Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
The socks are everything I never knew I needed, and in my panic of realizing Nick has potentially kidnapped me, I hadn’t even realized just how frozen my feet had become. But these socks . . . shit. They’re just like the blanket on the bed, hand-crafted specifically for my warmth.
After pulling on the boots, I get to my feet. I’m not exactly thrilled about their fit either. Nick is huge, and naturally, so are his boots, but if I plan on surviving the weather out there, I’m going to need something a little sturdier than my silk gown to keep me warm.
With equal parts determination and anxiety, I make my way to the bedroom door, more than ready to face whatever stands in my way. Only as I reach for the door handle, I pause.
I hadn’t exactly thought about what lies on the other side of this door, but now that I’m standing here, ready to barge through it, I’m not quite feeling so confident. What if Nick is standing on the other side waiting for me? What if it’s not Nick at all? What if I’m about to be faced with something horrible?
Fuck me. How did I get myself into this situation?
I should have known better. When the mystery guy who visited me every Christmas Eve admitted that he has some slight stalker tendencies, I should have seen that as a blazing red flag. However, I’ve been so deprived of love and affection, so desperate to feel something, that I didn’t even notice how fucked up it was. All that mattered was how good the sex was, how fast my heart raced around him, and how quickly Christmas would come around again. I was all for it. Ready to hand myself over to a fucking psychopath.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I keep ending up with men who are batshit crazy? Though to be fair to my ex, he wasn’t crazy. He was just an asshole. But apparently, Nick is too. I should have heeded his warnings when he said he was the black sheep of the family. He told me point-blank that he was an asshole, that the people who know him tolerate him out of fear, and all I did was bat my fucking eyelashes at the guy and beg him to take me again.
If I ever make it out of here, I should see to it that I’m committed, straitjacket and all.
Realizing there’s no time quite like the present, I try to ignore the nerves infecting my body and slowly begin to open the bedroom door. The house seems too silent, and I find myself holding my breath and listening to every little noise as the door inches open.
It doesn’t sound like there’s anyone here, and as the door opens just enough for me to peek through the gap, I take a hasty look around, making sure no little whore elves are about to jump out at me. Nick said there were no elves, but honestly, that really shattered my illusion of Christmas. I was all for the whore elves.
Positive that I’m alone, I pull the door all the way open and slowly step out into the main part of the house.
It’s fucking massive.
No one on this green earth needs a home this fucking big, but hell, if anyone would, why wouldn’t it be the Grinch who masquerades as jolly old Saint Nick?
Fucking asshole.
Did he really kidnap me? Knock me out and shove my ass into his big red sleigh only to bring me here . . . wherever that may be. The North Pole, I’m assuming. The place he told me was almost impossible to get to.
Shit, I’m well and truly fucked.
I can barely wrap my head around it, and as I step out of the bedroom with my massive boots, I search for a way to free myself from this hell hole. Okay, I mean, it’s not actually a hell hole. This home is magnificent. I would happily live here any day of the week, but the fact that Nick has brought me here without my consent automatically makes me hate it.
Shit. Why didn’t I listen when he said he was an asshole? I’ve been so blinded by my rampant feelings for him that I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. Even now, knowing what he’s done, my heart still races at the thought of getting to see him. Though, if I don’t get my stupid ass out of here soon, seeing him again is probably going to come a shitload sooner than I originally anticipated.
Making my way around the room, I cross through the massive living space, and assuming I’m here for the rest of my life, I can tell I’m going to spend a decent amount of time on that couch. It looks good enough to live on, but for now, I must concentrate.