Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
She was starting to see the benefit of Honey’s Kill the Fuckers Bag.
“You didn’t eat your dinner,” North said.
Stay silent.
Most people hated the silent treatment.
“Or sleep much by the look of you. Next time I’ll need to give you more sleeping pills.”
Sleeping pills! That bastard.
Do not react.
Although her hand did tighten around the pen to the point of pain.
“Ahh, but at least you’ve learned to be quiet. That’s pleasing.”
“I have not learned to be quiet!” she exploded. “I’m giving you the silent treatment.”
“Ahh.” He set down a tray of food on the small table by the door. “Good job.”
Urgh.
This bastard.
He’d made her forget that for the silent treatment to work, you actually had to be silent.
“What are you doing here?” she grumbled.
“I brought you some food. And I’m here to check on you.”
God. Why did he have to sound so . . . so calm?
She wanted to ruffle him up, see that control crack.
Although she might not like it when that actually happened.
But she’d worry about that when it happened.
“Can’t you just use your cameras?” she asked bitterly. “And I don’t want any food. You might drug it.”
“I might. But I haven’t. Do you ever intend to shower or change your clothes?” he asked mildly. “It’s an interesting life choice. Especially in a room without a window.”
Was he saying that she stunk?
Crap.
He was totally saying that she stunk.
“You’re saying that I smell?” she asked incredulously.
“I thought that would be obvious,” he said dryly. “You need an outfit to wear. What would you like? A dress? A onesie? There’s a matching tracksuit in butter yellow.”
Butter yellow?
Why was he talking like a sales assistant in a clothing shop?
“I’m not getting dressed or showered nor am I eating. I’m on strike.”
“Why are you on strike?”
She pretended to concentrate on her writing, ignoring him.
North is a dick.
North is rude.
North irons his face.
North is hot.
Nope. Scratch that last one. She didn’t find him attractive.
North is psychotic.
“What are you writing?” he asked.
“What? Nothing!” She slammed her notebook closed and gave him a startled look.
Idiot. How did you forget the shark in the room?
Hmm. A shark was a pretty apt description to use for him. He had some definite shark-like qualities.
Stealthy. Deadly. Scary.
“Are your teeth pointed?”
“I’m not a vampire,” he said dryly.
Damn. That just reminded her of the conversation she’d had with the others. She missed them.
“Are you going to answer me?” he asked.
Well, it was more like a demand.
“I know you’re not a vampire. And maybe I will. What was the question?”
Was he glaring at her? It felt like he was even though his expression didn’t change.
“I asked why are you on strike?”
“Well, I think that’s pretty obvious. I’m on strike because I was kidnapped.”
“So you’re going to let yourself get smelly, wear dirty clothes and not eat to protest me kidnapping you.”
“Yes.” She nodded empathically. “And you can’t talk me out of it.”
“Why would I? I don’t care if you’re smelly and hungry. Like you said, I can just keep an eye on you from the cameras. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.”
He didn’t mean that, right.
It had to be some sort of trick.
“You’re not going to visit me?” she asked.
“Why would I if I don’t have to feed you?” he retorted.
“I’ll starve to death. Then Jared won’t be pleased.”
Huh. Take that.
“Jared doesn’t even know that you’re here.” Turning, he left and she threw the notebook at him with a cry of rage.
“Everything okay in there?” he called through the door.
“Everything is fine, you complete and utter wanker!” She’d read that word in a book. It was a reverse harem Daddy Dom series set in London and she loved.
Shit.
Was he really going to leave her alone in here?
Getting up, she limped over to grab her notebook off the floor.
Pfft.
She held her finger up in the air. “Don’t think I forgot that you drugged me. You . . . you dirty diaper faced jerk stain.”
Okay. That felt good. Her therapist was always telling her not to bottle things up. To let them out.
With that in mind, she started ripping out pages of her notebook.
And then she got to work.
Maybe it was time to find these cameras.
13
North knocked on Jared’s door.
Irritation was making him . . . antsy.
And he didn’t like feeling this way.
“Come in,” Jared called out.
A part of him thought he should have stayed with her. Should have forced her to eat and wash.
But why did he care? A few missed meals and showers wouldn’t actually harm her.
Would they?
She was looking pretty thin and worn out.
No. She’d be fine.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw Jared’s face.
Had he figured out what North had done? Was this finally the time where North pushed too far and Jared killed him?
“I was just on the phone to Gunnar. They keep running into dead ends in their hunt for Beltran.”