Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
That’s what he’d do.
He’d stick some sleeping pills into this ridiculous-sounding cake. After making a phone call and placing an order, he checked the camera he’d set up in her room.
He hadn’t placed a camera in the bathroom, that was going too far even for him. Although he wouldn’t let her know that.
She was still sitting on the bed with the ice pack on her foot. So she did know how to do as she was told?
Good.
It was odd. He’d thought she would like the things he’d put in the closet. Had she seen the books yet? He’d bought her a wide selection of romance books. There should be plenty to keep her entertained and happy for as long as she was here.
10
She was so bored.
When was North coming back with her cake?
Probably never. You’re the sucker that took him at his word.
Bummer.
She’d always liked the sound of that cake. With a sigh, she removed the now warm ice pack away from her foot which was feeling a lot better. He’d forgotten the painkillers though and she was getting a real headache.
Also, was it getting hotter in here? She hoped she wasn’t running a temperature but it definitely felt warmer.
Suddenly, the door opened and he stepped inside carrying a white box.
“Why isn’t the ice pack on your foot?”
“It got all warm and mushy. You’ve been gone ages. Is that what I think it is?” she asked.
“A white chocolate cake with lavender buttercream icing and toasted pecans.”
She clapped her hands. “Yummy. Gimmie.”
“Excuse me?” he drawled.
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Give it to me now. I earned it.”
“The ice pack isn’t on your foot,” he pointed out.
“Because it melted!” she retorted.
He set the cake down on a small table by the door and opened the top. Then he put down a plate she hadn’t noticed him carrying and a knife.
Hmm.
Maybe he’d let her keep that knife and she could . . .
You could what? Stab him?
Are you seriously going to stab him?
Probably not. But it was nice to dream about.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked. “Because of the cake?”
“I was just having some good thoughts. You know, of stabbing you.”
“The thought of stabbing me is making you smile?” he asked, actually sounding slightly incredulous.
“Uh, well, yeah. Is that wrong? To dream about stabbing your kidnapper?”
He shrugged. “I guess not. But I will be careful to hide all knives and anything you can make into a shiv.”
“Yeah, probably a good plan.”
He handed her the plate with a piece of cake on it. There wasn’t even a cake fork. Probably also a smart move.
“One piece?” she asked. “What about the rest?”
“You can’t eat the whole thing in one sitting.”
“Sure, I can.”
“Not happening,” he said firmly. “One piece of cake every time you do as you are told.”
Hmm. She guessed that was a better deal than a sore bottom every time she rebelled.
“But I’m still keeping track of your punishments for Jared to dole out. So you might want to behave. Here, take these.”
She barely looked at the pills as she swallowed them with some water. She figured they were painkillers.
“Yeah? Maybe he’s going to be more upset at you kidnapping me! Perhaps he’ll punish you.”
He snorted. “No. He’ll be happy once he gets over his initial . . . surprise. Then I’ll tell him what you’ve been doing.”
“No one can blame me for trying to fight my kidnapper.”
“That’s not the misbehavior I’m talking about. Jared won’t be pleased at you hurting yourself trying to escape. Or speaking badly about yourself.”
Sheesh. Why did that make her heart race? She was losing her mind.
And why were her eyes growing heavy? She couldn’t be tired. Although it felt like she was always tired at the moment. Sleep wasn’t an easy thing to come by.
She shoved a piece of cake in her mouth to try and give herself a hit of energy.
Yum.
Delicious.
“Do not hurt yourself again.”
There was a clear warning in his voice that she didn’t understand.
“I didn’t think you’d care. Figured you’d be into a bit of torture.”
“I am.”
Yikes.
He said that so matter-of-factly. As if it was . . . true.
Holy moly.
“Why . . . am I . . . so . . . tired.” Her words started to slur and she dropped her plate of cake. “No! Cake! Come . . . back . . . cake . . . mine . . .”
He picked up the plate and set it down on the bedside table.
“I know it’s yours. I don’t eat sweet things.”
“Course . . . not . . . risk sweetening . . . you up . . . are you . . . allowed sweets . . . when . . . sold . . . soul . . . to Satan.” Her eyes were impossible to open and she slipped into darkness.