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Carta, Washington

“Well, this complicates things,” the crazed man that had broken into her house and kidnapped her said with a thoughtful expression as he tossed the phone that he’d been on for the past hour onto the bed next to her and rubbed his hands down his face with a heavy sigh while Indie sat there, praying that he wasn’t about to let her go.

To be fair, she was also praying that he wasn’t about to cut his losses and kill her, but that really should go without saying. Not that she was particularly fond of the large angry man that had killed her guardians and seemed to have a fondness for glaring because she wasn’t. No, the reason that she didn’t want to be let go was really quite simple.

She didn’t want to be anyone’s bitch.

Okay, so one might argue that was exactly what she’d been for the past twenty-five years, but since she liked to look on the bright side of things, she was going to pretend that her entire existence up to this point had simply been a misunderstanding. One that would continue if the man glaring at her didn’t take her with him. Granted, she could always try to escape on her own, and she would if he didn’t take her with him, but since the last three-hundred and thirty-two attempts had ended badly, she would much rather stay with the man that had managed to accomplish the impossible.

At least, until she got to Boston.

Then, she was going to finally disappear and…

She really didn’t care what she did just as long as she never had to go back to that house. With that in mind, Indie shifted her attention from the man that really seemed to hate her and took in the hotel room that she found herself in, noting the water stains on the walls, the weird white stains marking the sides of the dark nightstands and headboard, the musty odor that seemed to permeate the air, the threadbare rug, beige curtains marked with cigarette burns and other things, and thought it was the most beautiful thing that she’d ever seen in her life.

If he hadn’t handcuffed her hands behind her back, Indie would have been tempted to have a better look around, but since she was currently handcuffed and stuck sitting on the lumpy bed that smelled funny, she was going to have to settle for simply enjoying this moment. When she made the mistake of glancing back to her right and found the angry man glaring at her through silver eyes, Indie gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile only to decide that it would be in her best interest to return her attention back to the rug only to find another one of those weird white stains.

“Why were you in that house?” he asked while she sat there trying to figure out how much she should tell him only to remember that she didn’t actually know anything.

“I don’t know,” Indie said as she shifted her attention to the faded blue and red comforter and frowned when she spotted yet another weird white stain, unable to help but wonder how they got there.

“I see,” he said as she tilted her head with a frown, noting the way that the white stain seemed to be concentrated in a small circle before spreading out in a tail-like manner, almost as though it had been shot out of something.

“How long were you there?”

“Twenty-five years, five months, two weeks, and four days,” she said absently.

“And what exactly are you?” he asked as she gave up trying to figure out the mystery stain and admitted with a shrug, “A mistake.”

Chapter 10

Westdrom, Maine

“Let me out!” the small woman that should have run when she had the chance said as she continued pounding on the pantry door.

“No,” Trace said even as he yanked the chair away from where he’d had it wedged beneath the doorknob and opened the door, needing to see with his own eyes that she was really unharmed. She opened her mouth to say something else, but he was already shutting the door and shoving the chair back in place to keep her from getting herself in more trouble.

“We need to leave, Trace,” Samantha said, sounding frustrated as he stood there, taking in the destruction surrounding him and-

“Thank y-oh, come on!” his wife said with an exasperated sigh when he opened the door only to immediately shut it again after he ran his eyes over her one more time.

Once he assured himself that he hadn’t hurt her, Trace shoved the chair back against the door, sat down and tried not to think about what could have happened. She should have run or at the very least, found a better hiding spot than a cupboard with the doors ripped off and her only protection the dog currently sitting in front of him with a pitiful look on his face. He released another pathetic whimper that had Trace rolling his eyes and reaching over to scratch the dog between his ears.

“Trace, we need to leave before it’s too late,” his wife said with a heavy sigh.

“We’re staying here,” he said as he closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the door as he did his best to block out the incredible aroma coming from behind that door only to open his eyes when he saw the old stone walls of his tomb staring back at him.

“They’re going to be coming for you, Trace,” she said as she tried to push the door open.

“Good,” he said because he wanted them to come.

He wanted his revenge, more than anything else he wanted to look into their eyes when he tore their throats out, but for the bitch that sent him into that hole…

He had something else in mind for her.

He was going to make sure that she found out what it felt like to die for eternity. He was going to change her and shove her into a tomb, making sure that she was too fucking weak to do anything more than scream and he was going to enjoy every fucking mo-

Tags: R.L. Mathewson Pyte/Sentinel Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net