Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“You’re not trying,” he bellows, storming toward the stage where I stand, my face expressionless.
“I don’t know how much more you could possibly want me to try, I’m giving it my everything, can’t you see the damned sweat running down my face?” I shout back at him, crossing my arms, as if that would shield me from his wrath.
“I’ve seen you dance with passion, you’re not showing a single fucking ounce of that.”
“Oh, I wonder why,” I snap. “You keep me locked in a fucking cage, where I’m cramped up and stiff, you barely feed me, you treat me like a fucking animal, and you want me to show passion? I don’t know if you’ve ever felt passion in your life before, Master, but I can assure you that isn’t how it’s created.”
I expect him to roar with anger, to abuse me or torment me, but instead he nods slowly and then announces, “Very well. You’ll spend the nights before I need you to dance with me.”
My mouth drops open.
That was so far from the point I was trying to make.
“Over my dead body,” I grind out.
He grins, his mouth curling in a way that makes my skin prickle. “The choice is yours, Ellie Mae. You either stay with me, or you stay in the cage. Either way, you will dance. It’s up to you how rested you are.”
The thought of having a few nights away from that cage has my body screaming with want, but the idea of sleeping next to Marek has everything inside me terrified. I don’t think I can lie in a bed next to him and not contemplate plotting his murder.
My eyes widen.
Well, I mean ... it’s not a bad idea.
If he fell asleep, I could possibly take him out and get out of here.
“Fine,” I grind out, “but if you come anywhere near me, I’ll cut your dick off.”
His grin widens.
Fucking dick.
“Very well, now show me passion and I’ll give you a warm meal and a bed tonight.”
My stomach grumbles.
A nice meal would be good.
So, I do as he asks.
I give him passion.
I show him the pieces I keep hidden inside me.
And I know it’ll only make him want me more.
That’s the point – because then he won’t see it coming when I take him out.
4
He delivers, as promised, and when I’m presented with a bowl of spaghetti, loaded with cheese, and a soda, I could cry with happiness. As a general rule, I would never usually eat pasta like this, especially when I’m preparing for a show, but I’ve been living off dry crackers, stale sandwiches, and water for however long I’ve been here, and I’m more than ready to take this pasta down.
I eat it without saying a word, the rich sauce coating the pasta making my tastebuds dance as I devour every bite. It is, without a doubt, the best spaghetti I’ve ever tasted, and I would die happy if I could eat it every day. Once I’m done, I take a sip of my soda and look up at Marek, who is watching me from his favorite position against the shelf, leaning his back against it, holding a glass of red wine that he has been drinking as he watches me.
“What? Never seen a girl with a good appetite?” I murmur, wondering if it would be rude to ask for more.
“Plenty,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his wine. “Do you want some?”
I narrow my eyes as he pushes off the furniture and walks toward the bottle of red, pouring another glass.
“For all I know, you’ve drugged it,” I say, skeptical as he turns toward me.
He lifts the glass he poured for me, and takes a long sip, and I watch as his neck muscles move. I shiver. God damn, I wish he was ugly. It would make this so much easier. Guilt eats me when I think of Marek, because I know Carter is at home, no doubt terrified and doing everything he can to find me.
It doesn’t stop the thoughts of Marek’s body on mine from creeping in.
I hate him, but I know fucking him would be out of this world.
Shaking my head slightly, I try to tell myself he has a tiny penis and probably can’t fuck to save himself, but that does nothing to ease the burning heat growing inside me.
I take the glass when he offers it, sipping the wine.
It’s strong, but I’m not going to turn away alcohol right now.
“You can tell your chef that the spaghetti was amazing,” I say, glancing around the RV and taking in just how tidy it is.
“You just told him.”
My head whips toward him. “You made that?”
A sharp nod.
“Well damn.”
“Tell me, Ellie Mae, is your fiancé going to come looking for you?”
Random change of subject.
I take another sip of wine and push away from the table, going over to the luxurious leather sofa and sitting down. It’s soft and squishy, and I could very easily sleep here. Maybe I will. Not before I get him drunk, talking, and thinking I’m not about to escape. The second his eyes close tonight, I’m going to take a knife to his throat and get the hell out of here.