Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
The fear overtook him, crashing through his system and ripping through the last of whatever drug they’d given him, and he ran to the door, jiggling the locked knob and then banging on it with his palms. “Hello! Hey! Help! I need help!”
He turned, his chest rising and falling with staggered breaths as he looked around for a weapon or something to use to break the doorknob. Or the glass. He saw something on the floor at the head of the bed and moved toward it. It was a plastic bedpan. Cyrus knew what it was because there had been one in his hospital room after the accident, and the nurse had told him that if he needed to throw up, that’s what he should use.
He ran back to the window and looked out again. Could he use the bedpan to break the glass? Probably not. He glanced back at the metal bedframe. What about that? Maybe, if he could lift it. But even if he did, and even if he was successful at breaking the glass, he’d only be able to fit one arm through the bars, and from what he could see, he was in the middle of nowhere. He might scream for days, and no one would hear him.
Cyrus sucked back a sob. No. He wouldn’t cry.
He did need to pee, however. His bladder was full, and his pants were dry. Which meant it’d probably only been several hours since he’d been taken. He used the bedpan and then he drank half the bottle of water, leaving the cupcakes where they were.
Then he went to the window and banged on it for a few minutes, yelling for someone—anyone—but receiving no response.
Chapter Seventeen
Rex ran a hand over his hair as he blew out a long breath, his muscles relaxing with the pent-up exhale. Camille Cortlandt. At his home. He’d nearly been knocked off his feet.
Do you know him? he’d heard Cami’s coworker ask her as they’d walked away.
Cami hadn’t answered, and he wasn’t sure he could either. Did they know each other? Yes and no. Mostly no. So why was he still trying to shake off the emotions that had streaked through him the moment he saw her, leaving a burn in their wake? Cami had shown up to remove the plants he’d listed online. It made him want to laugh. Apparently, the universe enjoyed messing with him.
What had the woman named Bess who’d answered his ad said their business was? Some sort of garden? Something to do with butterflies? That couldn’t be right, could it? He was tempted to look it up but resisted. What did it matter? So he and Cami were both back in the same small town—if she had even ever left—where their awful history had taken place. Maybe he was bound to run into her at one point or another. Well, they’d gotten it over with, and now, if they spotted each other again somewhere at some point, they could both agreeably look the other way and move on by.
Rex parked his truck in front of the boxy, mud-brown ranch house and climbed out. He noted the carefully spaced flowers that had been planted along the walkway that someone had since neglected to water.
The screen portion of the screen door was missing on the top and shredded on the bottom as if a cat had used it to sharpen its claws.
Rex knocked once, and when he got no answer, knocked again, this time louder, holding the screen door open as he looked over his shoulder at the ramshackle neighborhood. He’d never been to this house—it was the rental of his mom’s current boyfriend—but they’d lived two streets over before he left for the military. Of course, they’d lived in lots of other places close by before that, switching rentals so much that sometimes he’d barely unpacked his room before they were moving someplace else. The reasons were various and identical: Her boss lied about her. The landlady was a cunt. The neighbor could go fuck himself. Everyone was always at fault except for his mom, and yet she was the common denominator every time their life got derailed.
He could have taken a lesson in victimhood from her and blamed the world for what had been taken from him too. It definitely would have been easier, and maybe somewhat satisfying in the short term. Righteous indignation could feel damn good. But he hadn’t been willing to do that, at least not for long, and now he was glad he hadn’t wasted the time.
He knocked a third time and heard the distant sound of his mom’s voice telling him to hold on to his britches and wait a goddamned minute. He couldn’t help the smile that tipped his lips. She was a hot mess stuck in the same virtual swamp, but she still managed to hold on to her moxie.