Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
"My mother is dead."
"But her wishes live on." His finger trails down my neck. "And I promised her I'd take care of her little girl."
My skin prickles up. "When did you ever speak to my mother?"
"We had an understanding." His smile turns secretive. "About what was best for you."
Lie. Has to be. Mama never even met him.
"Please." I try again, making my voice small. Helpless. The way men like him want women to sound. "I really need to use the bathroom."
"There's a catheter for that."
My blood turns to ice. "A what?"
"I thought of everything." He resumes feeding me, as if discussing the weather. "We might be here a while. Until you're better."
"Better from what?" Panic rising. Chest tight. And suddenly, that feeling like I need to pee, isn’t the need to pee but… he put a fucking tube up inside me? What. The hell.
"Your confusion," Marcus says. He wipes my mouth again. "Your rebellion."
"Marcus, this is kidnapping."
He laughs, genuinely amused. "You can't kidnap your own fiancée, silly."
"I'm not your fiancée anymore." I look pointedly at my bare finger. "I left the ring at home."
His smile doesn't falter. "It's right here." He pats his pocket. "Ready when you are."
"And if I'm never ready?"
Something shifts in his eyes. Something cold and patient.
"Then we wait," he says simply. "I have all the time in the world."
Marcus circles the bed with the measured steps of a preacher delivering his most important sermon, each footfall echoing his righteous certainty. "You've been under his influence for years, Savannah. That kind of manipulation runs deep in the psyche. But we'll work through this together, step by step, until you're cleansed of it."
Together. Like we're equal partners in my salvation. Like these ropes binding me to this bed are just loving restraints for my own protection.
"He's dangerous," Marcus continues, voice dripping with feigned concern. "A criminal. The way we found you two, Savannah. Together." His lip curls with such disgust, it almost comes off rehearsed. "He was inside you. You had his come all over your legs. That's not love, darling. That's fucking. Possession. Predatory grooming."
Grooming. "What the hell are you talking about? He didn't groom me. We were childhood sweethearts."
Marcus makes a sad face at me. He's insane. "Your mother warned me about him extensively. Said he'd been fixated on you since childhood. Stalking you. Taking advantage of your innocent nature."
Well, that's definitely a lie. Eleanor Ashby loved Legion Kane. Maybe in ways I don't want to think about. She's got twenty or thirty thousand pictures of him to prove it.
Marcus has lost his mind.
"We'll get you the absolute best help, darling," he continues. "Intensive therapy. Specialized trauma counseling. Whatever resources you need to process and heal from the psychological damage Legion Kane inflicted on you."
He's the trauma. He's the one damaging me. I am kidnapped. Tied to a bed by my fiancé. Former fiancé, I correct myself.
Suddenly, his hand is on my thigh, proprietary and cold as marble. He slides it up under my dress hem with entitled certainty.
I go rigid, bile burning up my throat.
Oh, God.
Again, the realization that I have no underwear on hits me. I didn't wear any because... well, there's exactly one reason I meet Legion Kane at the Silo. And it's so he can claim me completely, desperately, anyway he wants. My eyes squeeze shut, heart racing as forbidden memories surface of his rough hands, his hungry mouth, his—
Marcus's fingers trace clinical patterns on my bare skin. Goosebumps rise in pure revulsion. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. To kick until bones break. To bite until I taste blood.
But I remain perfectly still. Motionless as a photograph in Eleanor's portfolio.
He's touching places Legion just—No. Lock that memory away. Don't let him taint it. Keep it sacred. Keep it yours alone.
"It's all right," Marcus says. "He defiled you, I totally understand your revulsion. But I took care of that."
"Took care of what?" I blurt. My heart is breaking. Have they killed Legion? "Where is Cash? Where are my brothers?"
"They helped me, Savannah."
"Helped you do what?"
"Clean you. Bring you up here so you could rest."
"Clean… clean me? What the hell does that mean?"
"I washed you, darling. I washed away all traces of him. Inside and out."
Oh, god. I actually turn my head to the side and almost puke. He was touching my body while I was unconscious. He cleaned me!
I've never felt so utterly exposed. So deeply violated. Never, in my entire life.
Marcus either doesn't notice my visceral reaction or simply doesn't care. He withdraws his hand and turns to study the photos he's meticulously arranged on every wall like some twisted gallery.
My entire life displayed like art.
Me at six, clutching a blue show ribbon with gap-toothed pride.
Me at twelve, weaving wildflowers into delicate crowns with sun-browned fingers.
Me at sixteen, caught in a rare moment of genuine laughter, bathed in golden prairie light.