Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
My God. I swallow and swallow again. I’ve never seen anything as gruesome. The shock that froze me fizzles into a fit of blinding rage. My gaze settles on a whip that lies on a bed covered with a plastic sheet. I move like a demon, grabbing the instrument of torture from the bed and swinging it with all my might at the naked man’s back.
He freezes with a curse at the fall of the strap, his eyes wild and confused as he turns his head my way. He shouts something violent in French as he rips free from the woman and charges for me. The lash I dealt hadn’t drawn blood. To do so is harder than I thought. Lifting my arm, I put more effort into it as I swing the whip his direction, bringing it down over his face and chest.
He utters a cry, followed by a curse. Before I have time to hit him again, he’s on me, wrestling the whip from my hand.
“Let her go,” a frighteningly cold, hard voice says from the door.
The man stills. A sliver of fear slips into his voice. “Monsieur Belshaw?”
When he obliges, I rush to the woman. Maxime’s words are murderous. The man starts pleading.
“It’s okay,” I whisper when I reach the woman. “I’m going to untie you.”
She can’t see me through her swollen eyes, but at the sound of my voice she starts sobbing.
“You’re going to be all right,” I say, working on the rope that ties her right wrist.
It’s knotted too tightly. My fingers are shaking too much. I look around the room for something I can use when Maxime pushes me out of the way. He’s clutching a big carving knife.
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath as he takes in the woman.
“What are you doing with the knife?” I ask, placing myself between him and the woman.
“Cutting her loose. Move out of the way.”
I step aside, casting a glance at the door, but the naked man is gone.
Maxime cuts through the rope tied around her wrist.
“I think her arm is broken.” I’m having a hard time keeping my voice even. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No.”
His harsh tone makes me pause. “She needs to go to a hospital.”
“She will. Put an arm under her shoulder. She’s going to need support when I cut her loose.”
I wiggle my arm between the cross and her back, holding her up as best as I can while Maxime frees her arms and legs. My heart is pounding between my ribs, my breathing erratic, but I push everything else to the back and focus on helping this poor woman.
Who does something like this? Alexis is ten times worse of a monster than the man who claimed me.
“Go find me a blanket,” Maxime says, lifting the limp woman into his arms. “Second door on the left.”
I rush down the hallway and push open the door Maxime has indicated. It’s dark. I fumble for a light switch. When I find the button, I flick it on. It’s a bedroom. The sheets are tangled on the bed. It smells of whiskey and sex. A blanket lies discarded on the floor. Snatching it up, I run back to the room at the end. Maxime exits just as I arrive. I cover the woman’s body as best as I can.
“Let’s go,” Maxime says tersely.
I follow him down the hallway. Through the doorway of the lounge, I see Alexis and the other man. The stranger is dressed, and Alexis is holding a bag of frozen peas against his eye. I get the door and the elevator while Maxime carries the woman and says soothing things to her in French even if she seems unconscious.
Downstairs in the street, Gautier, who’s returned, jumps to attention. He gets the passenger door while Maxime lowers the woman onto the seat and secures her safety belt. He says something to Gautier, then races around the car, gets in, and starts the engine. I watch dumbfounded, my words all dried up, as he takes off like a racing devil, the taillights of his car two red eyes in a dark evil of the night.
“I’m taking you home,” Gautier says.
I turn to face him. At first his words don’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. I’m shivering in Maxime’s jacket, but not from cold.
“Come, Miss Hart. Please.”
I look at his outstretched arm. A realization dawns on me. I don’t know how I figure it out because the dots from my mind to my thoughts won’t connect. He’s not allowed to touch me.
“Please,” he says again.
Numb, I follow him to a car parked on the side of the road and get in when he holds the door for me. I can’t breathe. I can’t calm the frantic beat of my heart. For the first time since Maxime took me from my home and brought me here, I’m grateful to my kidnapper. I’m grateful he didn’t hand me over to his brother.