Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I wish I knew where I was. That would tell me just how dismal my chances of survival were as fall gave way to winter.
The leaves on the trees suggested we weren’t far from colder temperatures.
But how cold?
Was I still in Arkansas?
Or had this monster driven me over a border?
Because if that was the case, it could be as cold as twenty below in no time.
My gaze moved around the shed that had been my jail cell for about four months, give or take a few days when I was not thinking to tick marks into the wall with my fingernails.
While it was a space that had been outfitted to use as a makeshift jail cell, what with the chain driven into the ground and the composting toilet in the corner, it wasn’t meant to be lived in year-round.
The walls had no insulation. And the floor just had one partially rotted layer of plywood protecting me from the cold ground. There was no fireplace or wood-burning stove.
What was the plan then?
To let me succumb to the elements?
To take me into the house?
I think I’d rather die than have that happen.
For reasons I didn’t really understand, I was protected from the other men out here. I think it was the chain on the door with only one key. The men did come around, leering in the windows, sometimes making faces and noises that let me know they were doing more than just watching me through the grime-caked glass. But they never came in.
If I were in the house, I had no delusions about my fate. It would be more than the one bastard ‘paying me visits’ and doing what he wanted to me.
I’d been enduring this current fate. Mostly because I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. But I didn’t think my soul could take that.
I swallowed back the sick taste in my throat, finding myself glad this wasn’t one of the days when I’d been fed because I was pretty sure my dark turn of thoughts would have had me retching it all right back up. And I couldn’t afford to lose nutrients like that. As it was, I could already count all of my ribs, could see the sharp juts of my hipbones sticking out if I lay on my back.
There was the sound of male voices somewhere in the distance, but the chain didn’t allow me to get close enough to any of the windows to actually look out.
Not that I wanted to.
Somehow, it was better to be unaware of what was going on out there, who may or may not be approaching the shed at any given time.
It wasn’t even all that alarming when I heard the distant sound of gunshots. It wasn’t uncommon around here. I was pretty sure some of the men hunted. Or, at the very least, did target practice nearby.
It wasn’t until I heard howls of pain and shouts of dismay that I felt the simultaneous sinking in my stomach and soaring in my chest.
Had someone shot my captor?
In a sick way, that idea filled me with dread.
Better one abuser than a whole team of them.
But if they’d all been killed?
Oh, who was I kidding?
If they’d all been killed, I would die of dehydration or the elements before I would actually be able to free myself.
I’d been trying for months with no luck.
My nails were down to bloody stumps.
The back of my foot was bruised from trying to slam the shackle against things to break it.
There was the sound of car doors, of engines, and I had no idea what to think of that as I strained against my chain, trying to get closer to the window to see, to have some idea what might be going on, what I might have to prepare myself for.
But after the sounds of the trucks retreated, there was nothing but an eerie silence that had my belly flip-flopping as I slid back toward where the chain was driven into the ground, easing the tugging on my aching ankle, as I ran my hands up and down my bare arms, chafing some warmth into my skin.
I’d been taken on the first truly warm day of spring.
I remember being so excited to be able to wear the sundress I’d bought over the winter. I’d been drooling over it for months, but it had always been just out of my price range. Then it had gone on clearance, and I’d pounced, treating myself to a rare splurge.
I’d been so thrilled at how the white “milkmaid” dress looked both demure and undeniably sexy, how it had hugged my chest and waist, then flowed outward into a flirty skirt.
It wasn’t so pretty now, covered in dirt, blood, and dried sweat. The bodice, that had once been tight against my breasts, was loose thanks to how much fat I’d lost since I’d been taken.