Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Henry was right, my makeup is flawless. I touch up my nude lipstick just the same. The music from the bar is reduced to a muted thump in here. Whoever built this place put in some seriously thick walls. To have no one near me waiting or watching for a moment is exactly what I wanted. I stretch my neck and roll my shoulders. Just generally trying to decompress. Sometimes you need some space and silence. Along with the administration of a healthy dose of self-respect.
The woman in the mirror is fire. I’ve never looked so good in my life. And if Lucas doesn’t appreciate that fact, then he can go fuck himself. Honestly.
A loud thud comes from out in the hallway, making me jump. It almost sounds like some sort of skirmish is taking place. Then I hear a faint scraping noise behind me, someone moving or something. But it’s too late to so much as turn because the whole world goes dark.
The hard smack of an open palm hitting me on the cheek wakes me up. I gasp and jerk back to evade more of the same, but there’s nothing I can do. Nowhere I can go. I am slumped uncomfortably on the floor. My hands are secured behind my back to a steel post, and silver chains are burning my skin. My face stings, though the pain soon fades. I don’t think I’ve ever actually been hit before—at least not in the face like this.
The last thing I remember is being in the bathroom and hearing the noise from behind me. My shoes and clutch are missing. And the back of my head hurts. Guess they knocked me out to bring me here. Though, if they did, I would have thought an injury like that would be healed by now. But I feel dizzy and weak, and I don’t know what.
This is bad. Really bad. It looks like I’m in another basement. This one, however, lacks all of the faded charm of the speakeasy. Concrete walls, three thugs, and a selection of implements just perfect for torture laid out on the floor. A hammer, pliers, a saw, some knives, and a baseball bat. Along with scissors, a steak knife, a jar of salt, and needle and thread. No idea what the last few things would be used for. But none of it is giving me comfort.
Two of the thugs are vampires, but one is human. I can hear his galloping heart inside his chest. Somebody else besides me is nervous.
I lived the whole of my mortal life without being of much interest to anyone. To now be the subject of all this attention is both bizarre and awful.
“She’s awake,” mumbles one of them. “Are you sure you got all of the bugs off her clothing? Last fucking thing we need is the Woodsman tracking her here.”
Tracking devices in my clothing and accessories sounds about right. Very Lucas. The assholes finding them is not good. What I need to do is stay calm and think. But I have the distinct feeling I’m on the verge of the biggest panic attack of my life. Or death. I might also just slide back into unconsciousness. Black spots are dancing before my eyes.
Someone must have noticed me missing by now. The family will be looking for me. I’d love to know how they got me out of The Boulevard. In all likelihood through another of those hidden passageways Nicholas was talking about. Not to be harsh, but I officially kind of hate that hotel.
Lucas will find me. I know he will. I just don’t know if he’ll find me while I’m still in one piece. Therefore, I am going to have to help myself.
“I’ll take those,” says another of the thugs, getting in my face. I focus on him, concentrating hard, searching for the still part of my mind, and it actually works. The word that appears inside my head is bored. Abduction and assault have lost their thrill for him, apparently. But the emotion accompanying the word is greed. Which makes perfect sense when he kneels in front of me and rips out my diamond earrings. Just tears the hooks through the flesh of my earlobes.
My howls of pain fill the room. A few drops of blood fall onto my bare shoulders. I have no tolerance for pain. Never have. Therefore, being tortured is a problem for me. A really fucking big one.
“Stupid bitch,” mutters the second vampire, and he kicks me in the thigh with his steel-toed boots. Once, twice, three times, making me scream in pain even louder. He doesn’t stop until the sound of cracking echoes in the cold, empty space. My upper leg is a mass of bruises ever so slowly changing color by the barest of degrees. I am not healing anywhere near as fast as I should. And he just broke the thickest damn bone in my body with relative ease. Shit.