Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I whip my head from left to right, desperation strangling me. A curved staircase comes into view beside the bookshelf, and I run forward, taking the steps two at a time until I’ve reached the top floor. There’s a large bed pushed against the wall with a railing that overlooks the room I just came from. Simplistic furnishings and a single guitar sit in the corner of the room below the star light above the bed. Shit. This isn’t it.
Running back downstairs to find another way out, I pause when the big dude shuts the door carefully, his eyes on mine. “Cute effort. But not good enough.”
Sweat beads on my temples and slides down my eyes as my heart stammers in my chest. “What do you want?”
“Who, me?” he asks, gesturing to his chest with his thumb. “Damn, I don’t know.” I get another look at his tattoo. Some kind of bird with its wings spread out, spanning up his scalp. “Nothing from you.”
“So let me go!” I yell just as my back collides with the wall, and my mind caves in with the realization that I have nowhere to go. Maybe I could throw a book at him.
“You wanted The Game, didn’t you?” he asks, and I get the feeling that he’s playing with me the same way a predator would its food. His legs cross in front of him when he leans against the back of the sofa, studying me. I hate the way his eyes slide over my body, but I can’t deny the obvious. He is very attractive. For an older guy.
“I did, but that was when I didn’t know what The Game was.” I try not to make it obvious every time I cast a glance over his shoulder to find my exits. One door. One way in, one way out. Dammit. I should have taken the right turn—literally.
“You played a game without knowing the rules—” He clucks his tongue against the inside of his mouth. “Not a smart one. That’s unfortunate.”
“Just let me go…” My shoulders fall as defeat crushes my chest. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about The Game.”
“One.” He lifts a finger. “This isn’t a game. Not for you, anyway, and two?” His head tilts to the side. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“What?” I freeze, my mouth hanging open. “Are you kidnapping me?” Even as I say the words, I don’t believe them. How did my life become some kind of entrance to a bad horror movie from the eighties?
“Are you a kid?” he asks, and the way his eyes narrow on my lips makes me wonder what he’s thinking. Probably wishing he could just kill me and get it over with. As every second passes, I feel the atmosphere tighten around us.
“No. I’m seventeen…”
The corner of his lip twitches as he takes the final step closer to me. “I’m not kidnapping you, because you’re not a child, but just so you know, Shiloh.” He leans to the side, and I feel the warmth of his lips brush the hard edge of my collarbone. “You belong to us now.”
He rocks back onto his feet and that grin that was on his face is gone. As if he didn’t just say what he did. I follow his movements as he opens the door and steps aside, waving for me to go through. “Whether you like it or not, you’re staying here. Now, you can choose to abide by the rules, or I can force you to.” His eyes bore into mine, and I have to remind myself that I don’t know who this man is and the fact that he’s hot is irrelevant.
When I don’t move, he takes a step closer to me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a phone. “Oh, I see…you want to play hard. Well, here—” He raises his finger up as his other starts typing over the screen. When he turns the phone around to face me, my stomach drops to the floor. Mom walks through our kitchen at home, humming an old Twista song. She clearly doesn’t know she’s being recorded, and how fucking long has that camera been in our house?
“If you—”
“If I what?” Big Boy asks, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
My mouth hangs open and my fists clench at my sides. If he what? What am I going to do? The best I can do right now is listen to him.
“Follow.”
This time when he walks down the hallway, I do.
“Where are we?” I ask as I walk back through the way I came, this time at a slower pace.
The paintings are dark and gray abstracts. Life is kind of like an abstract painting. There are light brushstrokes, dark, and in between, yet somehow, we continue to keep painting more.
“What, you don’t recognize the place?”