Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 68006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
But I’ve been here a while, and my feet have become calloused. Only the sharpest stone hurts me now.
“Run…” he says, brandishing his silver knife.
I gape at the blade. It’s at least six inches long.
When he says inside me, does he mean…
Truly inside me? Or does he just mean he’s going to stab me?
Because it will happen, eventually. He’s bigger, stronger, faster than I am.
Even so… I run…
I run hard and fast, my heart racing, my breath panting.
He gives me a head start. Most of them do. They like to work hard for their prey. It’s part of the thrill of the hunt.
I’ve been here a while, so I know a lot of hiding places. Still, I run until I can no longer take another step, and even then I take three more.
Even though I never played volleyball for my high school team, which was always my dream, I tried to keep myself in shape. But nothing prepared me for going past my limitations like this place.
I don’t stop running.
Eventually my body gives out, and I drop.
I dart my gaze around the forest. Where is the closest hiding place?
Doesn’t matter, though, because here he comes.
The Dark One.
And he’s—
He’s wielding the glistening knife.
“Please…” I say, my voice soft and raspy, out of breath.
“Please what?”
“Please… Don’t hurt me…”
Through my heavy-lidded eyes, I see him remove his tank top, his running shorts. He keeps his shoes and socks on.
He wears no underwear, and his dick springs out.
How can he have a hard-on after running so hard?
That’s my last thought as he descends on me and I brace myself for the searing pain of the blade.
4
LEIF
My wrists are chafed and raw from being strung up. They’ve left no slack. Everything is adjusted to my height so if I stand, I’m fine.
But no one can stand for forty-eight hours.
The room is hot, and I’m in a constant sweat. The walls are gray concrete but they’re far from soundproof.
Wolf and Buck are somewhere near. I stopped wondering a while ago, and I’m even close to not caring.
I wince, and I can’t help myself. I cry out at the pain in my wrist.
Then a scream from the room next to mine.
Not a shrill scream, but a manly scream.
I recognize the low voice. It belongs to Wolf.
“Stop it! No!”
Then another scream. This one curdles my blood.
Something is happening to Wolf.
Something harsh and painful.
And though I don’t want to admit it, I know what they’re doing to him.
But the knowledge does one thing for me. It gives me the strength to straighten my legs once more. I close my ears to Wolf’s screams. As much as I can, anyway.
I close my eyes, focus. Focus like they taught us in training.
Focus on my mission and nothing else.
I will get out of here.
The Phoenix always fucking rises from the ashes.
But Wolf’s screams…
They permeate my defenses…
Stop it! No! No! No…
Screams… More screams… More screams… Until —
“Please… Don’t hurt me…”
The voice is not Wolf’s.
It’s feminine. Is there a woman here? Is there—
I jerk forward, my eyes open.
I’m not back in Afghanistan, being held captive by insurgents.
I’m here. In New York. In Kelly’s apartment. On Kelly’s couch.
The screams…
They’re not coming from Wolf in the next cell.
They’re coming from Kelly.
I burst into action, rising, wearing only my underwear, and race into Kelly’s room.
She’s in bed, talking in her sleep. Screaming in her sleep.
I go to her, sit down, grip her shoulders. “Kelly! Kelly, wake up!”
“No, please don’t hurt me! The knife, please!”
“Kelly, listen!” I shake her slightly more harshly. “It’s just a nightmare. Wake up!”
Her eyes pop open.
“Where am I?”
“You’re here, Kelly. Here in your apartment. It’s me, Leif.”
She jerks upward in bed, turns into my arms.
“Okay.” I rub her soft hair. “It was just a nightmare, baby. It’s okay.”
The endearment slipped out, but I don’t want to take it back.
She chokes back a sob.
She always does that. She’s so strong. She refuses to cry.
Maybe she needs permission.
So I give it to her.
“It’s okay, Kelly. It’s okay to cry.”
And then the sobs erupt.
She cries into my shoulder, and soon I’m wet with her tears. I ache to simply hold her, to kiss her chastely, tell her everything will be all right.
To confess to her how much I love her, how much I will protect her—always protect her. She has nothing to fear as long as I am with her.
But she doesn’t want love from me. She made that clear.
So I can at least give her comfort.
She cries for five minutes, and then ten.
Until she finally sniffles, pulls away.
I glance around the room for some tissues. I don’t see any.
“I’ll be right back. I want to find you a Kleenex.”
“No. Don’t leave me.” She grabs onto my arm.
“I’ll be right here. I’m just going to your bathroom to get a tissue, and I’ll return.”
She nods, and I rise, find the tissues in her bathroom, and return with them. I pull one out and hand it to her.