Ruger - will be your gun of choice.
He had been right.
I took to the Ruger.
But I knew how to handle a Glock.
I knew how to pop out the magazine, check for bullets, stick it back in, aim, and shoot.
I needed that gun.
That gun might make all the difference.
Between freedom and perpetual captivity.
Between us getting away tonight, or being pulled back into the basement where I would be forced to accept the fact that Chris would be the one paying for my attempt to break us out.
I lifted my chin, all false bravado because, while I was comfortable with guns, had trained with Aunt Janie on how to disarm someone with one, even using real ones for training, I had never had a loaded one pointed at me with pretty darn good aim.
"You can't kill me," I informed him, proud of the fact that my voice didn't shake.
"No," he agreed, "But V would probably let me get away with putting a really painful hole in you somewhere that wouldn't be fatal. So just calm the fuck down, let me cut off those zip ties, and follow me back downstairs, so you can avoid that. Been shot before. Can tell you it fucking sucks."
I lifted my chin higher still, but held out my wrists.