Page 30 of Pretty Cruel Love

“Now.”

He moves to the desk and taps on the keyboard. Suddenly, the wall screen shifts to a soft, hazy shot of her curled up in bed. Peaceful. Bare shoulders above the covers. Every item in the cabin is untouched, pristine, just the way I left it.

“It’ll run like you said.” Sheldon looks confused. “But no one—not even me—will be able to tap back into the live feed without you giving me your password…”

“I’ll call you with it after I deal with Miss Pretty.” I head to the door.

“But sir, you’re not supposed to ever?—”

I don’t wait to hear the rest.

I’ve wasted enough time already.

12

SADIE

Night Seven

“Screw this goddamn program and fuck you!” I throw a mug at the kitchen cabinet, watching it shatter onto the hardwood. Then I look up at one of the cameras and give it the middle finger.

Hot tears fall down my cheeks, and my brain begs me to stop while I'm ahead, but there’s no use in feeling sorry for myself at this point. I’ve messed up, and it’s only a matter of time before the guards rush in and demand I get down on the floor.

I take out a stack of plates from the pantry and slam them to the floor one by one.

As I’m picking up the tea kettle—ready to bang it against the counter—the front door swings open.

A flock of guards doesn’t rush in, though.

It’s just Dr. Weiss.

Alone.

Glaring at me, he slams the door shut so hard the entire house rattles. The kettle slips from my fingers and falls to the floor.

Livid, he strolls toward me, his shoes stepping on broken glass and plastic until he reaches the kitchen table I flipped on its side.

“Pick this shit up,” he demands with a growl. “Now.”

His tone is so harsh and heated that it leaves me no choice but to oblige. Moving next to him, I step beside him and grab the table’s legs.

“The plant, too.” He points, and I push the dirt into the pot before placing it on the table’s center.

I’m bending down to pick up a fallen bloom when he suddenly grabs the back of my ponytail and pulls me to my feet.

“You can sweep that up later,” he growls. “Clean up my kitchen next.”

He slowly releases his grip on my hair, but he remains behind me as I pick up every shattered mug, bowl, and plate.

“My favorite chair better not be broken,” he hisses against the back of my neck. “Pick it up…”

Bending at the knees, I grasp its legs and ease it back into a standing position.

When I’m standing again, he grabs my shoulders and spins me around to face him. He stares into my eyes without a word, and as the seconds pass, his cloudless irises settle the storms in mine.

Keeping his eyes on mine, he steps back and grabs a broom, then he presses it into my hand.

Not waiting for his command, I sweep up my mess under his heated watch.

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