Page 155 of The Christmas Wife

"Weston. Weston," he says. "When will you realize that resistance is futile?"

I yank my wrists against my bindings, strain the muscles of my legs. The ropes around my ankles dig into my skin. The ticking of the clock around my chest fills my ears...my mind. It grows louder, ricocheting inside of my head. The fuck is he up to? Why the hell is he not untying me?

He pats my head; I jerk away. The time-bomb around my chest beeps.

"Oops," he laughs, "sorry." He chuckles, "Forgot for a second there that you had to be absolutely still." He shuffles his feet, "Remember what I said about your being let go in twelve hours?"

I nod.

"Guess what? Today is your lucky day."

I stiffen.

"Today is the day I leave you here, with an hour to countdown. When it hits one o'clock... Boom!" He claps his hands together.

My shoulders bunch and the blood pumps in my ears. My heart hammers so loud, I am sure I am going to be sick. Let me out of here. Let me out.

"Sorry, my boy. Some things are best left up to fate, you understand?"

No. What the fuck is he talking about? I lean forward, shake my head. No, don't leave me here, don't.

His footsteps recede.

Stop. Don't go.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you." His voice reaches me from the direction of the doorway.

"If you're lucky, the bomb may not go off."

Bloody piece of shit, he's fucking toying with me. It won't go off. It won't. The door shuts behind him, leaving me with the ticking of the bloody clock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Three o'clock.

Two 'o clock.

So close. An hour to countdown. An hour to my death. Or not? Any moment now. Any moment.

"Weston?" A man's voice calls out, "Weston, you in there?"

The door slams open and I jerk up.

"What the fuck?"

Stay back, don't come close. The bomb—it's going to detonate, it's going to?—

"Weston?"

I tug on my bindings, but they don't give. Fuck this, if I'm going to die, I'm not taking another innocent life down with me. The ticking of the bomb seems to get louder... Or is that hammering in my chest? Sweat slithers down my spine. I tug my feet, strain at my restraints. The chair lurches forward. Tick-tock-tick-tock. The timebomb stops. Then?—

"Weston?"

I snap my eyes open.

"Wes?" Her worried gaze holds mine. Her blonde hair is tangled about her shoulders. I rake my gaze down to her bare breasts, to her belly, to where her thighs grip my waist.

"Wes?" She reaches down to touch my face.

I pull away. "Don't," I clear my throat.

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