AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her hand flails at my face as she forcefully pushes herself from underneath my arm. Expecting her to strike, I firmly grip her wrist before she’s able to make contact with my face. The first set of scratches she left behind is enough.
“I prefer nail marks down my back, not my face,” I snark while climbing from the bed and releasing her wrist. She scurries backward until she is off the mattress and has positioned it as a barrier between the two of us.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she yells as her eyes dart around the room. I can only guess that she is looking for a weapon, of which the only one is the pistol tucked between the mattress on my side of the bed.
“You’re the one who wouldn’t let go of me last night.” I fist my shirt, mimicking her hold on me. “I didn’t fuck you, and I have no intention of fucking you.”
“You all don’t fuck me. You fucking rape me!” she quickly retorts.
“I haven’t done shit to you, except cut you free from the fucking hell you’ve been living in. Maybe you could show a little fucking gratitude,” I huff, her accusation angering me.
She eyes me over with suspicion, not even remotely letting down her guard as I turn to walk from the room. I call back to her from the hallway, “Coffee?”
ten
LUCIA
“Coffee?” he questions as his heavy footsteps travel further from the door. A moment later, he’s rummaging through cabinets and drawers in the kitchen.
Is he actually making fucking coffee?
Tiptoeing across the room, I slowly shut the bedroom and ensure it doesn’t click as it presses closed. I turn the lock and back away from the door until my back is pressed against the far wall.
What the fuck is going on?
Looking around the room, this place is nothing like the dirt-infested hell hole I’ve been tied to for weeks—or was it months? It fucking felt like years. This place is clean. Luxurious furniture, clean sheets, curtains on the windows—a way out.
Yanking open dresser drawers, I haphazardly rustle through clothes looking for socks and a pair of pants. Finding socks first, I quickly pull them onto my feet and head into the closet. Even this space is immaculate. Rows upon rows of pristinely hung pants, shirts, and suits. But it's the pile of neatly folded sweatpants that truly draws my attention.
Pulling them on, I look at the rows of shoes and quickly surmise that none of them will even come close to fitting my small feet. I walk with purpose from the closet toward the windows. I’m going to fucking be free. Drawing back the curtain, I’m met with iron bars and my heart sinks.
From one hell to a fucking cage.
Silently unlocking the bedroom door, I draw it open a crack and peek down the hallway. No sign of him. Pulling it open enough for me to pass through the threshold, I step into the hallway. My steps are soft, hoping the floors don’t creak as I make my way down the hall. Reaching the end, my heart is pounding when I poke my head around the corner. No sign of the man, but the front door can’t be more than thirty feet away.
Sucking in a deep breath, unsuccessfully trying to calm my nerves, I dart around the corner and sprint to the door. I don’t even look for him or glance behind me. My sole focus is getting to the door, turning the knob, and finally being free. I hit the door with force, my body not entirely cooperating with me. Painfully gripping the knob, I turn my hand, but the knob doesn’t move.
“You’re not getting out that way, either.” A deep snide voice draws my attention. Whipping around, I press my back to the door to find him looking at me smugly from behind the kitchen island. “Cute sweatpants though.”
Reaching behind me, I continue to fumble with the knob while feeling for the lock. Nothing. Taking my eyes off him for a second, I look toward my hand and realize that there is no deadbolt.
“It’s for decoration.” He turns his back to me and opens a cabinet. “The lock is electronic. No one comes or goes without my permission.”
Spotting the knife block on the counter, I hesitate for a second to determine whether I can reach it before he turns around. Instinct outweighing any sense of logic, I run to it and wrap my fingers around a large knife.
“Did you want coffee?” he asks as he turns around, completely unfazed by the knife I’m now wielding.
“Let’s not get crazy, little lamb.” He continues making his cup of coffee as though there isn’t a single threatening thing about me. “Put the knife down before you get hurt.”
“I want to go.” I wave the knife at him.
“I can’t let you do that.” His response is flat as he lifts his cup to his lips. He pauses to take a slow, savory sip of his coffee before continuing, “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Done with me?” I step toward him, the knife held firmly in my hand, ready to plunge into him if needed. “Just fucking let me go.”
“Put the knife down, Lucia.” His voice deepens as he steps closer.
“Fucking stay back.” I swipe the knife toward him. “I’m not afraid to fucking stab you.”
