Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
My muscles tense at his words. This is progress. They’ve yet to tell me where she’s at or how she’s doing.
“Prove it,” I challenge, voice shaky.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and begins moving his thumbs rapidly. Then he shows me what looks like an Instagram page. It’s Megan’s page.
I get tangled up in the blanket in my crazed effort to get off the bed to take a closer look. I try to take the phone from his hand, but his grip is too strong. In the picture, Megan looks…happy. And not in a shy way. She’s grinning and wearing a lot of makeup. In fact, she’s radiant.
Gareth doesn’t stop me when I use my finger to scroll down to read the caption: “CUP is saving the world one person at a time. I’m proof!”
“This isn’t real,” I tell him. “I don’t know how you did this. She was taken. You people took her just like you took me!”
He flinches at my outburst but then shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
I cower away when he rises to his feet. His disappointed frown somehow makes me feel guilty, which is absolutely ridiculous.
What if he’s telling the truth?
My mind isn’t always reliable. It’s been lying to me since I was six.
“Let me show you,” he says softly. “I know this is hard to comprehend, but it’s reality, Ro.”
The way he says the shortened version of my name with familiarity like my own brother has tears flooding my eyes. None of this makes any sense.
He then shows me his phone again. It’s my Instagram profile this time. The last posted picture is of me and Megan. We’re both wearing CUP shirts, grinning at the camera.
What?
The picture beside it is of me at the event—the same one they stole me from. Next to it is a picture of Caius in his tux. I mash it to read the caption: “My boyfriend’s hotter than yours.”
No.
Caius is not my boyfriend.
This is messed up.
“This isn’t real,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You’ve made all this up. I want to leave. Let me go home.”
“Romy, this is real.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and his jaw works like he’s fighting tears. “I miss my friend. Come back to us, Ro. Search deep inside of that twisted mind of yours and remember. Please. It’s killing all of us, especially Caius.”
His pain is palpable.
It’s a punch to my gut.
“Gareth,” a deep voice admonishes from the doorway. “I told you to give it time. Can you not let it be?”
Caius.
My supposed boyfriend.
Unreal.
Gareth shoots me a forlorn look. “I thought… I thought I could help her remember. To prove it to her.”
“Leave us,” Caius growls. “You’ve done enough.”
Gareth curses at him and then shoulder checks him on the way out. Caius’s nostrils flare, his only tell of his annoyance, and then his dark orbs pin me in place.
Before I can stop myself, I launch at him, claws bared and ready to do damage. I’m not able to dig my nails into his cheek because he snatches my wrist with lightning-quick reflexes. I scream at him and attempt to kick him in the balls. The world tilts as he pushes me onto my bed, his body pinning mine to the mattress.
“Look at me,” he commands in a vicious tone, hands tightening around my wrists he has a hold of. “Now.”
I turn my head away from him and stare at all the pictures of us together. They’re not real. They can’t be.
He gathers both my wrists in one hand and then forcibly moves my head with fingers biting into my jaw. Our eyes meet—mine filled with rage and confusion and his are an empty, dark abyss of apathy.
I hate him.
There’s no way I’d ever fall for a man like Caius. If they’d tried to trick me into believing it was Gareth instead, I’d believe it. Not Caius.
“I’ve had enough of your attention seeking,” he murmurs, nose nearly touching mine. “Time to get your shit together, little girl.”
Little girl.
His words and touch are like acid being flicked on my skin. I want to claw at my own flesh to get them off me.
“You won’t break me,” I hiss, spittle hitting his face. “This thing you’re doing won’t work.”
Rather than give any indication that this is some messed-up game, his features soften slightly. It’s more terrifying than the coldness that typically emanates from him. Warmth from a man like him is almost comforting and I don’t like it.
“One day you’ll remember,” he murmurs, confidence dripping from his words. “You’ll remember how you used to moan my name every night.”
Foreign heat tickles at my flesh.
It’s embarrassment.
I think.
Definitely not familiarity or desire.
He disgusts me.
“You’ll remember how it feels to straddle me while my tongue fucks your sassy mouth.” He brushes his lips over mine. “You’ll remember how much you like it when I bite.”