Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to imagine.” I instruct Alfie to cast the surveillance footage on a nearby screen, and Hamish and I both watch Inara tear apart the room, running her hands over the walls and investigating the in-suite bathroom in her search for a way out. “I’ll handle all contact with her. Meals, et cetera. She’s off limits.”
He presses his lips into a disapproving line but acquiesces. “Understood.”
I should stop broadcasting the footage and get to work, but I can’t take my eyes off Inara. Her expression is closed off and focused, but she’s still breathtakingly lovely, marching around the room looking for ways to escape. I admire her determination, even while I want to soothe away the haunted look on her face.
I move close to the screen to block Hamish’s view. I don’t want anyone looking at my little bird. There’s something satisfying about having her at my mercy. It’s wrong to keep her this way, but it soothes my deep need to possess her.
Hamish speaks quietly to my back. “When I was a boy, I found a butterfly that had hurt its wing. I thought I’d care for it by placing it in a glass jar.”
Oh gods, here it comes. A homily inserted in a fable. My childhood was rife with them.
“I thought the glass would protect it,” he continues. “But when I woke the next morning, I found the butterfly had died. Suffocated.”
“Let me guess. I’m the boy.”
“I know you want to keep the ones you love alive and safe. But lack of freedom is a death in and of itself.”
He leaves me staring at Inara’s desperate face, feeling more unsettled than I did a moment ago.
Inara
* * *
I’ve gone over every inch of the bedroom and its contents, looking for weakness. The door is solid. The furniture is sturdy enough to use as a battering ram, but I’m not strong enough to brute force the door open. The air ducts are up by the ceiling and too small to fit through.
There are no obvious knick-knacks lying around to use to pick the lock, but I learned a thing or two from my fellow inmates at the group home. One of the girls there who liked to sneak out to buy cigarettes taught me how to break out of locked rooms.
I don’t have a hairpin, but I’m angry enough to take the bed apart, which is when I find some cuffs and chains attached to the frame. Most mansions don’t have kinky implements in their guest rooms, but it fits with what I expect from Rex.
I can’t believe he would do this to me. I can’t believe I let him lull me into a false sense of security, thinking I was special. My psychic sense didn’t warn me. It told me he was safe, and I wanted to believe that, so I let myself indulge in him.
Now I know the truth: there’s nothing he won’t do to get his way. He acted like he cared about me, but the moment I made a decision he didn’t like, he treated me like a pet who tried to run away. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t think I’m his equal.
My heart is a cauldron of hurt and longing, so I ignore it and focus on my anger. I’m going to make him regret locking me in here.
I pry one of the chain links apart, breaking a nail in the process, and use the sturdy surface of the bed frame to hammer the metal flat. I need to act fast. I have no idea how long Rex will leave me alone.
I use my makeshift pick to tinker with the lock. The metal filament is too short to maneuver easily, but I somehow get the pins into place, and at last, the door clicks open.
I hold my breath and slip into the hall. I take a left and continue as quietly as I can.
I have no idea how I’ll get out of this place or, once I’m out, how I’ll get back to the city.
But I have to try.
Rex can’t win.
The hallway ends at another locked door. I pick this one, too, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
The room is dark, but I can sense how large it is.
When the lights come on all at once, I stifle a scream. I’m in the long, red-walled room Rex uses as a dungeon. I’ll have to cross it to escape.
I creep past the spanking benches, St. Andrew’s crosses, and other heavy wooden contraptions fitted with iron chains that belong in a medieval torture chamber.
I’m halfway through the room when I hear his voice right behind me, “Hello, little bird.”
I startle and break into a run, dashing toward the door ahead of me and freedom.
I’ve almost reached it when Rex’s arms close around me. “No!” I shout, but he lifts me easily off my feet.