Page 23 of Endgame
Now that I don’t have to go to the bathroom, reality sinks in.
I’m a prisoner in this room, just like I was back home, and the man who hates me holds the key to my freedom.
My eyes dance all over the place. A nervous gesture.
Like the rest of Everett’s house, everything here is black with gold undertones. The padded headboard, the vintage lamps on the bedside tables, the two tufted chairs in the seating area, and the marble fireplace.
It’s overwhelming. Expensive. Regal. It’s as dark as it is beautiful.
The lawns that I can see from over here, through the huge window, are stunning. The red, purple, green, and gray flowers scattered throughout his gardens run wild.
Yet there’s an order to the chaos. A mirror to my captor’s soul, it seems.
Fuck. What should I do?
From a nearby room, probably the one I’m sharing a wall with, I hear the water running. He’s taking a shower.
The smart thing to do would be to take advantage of this opportunity he’s given me. I could find some sort of pin and pick the lock.
But…
Where would I go? Would his staff even let me take a step out of this room? This house?
Knowing my parents’ staff, the answer is, sadly, doubtful.
Desperation settles in my bones, heavy and numbing. I decide to fight this battle another day, dropping onto the black four-poster bed.
As challenging as it is, I’m doing everything I can to maintain my sanity. Counting my breaths, clinging to logic, reminding myself that panic only gives him more power.
I’m doing it while the man who’s blackmailing me is taking a shower. Taking his time. He doesn’t have a care in the world.
As if he didn’t lock and gag me in his chambers’ closet for hours.
As if he isn’t forcing me to marry him.
As if he won’t force me to do more.
Fucker.
A caustic laugh bubbles in my throat. God, I’m pathetic, aren’t I? Calling him names in my head. Pretending to hate him, his ultimatum, and being here.
I wish it were that easy. I wish I could think of this as just another prison.
If I could only hate Everett the way I hate Winston and Molly. If only he felt like another jailor.
Thing is, he’s different.
No one had ever touched me the way he did. No one had ever looked at me likethat.
Like they wanted to do vile, dirty things to me.
A chill runs up my spine. My fingers flex on the black covers before I sit up straighter.
I kick my feet in the air, but no matter what I do, I can’t shake this nervousness.
He’ll be out of the shower any minute now.
Once he’s out, what will he do to me?
