Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 42863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 171(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
I’d left it all behind the moment I heard she was missing. I’d quit school. Quit hockey. Given up on my dreams.
My step-sister was all I gave a fuck about. Without her, my life didn’t have meaning. And I knew I shouldn’t feel like this about a girl who was technically my sister by marriage, but I couldn’t damn help it. I’d loved her for years now—ever since Dad brought her mom home and announced they were engaged and would be getting married. For me, it was love at first sight. And I swore I would always protect her. Always take care of her.
And I’d failed. I hadn’t even been enough to fucking rescue her.
I sighed and leaned my head back, staring up at the darkened ceiling. These men didn’t seem like the types to ask me any questions, but I had hope that I might survive this and could get Clarke somewhere safe—somewhere far away from our parents. Putting me in this cold basement had to mean they weren’t looking to kill me, right? Or at least not right away.
I just needed to get Clarke somewhere safe. That was it. That was my only goal—had been my only goal for months now. I had money saved—enough to get us out of the country. And I’d been working with Tom, the cool nerd from high school, for just as long, getting me and Clarke fake IDs and passports.
I didn’t know how my dad and stepmother were involved in this, but they had to be. It was the only thing that made sense to me. I’d seen them cry in front of numerous cameras and reporters, begging for whoever took Clarke to just bring her back home, but I’d also seen how quickly those tears dried up after the cameras were off of them. Dad hadn’t missed a day of work. Amber hadn’t missed a moment of shopping and socializing. Even the day Clarke went missing, they’d kept to their routines.
Their lives were still too normal. How did your daughter get kidnapped and you just lived as if everything was okay? Because I hadn’t been okay since I got that fucking phone call.
A part of me had been missing until I laid eyes on her again. And every day I watched her fight, heard her screaming, sobbing, begging for help, had torn me to fucking shreds. She knew I was there, and the one time I’d thought to intervene, she’d silently begged me with her eyes not to. Even though she would suffer, she and I both knew we wouldn’t make it out alive if I was uncovered.
I’d had to play it safe. And I’d thought I would’ve had a chance to get her loose and hide her until those bikers left, but I hadn’t moved fast enough—not for those men. They were trained and moved even quicker. The number of bodies I’d seen lying on those white floors, blood covering the walls and ceilings and pooling beneath my shoes had turned my stomach.
They were trained killers, and I knew they were just as dangerous as the traffickers that had stolen Clarke. And now, we were both in their hands. And while I didn’t think they’d harm Clarke, my hopes weren’t high. They’d rescued her, sure. But what were their plans with her now?
I hung my head, my throat working as I swallowed.
I just needed her to be safe. As long as she was safe and protected… well, I didn’t give a fuck about what happened to me.
4
Clarke
My eyes snapped open, my heart already racing, panic clawing at my throat before I even fully came awake. The mattress beneath me was not one of the hard, threadbare, stained ones I’d been laying on for the past few months. The room was warm, unlike the bone-deep cold I’d become used to. And the scent of disinfectant and blood and sex was replaced with men’s cologne and lavender.
“Easy, little one,” a deep voice rumbled from beside the bed. I scrambled away, surprised to find my hands free. From the other side of the bed, damn near about to topple off the edge, I stared at the bulky, muscular man watching me. His dark eyes tracked every move I made, every fast, panicked breath I took. But he didn’t move a muscle except his lips. His face even remained impassive—unreadable.
“You’re safe,” he assured me, his growly voice low—quiet. Soothing. “Just breathe, yeah? Breathe with me.” He drew in a deep breath, and I followed him, a small sound of pain crawling up my throat. My lungs were too constricted, but the smile he awarded me made me push past the pain constricting my lungs. He held his breath then, so I did, too, and then, he slowly released it, watching as I did so, too.