Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 40901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
“Welcome to Texas, angel.” He tips the brim of his hat to me in a perverted show of gentlemanly manners, as if I am a pretty southern belle in a flouncy dress, not a chained angel forced to kneel before him in chains that sap my strength and weaken me to his will.
I pick my first words post imprisonment carefully. “Let me go, you foul piece of human excrement.”
“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he drawls. He’s so very pleased with himself, he’s absolutely wrapped in his smug victory, or what he imagines to be victory.
He has me contained now. We are not in public; we are in a dark kind of private prison that puts me at his mercy.
The facility that surrounds me is a big, black, rock-reinforced complex in the Chihuahuan desert. It looks like a military base or high security prison, complete with black razor wire and guard towers. I’ve heard of this place before. I’ve even seen surveillance images of it. It’s nothing like being inside it. The air of oppression is intense and inescapable. This is no normal prison. This prison is a crime against all that is good in the world, not to mention above it. Every stone laid here is a testament to the hubris of man, the specific kind of maleness that imagines itself equal with the divine, capable of not only capturing it, but controlling it.
Sheriff Starlight is arrogant. He is a mortal man with no discernible divinity who has nevertheless dedicated his life to chaining and controlling those of us born from somewhere higher. He thinks he brings order to the world, stops those of us who might set the globe aflame from ever having their chance at transformation. Sheriff Starlight is just a man, but he is more of a devil than the horned beast who sits on the dark throne below.
As to who I am, that is a near irrelevance. All that matters to my captor is the matter of angel blood. He craves it. He is drawn to it, a moth to the flame, if the moth wrestled with the dark urge not to burn itself in the fire, but to snuff that fire out completely. I am sure he thinks he is acting to preserve me, but his actions are no different than any other possessive man pushed past the brink of madness to horrific criminality. The only difference between Starlight and an outlaw is several million dollars.
When I look at him I feel myself burning with fury. It is the kind of rage that has the potential to last decades, if not centuries. When I turn the tables on this absolute bastard, he will suffer in a way few men ever have.
He holds a plastic water bottle to my lips. “Drink,” he orders.
“You must be thirsty.”
I allow him to tip some water into my mouth, but I don’t swallow it. Instead I spit it back on him, a gesture of absolute derision and disrespect. He needs to know that the many days of darkness have done nothing to break me. Madness settles well in the divine mind, and the angelic blood in my veins is quite the antidote to any temptation to give up. It is also possible that this has nothing to do with divinity. It’s sheer stubbornness and determination. He will not fucking break me. I will not allow it.
He looks at the water on his boots dispassionately. It is already drying in the desert sun. It was a petulant and ultimately pointless gesture, but it was all I could do.
“Your manners leave a lot to be desired, Katie. Don’t worry. I’ll soon teach you how to behave. Now. Are you thirsty?”
I am thirsty. He knows I’m thirsty. But I’d rather curl up and die before I admit a need to him, let alone ask him for anything.
“It was almost easier when you were in the box, wasn’t it? All your needs tended to. You were able to imagine yourself needing nothing from anyone because you were locked in a lead womb of my making.” He leans down, his eyes mocking and triumphant. “You’ve been born anew and now you depend on me for everything, little angel. Never forget that.”
I whisper something under my breath. It’s nonsense, but that doesn’t matter. It brings him close to me, putting his head within range. I lash out with my skull, smashing his nose with my forehead.
I am an elegant woman, usually. But I will do what I have to in order to destroy my captor. The sound his nose makes as it breaks is beautiful, as is the feeling of hot profane blood spattering on my face.
He staggers backwards, shock and anger flashing across the parts of his face that have not been broken and bloodied. He lifts a big hand and cuffs me across the head in retaliation, knocking me into the dust.