Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Who is Aries?” he growls, voice dripping with menace. “What is Aries?”
A chill runs down my spine at his words. What is Aries? What the hell does that mean?
This psycho is spouting nonsense. Maybe this room was built for him.
“Again, not sure what you’re talking about,” I grit out between clenched teeth. “If you’re going to torture me, just get on with it already. I’m not in the mood for twenty fucking questions. FATHER!” I stare around the room, waiting. Then try again. “FATHER! This isn’t the way to get what you want.”
He laughs, and it’s a harsh, grating sound. “Your father isn’t coming. No one is coming to rescue you.”
“Then get on with it already. Torture me. Hurt me. Do your worst.”
“Torture? Oh, we’re well past that stage, Aries.”
He pounces, moving in a blur of speed and power and eliminating any opportunity to respond to his insanity. With hands wrapped around my throat, he lifts me and slams me against the wall. Stars explode behind my eyes as my head cracks against the concrete.
I claw at his arm, trying to break his grip, but it’s like an iron shackle around my throat. He leans into my face, his masked face inches from mine. I can see my own panicked reflection in his dark lenses.
“You think you know pain?” he hisses. “Not yet, but you will very soon.”
My lungs burn with the desperate need for air. This fucker’s going to choke me to death. Black spots dance across my vision, my grip on his hand goes slack, and my arm falls back down to my side. My eyes flutter closed, and I can feel darkness bleeding into my senses.
I’m about to pass out. I’m not afraid. There’s no point in being afraid. But before the darkness pulls me under, he releases me.
I crumple to the floor, gasping and choking. Who the fuck is this guy? His form looms above me, a towering shadow.
“This is only the beginning,” he promises darkly. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to end your pathetic life.”
Turning, he walks out of the cell.
“Wait…” I gasp, my voice cracking.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, and the heavy metal door slams shut with an ominous clang, the locks clicking into place. I remain on the cold concrete, my throat aching, and my mind reeling. I gingerly touch my neck, wincing at the tenderness.
That’s going to leave one hell of a bruise. The raw strength in his grip, the speed of his movements—this guy is no amateur. Former military, maybe. Special Forces. Someone with training and a serious axe to grind. Doesn’t explain shit, though.
After a short time, I stand, ignoring the dizziness making me sway on my feet. I can’t just sit here and wait for that psycho to come back. I need to find a way out, or at least some way to defend myself. I scour the cell, examining every inch for a tool or an item that can be used as a weapon. The cot isn’t bolted to the floor. But I might be able to get one good hit with it before it collapses. The toilet is a stainless steel monstrosity, seamless and impossible to dismantle. Even the fucking shackles are reinforced to the point of absurdity.
Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing. They left nothing to chance, no potential weapons or tools. I’m well and truly trapped, at the mercy of a madman with an agenda I can’t begin to fathom.
Frustration and fear rage against one another, and I shove them both to the back of my mind. I can’t afford to lose my head, not now. I need to stay sharp, focused, and ready for any opportunity to escape.
I lie back on the cot and go back over the day. Lilian. Lilian. Her warm smile and bright blue eyes. Fuck. I never meant to hurt her. Never meant to fuck everything up. Even thinking of her and what happened between us makes me sick. She didn’t deserve that.
If she were here now, I’d apologize. No, that’s a lie. It was for her own good. Still is. Then again, if she were here, we’d have already escaped. She’s always been good at riddles, puzzles, finding the flaw in any plan, and the weakness in any opponent. Not that her mother would let her even breathe heavily toward an opponent with her heart condition.
Lilian. I shake out my shoulders, trying to slough off some of the dread churning in my gut. I close my eyes. Might as well sleep. Who knows what fresh hell this psycho has in store for our next meeting.
Lilian
One Month Later
The sterling silver fork scrapes against the fine bone china as I push the brussels sprouts into a careful arrangement on my plate. The dining room echoes with the subtle symphony of proper Hayes family dining—measured sips of water, precise knife cuts, napkins refolded after each use. Mother sits opposite me, posture perfect despite being technically relaxed at home.