Page 22 of Endgame
Me:No.
This is the most information I’m willing to offer him.
When I have this part of my revenge locked down, then he and I can talk.
4
AURORA
Eventually, after a million excruciating hours, my fiancé removed my gag and restraints. While he did, he threatened me to“Be a good girl and leave here quietly with me, or you won’t like the consequences.”
Without much of a choice, I complied. Together, we left the courthouse.
Everett was the picture of calm, while I shivered on the way to his car. He didn’t care that I was squirming from a full bladder. Or that my senses were overloaded by the sudden light and noise after so long in the dark.
He wanted me to get to his car, and nothing more.
So here I am, trapped again.
His driver pulls up at Everett’s front door at the end of the long driveway. He lives on the outskirts of Boston, like my parents, but they’re not neighbors. Thank God for small favors.
But who cares about them? Not me.
“Everett, I have to go to the bathroom.” I shift on the car seat. “Please.”
“Patience.”
He climbs out of the car, walks over to my side, and unbuckles me as if I were a child.
Then he grabs my wrist.
“No, let me go,” I plead.
His narrowed eyes brook no argument, so I don’t bother. There are other, more important things to worry about than this particular power play.
“Fine.” I let him drag me into his home.
We go past his silent staff. Past the rest of the first floor of his home that’s…black. Black wooden floors. Black furniture. Everything is so dark.
Nothing is darker than my future husband.
We keep walking up the stairs to the second floor where sconces line the walls of the silent halls.
“Get in.” He beckons me into another dark room, his expression one of irritation.
I run inside, foolishly turning my back on my enemy. What choice do I have? If I don’t make it to the bathroom in the next three seconds, I might die.
“I’ll be back soon,” he announces.
“Whatever.”
“Brat,” Everett mutters before he slams the door.
I hear the lock slide into place, but for the moment, it doesn’t scare me. I don’t cry or shiver.
Finally, I can relieve myself.
Once done, I lose my heels. Wash my hands and face. All that dried spit reminds me of the gag, and I shudder.
