Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
That leaves… him. I need him to open the door. Then I need him to come down here so I can… what? What could I do? Kick him in the face, stun him, then make a run for it?
Even if I could kick him that hard, I don’t think I’d make it. I had a pretty good head start that last time and he caught up with me frighteningly fast.
It’s not going to work. He’s stronger than me, he’s bigger than me, and he’s got all the control.
The only weapon I have is psychology.
I took a psych class in college as an elective. But honestly, as a woman, I don’t need a psych class to get the best of a man. If… that man is interested in me.
I might not be as pretty as Lowyn or as cute as Rosie, but I’m definitely an eight. At the very least, a seven point five. And that’s just regular old me when I’m not trying to save my life with flirting.
This guy is my age. Maybe a little bit older, but not much. He’s young. Which means, like all men, he’s horny and his dick controls his life.
If I want to control him, then all I have to do is control his dick.
He might be a ruthless piece of shit, but all men are the same. A pretty woman with a hot body can make them do just about anything.
I spend a little while trying to make a plan for how I’ll flirt with him without him knowing. Winning this game, and saving my life, depends on deception. I need him to believe that I’m really interested in him and from what I’ve seen so far, he’s a rather suspicious guy. It can’t be obvious. In fact, I need him to feel like it’s his idea to like me. He needs to fall for me first before I flirt.
Then, and only then, will he care about my wellbeing.
So I spend a good amount of time trying to come up with ways to play on his sympathy while simultaneously looking hot and turning him on.
There’s one problem with this line of thinking. I am an eight on my best days. A seven point five on my down days. But this isn’t a down day, this is like… the worst day of my frickin’ life. There’s nothing sexy about being sweaty, and smelly, and bloody. And I know I’m bloody because I hit my head when he threw me into the closet upstairs, then again outside in the flower bed, and a third time when I tripped on the rug down here.
I can’t be sure that I’ve got a goose egg on my forehead, but I suspect that’s the cause of my pounding headache.
A burst of inspiration hits me. Maybe I could win him over by making him feel sorry for me?
Yes! I will use sympathy to play up my hotness.
But he hasn’t come back. What if he never comes back? I need to get his attention. Which feels like an impossible feat when my mouth is gagged and my hands are tied. I won’t even get a chance to put my plan in motion if I can’t get his attention.
The only thing I’ve got going for me is that my feet are free.
I squirm around, trying to get up on my knees again, but my shoulders are so sore now, every time I move a painful twinge shoots up my arm.
I can rotate my body though, so that’s what I do. Then I place my bare feet against the cabin wall and kick.
The noise this produces is a dud. It’s not even a thud. I forgot that the walls are made of logs and mortar, which makes it feel a bit like kicking cement. And the sound doesn’t carry. There’s no way he can hear it from upstairs.
I picture the room again and decide the only thing I can kick are the stairs. And they are like ten feet away. But this is literally my only option, so I slowly begin scooting my body in that direction.
It takes forever to move inches. My shoulders hurt so bad and my headache is now a migraine. I’m out of breath too. Because this stupid rag is blocking half my airway and soon, I’m gasping through my nose.
I have to stop and rest every minute or two, so I’m sure it’s actually hours later when I’m in position at the bottom of the stairs with my bare heels propped up on the lowest step. I rest, then wake up with a jolt and realize I fell asleep.
For how long? Who knows?
I feel like I’ve been in this basement for weeks at this point. Surely my three days are over. Which means he’s gone. He’s left me here.