Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
“More,” he thunders.
They don’t stop. The pain is a relentless tide, each blow taking more and more. I count them, the screams ripping from my throat, until I lose track. Until I’m not even sure I’m still breathing.
Finally, it stops. I hang there, my body a mass of agony, blood dripping onto the wood platform below. The world fades in and out, blurred and distant, but I hear him, my father’s voice, so calm, so damned sure of himself. “Let her hang while we prepare the ritual. We will cleanse her soul before the child is born.”
They leave me there, hanging in the bitter cold.
My entire body trembles, but I won’t give up now.
No, this is where it ends.
THE KNIFE IS SLICK with blood in my hand, and I twist my wrist, trying to angle the blade against the rope. The strain is agonizing, my shoulders burning, and I bite back a cry as I maneuver, my breath ragged. I have to get free. I have to do this. I won’t let them do whatever ritual it is they think is going to purify me.
I’m getting out of here.
Hopefully, the world has seen enough.
The police must be on their way.
They have to be.
I push through the pain, twisting my body, feeling the knife bite into the rope. It’s slow, too slow, and I grit my teeth, desperation clawing at me. The fibers start to give way, and I pull harder, my vision blurring from the effort. Finally, the rope snaps, and my arm drops, limp and heavy, the blood rushing back in a dizzying wave.
It takes me a moment to gather myself, trying desperately not to pass out.
I move as quickly as my body will allow, freeing my other hand, then my legs. I’ve just cut the last rope on my ankle when I hear them. It starts off as a low hum, things I can’t quite make out, but it is familiar all the same. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the white spots popping in my vision, ignoring the torn skin and bloodied wrists.
They get closer, and as they do, I realize they’re chanting.
Fuck.
What sort of twisted ritual has my father got planned?
The air is heavy with their chant. I force myself forward, stumbling over myself as I frantically make my way to the edge of the platform, but I’m too late. They emerge from the tree line, the white of their clothing blinding against the night sky. A sea of them, moving in unison, the sound deafening now, pulsing in my head, in my chest. My father's voice rises above the rest, a booming certainty.
"We will cleanse her soul. We will purify her sins.”
I stagger back but force my feet to stay planted. The platform is wide, open, and terrifying. I take a shaky breath. I think of Talon, his steady hands, his calm eyes. I need to be that now—strong, unyielding. I feel the weight of the knife in my hand and grip it harder. I try to focus, to find a way out, but they are blocking the only exit.
They get closer, their bodies surrounding the platform.
"Nia," my father calls again, his voice smooth and unbothered that I am not tied to that cross any longer. "There is no escape."
I spin, looking for some hole, some means of escape. The chanting grows louder, more fevered, as if they are trying to will me back into submission. These motherfuckers are going to get everything that is coming for them.
But right now, I need to leave.
I don’t think, I just turn and launch off the side of the platform, slamming into a figure wearing white. I don’t know who it is, but my sneak attack is enough to knock them over, giving me a path through. Crying out in pain, I push to my feet and start running, heading towards the trees, praying I make it.
“Stop!” my father’s voice bellows, cold and furious.
It is him who charges towards me, his eyes wild. I try to run, but he’s on me so quickly I can do nothing to stop him. I spin, raising the knife, but he has my wrist in seconds, tearing it from me. His eyes are cold, emotionless, and in this moment, I’m more scared of him than I have ever been.
“No!” I shout, my voice breaking as I fight him, but he’s too strong.
The first thrust is a shock, the blade driving into my stomach, deep and brutal. I gasp, the pain exploding, white-hot, the world narrowing to a single point of agony. Blood quickly fills my mouth, and I choke on it, the taste coppery and thick. My father, the man who brought me into this world, is going to kill me. I know it as sure as I know the sun will rise tomorrow.