Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Tripping through the maze, desperate to become lost in my mind, too. Eventually finding a secluded corner. Huddling inside an alcove, not caring about the damp grass beneath, twisting the cap, tipping up the bottle to meet my mouth, and cringing against the burn of liquor as it filled my mouth.
Vodka.
Strong, but exactly what I needed.
Ridley’s words haunted still. “They’re doing nothing to get her back.”
Bitter vodka filled my mouth like water, and I swallowed it down, swallowed the pain, impatient for the agony to ease or at the very least to get so drunk I passed out.
Craving oblivion.
Craving the hurt to go away.
Cassius
“Boss.” The door swung open, and in stepped Robert.
I looked up at him from where I was sitting across the room. His brow was furrowed, and he held an iPad at his side.
Something wasn’t right.
“Speak,” I grunted, setting my drink on the table. The amber liquid slushed against the glass.
“We might have a problem,” he muttered, looking at the floor.
Which did not bode well for him. If it had anything to do with Anya and the way he stared at the floor, wanting it to swallow him up, it did.
“A problem?” There was no mistaking the sarcastic edge.
“It’s Anya.”
“Have you fucked up again?” I hadn’t seen her for days, and I liked it that way. She made me uneasy. Made me question my motives, and that wasn’t good.
When I saw her in my kitchen baking . . .
It had given me a warmth in my body I didn’t want to acknowledge at the time. I had fired back at her, putting her in her place, a place she needed to stay. I couldn’t sympathize with her. Couldn’t let my thoughts run wild. Who knew what direction they would go to weaken my resolve.
Better she stayed far away and hidden.
No matter how much I tried to get her out of my head, she always lingered there despite my best efforts.
She was like a petrichor after rain. That earthy scent after the skies had opened—that freshness that wouldn’t go away. I needed to purge her, but she was stubborn as fuck.
“What did she do now?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Took off out the back.”
“And this is alarming because . . .” I led, annoyed to be interrupted for this. She was fine the last time and knew better than to try to escape.
“It’s getting dark.”
With that, I turned in my chair and looked out through the window.
The sky was turning a hazy shade of gray, but in the far distance, it touched the horizon in bright bursts of pink.
I waved him away. “She’ll be fine.”
“She was carrying something with her.”
I swung back to look at Robert. My interest piqued. “What do you mean?”
Pushing up, I headed over to him, gesturing to look at what he obviously wanted to show me on the iPad.
With a few swipes of the screen, he brought up the surveillance video. There, on the screen, like a bad case of déjà vu, was Anya walking through the door leading to the garden again, but this time, her companion was a bottle of vodka.
Shit.
“So she wants to get drunk.” I headed toward the door.
“Where are you going, sir?” he asked, perplexed.
“To recapture my prisoner.”
“Want a flashlight in case it gets dark?”
“Don’t need it.” And I didn’t. I knew the maze and my way around it with my eyes closed. Still, the moonlight was a welcome guide.
The sun was receding into the horizon. The dusky night sky hovered close. I followed the turns within the maze, each one bringing me closer to the center. I hated to think about the state I was going to find her in.
The sound of tears.
Jeez.
Standing above her, I could see she was already drunk. Slumped near the hedge where she’d discovered the bird. Her body turned away from me. It was the way her head slumped over and the way her chest wobbled as she lifted the bottle to her mouth and took a large gulp.
She took another swig of vodka. “You.”
“Me,” I responded, my mouth twisting into a smirk. “Why are you here?”
“I live here.”
I blinked at her. “In this maze?”
“Yes. This is my new home,” she slurred. “It’s better than with them, but you know that. I hate that you know . . .”
I crouched to eye level. “Know what?”
“Know they don’t care. They never did. The whole time I was nothing.”
The pieces of the drunk puzzle that was Anya connected. She knew her parents knew she was here. And they’d done nothing to help her. Because they just didn’t care.
She’d been eavesdropping again.
“Why didn’t they come?” she hiccupped and swayed left.
I used the movement to my advantage and swiped the bottle from her.
“Hey, that’s mine. . . ”
I shrugged.
“Does that mean you’re drinking with me?” Her eyes widened with mischief.