Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
“Listen, Sylveria,” I say, my voice cold, “if you were falling off a cliff, I’d record the whole event so I could replay your death over and over again when I need a little pick-me-up.”
She exhales through her perfectly pink painted mouth. “You do need to grow up. I saved your life. You owe me, and you’re coming with me. I have guards on the door and downstairs. You don’t have a choice. So instead of throwing a fit, why don’t you just behave for once?”
My fingers curl around the blanket. This is becoming tedious. She wants something, but I still don’t know what, and the longer she stalls, the more that unknown gnaws at me. My brain spins with possibilities. “Don’t tell me the diamonds aren’t charging the TimeGem servers anymore, like they have for the last ten years.”
“Of course they are,” she replies with that fake-bright smile. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
I feel an almost physical urge to slap her just to see if her face will actually move. She’s so tightly Botoxed, I doubt it. “Citrines are stronger,” I say flatly. “TimeGem was built on citrine crystalline symmetry. Everyone’s running AI now, and that means more drain. More demand. More power. You need citrines. You need me to charge them.” I’m guessing, of course.
She doesn’t deny it, but nothing in her expression confirms my hunch, either.
An image hits me like a punch: me chained to a server core, locked in a freezing room, forced to push energy through stone and wire forever while Sylveria and her board rake in the profits.
I’d rather starve.
Her eyes drift around the plush hospital suite. “We’ll discuss it once we get you home. I do want to leave this unfortunate place.”
My dislike sharpens into something uglier. But behind the anger is unease. What does she actually want? “Don’t you think we should discuss the fact that you sent a hitman after me a few months ago?”
“I truly don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies without hesitation. “But for the record, I’m quite happy you’re still alive. You do owe me for paying for your schooling all these years.”
“Bullshit.” I sit up straighter, ignoring the throb behind my eyes, and scan the room. There’s no closet. No chair with my things. No indication that I ever had clothes here in the first place. My skin prickles. “Where are my clothes?”
She doesn’t answer and just watches me with a slight smile.
“My father’s trust paid for my schooling.” I’m feeling ready to fight. “And just so you’re aware, you’ll be hearing from my attorney any day now.”
That gets her attention. Barely. A flicker shows in her eyes.
“So far I’ve held Rosalie off from suing for the corpus,” I continue. It was because I want access to the servers and don’t want Sylveria to see me coming. This little kidnapping negates that plan, so I might as well put my cards on the table.
Her smile curves upward, smug and unbothered. “My attorneys are prepared.”
“Mine’s better.”
“I’m not entirely sure it’ll matter.” She checks a diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist.
I hide a shiver. That doesn’t sound good.
She clears her throat. “Your clothing should be here any minute, along with your discharge papers. How annoying that they’re late. I might have to have this doctor taken care of.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, not wanting my absent doctor to be hurt. I throw the blanket off my legs, the hospital gown shifting awkwardly around me. I don’t care. “I’ll walk out of here like this if I have to. I’m not going anywhere with you.” My voice is sharp, but beneath it is fear. Real, cold fear.
The door opens and we both pause as Corinda and Stacia walk inside, coffees in their hands. Corinda gives one to her mother.
Stacia smiles at me. “I brought you one, but it’s truly crappy.”
I shake my head.
Corinda looks lovely in a green dress with Louboutin heels, while Stacia appears comfortable in a blue sweater with stylish jeans and cool brown boots. She still has the glittery silver bag over her arm. Must be her favorite.
Sylveria sips the coffee, grimaces, and turns to put the cup on the counter. “Gross. I was just telling your, ah, sister that she needs to come home. For her own safety.”
Corinda places her cup next to her mother’s and pulls out her phone. “We should post this.”
“No.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t even think of posting me in this gown.”
A loud thud echoes from the other side of the door. We all freeze. Slowly, in eerie unison, we turn our heads toward the sound. Another thud. Heavier this time. Closer.
Sylveria reaches into her purse.
The door instantly explodes inward. It’s kicked open with so much force it slams into the wall, bounces off, and nearly swings shut again from the impact.