Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Whatever this place is, it’s nothing good.
The air is warm and sticky, clinging to my skin like glue. Bare concrete walls make up a narrow passageway with three doors. Hairs rise over my flesh in awareness when a muffled sound reaches my ears. Someone is in here.
Taking slow and cautious steps, I inch farther inside, opening the first door. It leads into an empty storage space. Moving to the next, I hold my breath. It smells in this hall, reminding me of dirty water left to ferment. Shivers chase up my spine, sprinkling tiny bumps across my arms. The thundering of my own heartbeat pounds loud in my ears. Creaking the door open, I brace myself against the frame. The slightly sloping floor makes me uneasy as my eyes gravitate to the drain in the center before slowly shifting up toward a man tied to a metal table above it.
Shit.
I know our club has responsibilities and business to take care of. Hell, I’ve witnessed enough of it firsthand. This man will no doubt never leave this room still breathing.
He fights against his restraints when he sees me, but it’s futile. He’s not going anywhere. I wonder who he is and what he’s done to deserve the wrath of the Kings. It must be something extra awful to warrant Monster’s dark hand. Stifled words die against the rag in his mouth. And despite my better judgement telling me to leave and never return, I edge inside until I’m standing over him.
Flawed, ruddy skin stretched over crooked features and small gray eyes make up the face of the stranger staring at me with a calm reserve in contrast to the thrashing from moments before.
“What was your sin?” I ponder. He attempts to shake his head, but there’s a strap across his forehead, pinning it in place. I imagine myself lying here helpless and then replace me with Claire. A shiver runs through me as my skin tugs tight against my bones. An incessant pulse drills into the sides of my head, leaving behind a harsh and unrelenting ache.
It’s eerie to think of everyone out there partying and having fun. Kids are playing innocently while a man is tied to a metal table in what I’m surmising is a torture chamber.
Muted sounds come from the man once more. “I can’t help you.” I shake my head, and he says something else unintelligible. “What are you saying?” I snap, exasperated.
Leaning over him, I rip the tape holding the cloth in his mouth away. “I’ll stuff it back in if you scream,” I warn.
“Thank you.” He says it so relaxed, you’d think I just opened a door for him or offered escape.
“Who are you?” He’s wearing beige slacks and a checkered shirt. He carries extra weight around his middle, but has broad, muscular upper arms.
Stretching his lips, he replies, “Trevor.” His eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
I don’t know anymore. “Does it matter?” I suddenly wish I wasn’t dressed in a bikini top and shorts. The walls speak here. The darkness clings to the air, seeping into my skin.
“It could matter.”
“How did you end up here?” I ask, looking around the cold, barren space. Tools sit on a shelf above a cabinet at the back of the room. Acid bubbles in my gut.
“Some man with a big beard hit me over the head and I woke up here.” His words are matter of fact.
“You must have done something.”
“Are you going to kill me?” He looks me over with curiosity. How is he not begging for his life, screaming for help? Crying? Pissing himself? I’d have no air in my lungs from screaming if it were me on the table.
“No.” Could I kill him? It depends on what he’s done.
“Is the bearded man going to kill me?”
Unease swims through my veins. “Probably.” He doesn’t say anything to my confession, just attempts to nod. “Are you not scared?” I ask, confused by him.
“Some of us are hunters. Others prey. Someone has to end up on the table,” he says, exploring my face for a response. “Which are you?” he adds.
I always thought I was a hunter, but now, feeling defeated, weak, and once again fucked over by the man I love, I wonder if I’ve always been the prey—Cutter’s bounty that he taunts before killing.
“Untie me,” he suddenly demands, opening a pit in my stomach.
“No.” I say firmly, shifting on my feet.
“You’re trembling.” He drops his eyes to my hands. Flexing my fingers, I reach over and stick the tape back over his mouth. My heart races wildly. Even with the tape and cloth over his mouth, he’s smiling at me.
He’s a hunter. My brain screams. Trying to prey on you.
“I may tremble on the surface, but there’s strength inside me that goes beyond fear. I’ve been broken and had to reassemble myself over and over. I’m resilient. I’m stone.” Leaning over him, I add, “And I’m not the one on the table.”