Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
As it turns out, I don’t need to worry about it. A middle-aged woman dressed in casual but expensive-looking clothes opens the door. The woman is not shopping at Goodwill, that’s for sure, and she’s groomed perfectly. In other words, she doesn’t fit in with her shabby surroundings. “Yes?” she asks, wearing a patient smile.
“Um, Nash Brookshire sent me. I was supposed to be here weeks ago.”
“Are you Delilah?”
Tears fill my eyes, followed by a lump in my throat. I can only nod hard since emotion seems to have stolen my voice. “You poor thing,” she murmurs, reaching for me and pulling me inside. But she’s gentle about it, caring. “I’m sure you’ve been through so much. But don’t worry. You’re safe now.”
“Thank you,” I manage to blubber before sobbing harder than before. It’s over. It’s finally over. I’m finally safe.
“First things first. You need a shower badly. No offense.” She pats my arm, still smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Once we get you settled in a room, you can get some sleep. You seem worn out.”
“I am.” Though even with my head spinning like it is, the sound of female voices coming from overhead sinks into my awareness. I look up, curious.
“Come on. You can use my things for now until you can get some of your own. You might want to be quick about it—sometimes the hot water goes in and out depending on how much usage there’s been during the day.”
Once we’re upstairs, I’m greeted by a line of closed doors. The only one that’s open leads into a white tiled bathroom with a clawfoot tub. Along the way, passing all those doors, I hear more voices. This time, some of them are male, too.
“I’m sorry,” I finally have to say once we reach the bathroom. “Nash never gave me any idea what kind of place this was. Are there a bunch of people staying here?”
“We sort of have a revolving door,” she explains with a tiny shrug, going through the cabinet under the sink and pulling out shampoo and body wash. “But don’t worry. There’s a room available for you. Three doors down on your right. I’ll make sure everything is in place while you wash up.”
I’m so grateful I could start crying again. Right now, I don’t care what kind of place this is or who walks through the revolving door. So long as it’s not anybody with a grudge against me, I’m fine.
I can hardly believe it. I got away. I really made it. I don’t even care that I have to hurry through showering if I want any hot water or that the towels left for me on the sink are sort of scratchy and cheap. It doesn’t matter. I’m free.
With one of the towels wrapped around me and the other around my hair, I grab all my clothes and hustle down the hall before anybody can step out of a room and see me like this. My hostess is waiting for me in the room, which is small and cramped and only has one tiny window, but it’s a huge step up from where I’ve been lately.
“I’m so sorry,” I offer with a tiny laugh. “I didn’t get your name. I want to thank you, but I don’t know what to call you.”
“You can call me Grace. As for thanks, none are needed. Nash knew what he was doing, sending you here.”
“Yes, I think he did.”
“There are clean clothes here on the bed.” She pats a small pile. “You get some rest, and later, you’ll have dinner brought up to the room.”
“That’s great. I’m starving.” I ate some food on the plane, but I don’t think I’ll ever get enough to make the empty feeling in my stomach go away completely.
“Not to worry. We won’t let you starve here.” She goes to the door, waiting until she’s in the hall to add one final thing. “Don’t think about making friends with the other girls. It never ends well.”
I turn around, ready to ask what that means, but she’s already gone. The door is closed.
And to my horror, there’s the click of a lock.
I take one slow step after another, dread building in my gut. No way did I just hear that. I have to be imagining things—I’m so tired and hungry. Yet when I reach out and close my fingers around the knob, it won’t budge. She locked me in.
“Hello?” I knock on the door, panic in my voice. “Why did you lock me in? Come back! What the hell is going on?” When that doesn’t get me an answer, I go from knocking to pounding with the side of my fist. “Hello!”
There’s nothing. Only soft noises coming from the rooms on either side of the one I’m now locked in.