Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
His brows drew together, and dang it, he even made a scowl sexy.
“You are being held in a basement, without a bathroom, and being starved.”
My eyes dropped to my plate, and I grabbed another berry in case it was about to be taken from me, then looked back up at him. “You just fed me,” I blurted, then winced.
That was probably not what I should have pointed out. He might not feed me again.
His jaw twitched, and he took a deep breath, as if he was trying to contain his temper. That said something about him, didn’t it? I mean, he could have jumped up and slammed me against the wall, put a knife to my throat or a gun to my head, and demanded I talk. But he was sitting there, trying not to get angry.
“Tell me what you fucking know,” he said through clenched teeth.
My body tingled a little from the snarl in his tone, and I began to wonder if perhaps captivity was making me insane. I shouldn’t feel any kind of thrill from this man.
Fear, hate? Yes. Thrill, tingles? Heck no.
It was because I hadn’t had sex in so long. That was it. The abstinence and lack of a man in general were getting to me. When I got out of here and no longer smelled like a sewer, then I’d possibly agree to a date with Toby, the eighth-grade teacher at MCS. He’d asked me out twice already, and I had told him I was coming out of a long relationship and needed time.
“Winslet.” Oz’s voice snapped me out of my scattered thoughts.
“Sam…Samson,” I told him.
I really hoped Samson was a bad guy. Maybe he was who had gotten Perry into this. Someone had to have because my brother didn’t sit around and plan things like this. He had to have had help.
“Samson isn’t a rare name, darlin’. Gonna need a last name,” he pushed.
I was trying to remember it. If he’d stop looking at me so intensely, I could focus. But with his winkled brow, slightly flared nostrils, narrowed-eyes thing he did well, it was all very distracting. I closed my eyes. That would help. If I couldn’t see him, then his godlike image would not distract me.
Samson…Samson…UGH! Why didn’t I listen more closely?
Because you thought your brother was trying to set you up on a date.
Perry had been worried about my not dating after Alec. He’d said I focused on work too much. My classroom was my life, and he didn’t think it was healthy.
A click sound had me opening my eyes again. If there had been tingles moments before, they had all frozen solid. I stared at the barrel of a gun that was pointed at me.
Holy shit. My chest began to rise and fall rapidly as my breathing became quick. He was going to kill me after all. Feed me, then end me. Oh God.
“I need a fucking last name.” Oz’s voice dropped even deeper as he glared at me.
I hadn’t known he had a gun. Where had he been hiding it? Did he just walk around with one? The Mafia story seemed very legit now. I no longer doubted it.
Focus, Winslet! Think! The name of the man…you need a name, or you’re going to die. Am I going to die?
I heard a whimper and realized it had come from me.
“Who are you protecting?” he demanded.
“No one! I am trying to-to re-member his last na-name.” I stuttered out most of my words as my body trembled.
I’d been hit and slapped, had my bones broken, but I’d never had a gun pointed at me. This was a new level of terror.
I closed my eyes again because I wasn’t going to be able to think about anything other than that gun if I didn’t. Blocking out Oz, I played back the conversation from a few weeks ago.
Perry had taken me to dinner one night. He told me about a new business venture he’d been working on. A guy he’d met at college—a talented artist. He thought I’d like him. He lived in Buckhead, Georgia. I didn’t know where that was, and he explained it was a wealthy residential area in Atlanta. Samson owned an art gallery and was brilliant in the stock market. The art gallery was…
What was it? Come on, Winslet. Think.
My eyes flew open. “Zephyr Galleries!” I almost shouted. “His name—he owns Zephyr Galleries. It’s an art gallery in Atlanta, and Zephyr is his last name. He lives in Buckhead.”
The gun lowered, and the relief that came from that should have made me feel guilty because I might have just led killers to an innocent man to save myself.
Oz kept his eyes on me as he lifted his phone to his ear. I swallowed hard. I really hoped Samson Zephyr was guilty. Which was also probably bad of me, but I didn’t want him to be innocent and die either.