Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,16

fell to my death like he claims he can. But without being able to see out the window, I won’t know when to shout and make as much ruckus as I can. I’m not foolish enough to be at it all hours of the day. Pushing the patience of an unstable man isn’t wise, and I would rather not be killed for testing the limits too far.

Ember.

She’s my only chance of getting out of here—I know this, and I keep telling myself this and yet, I’m failing at actually listening. And I just successfully pissed her off. She wants to trust me. She wants to like me. I can see she wants to prove herself to her fucked up Papa Rich and be the perfect wife in this sick world they live in. She desperately wants me to be the Prince Charming she reads about in her books in that haunted shack of a schoolhouse.

Fucking with a woman’s mind is not how I roll. It never has been. I have always said it like it is, to the point where I can be considered an asshole. But I have always preferred to be a straight forward asshole rather than a slimy, lying prick. I don’t do pick-up lines. I don’t tell a woman what she wants to hear just to get in her pants. I don’t bang chicks for the mere sport of it.

But here I am.

I have no choice but to fuck with this poor woman’s mind if I ever want to escape. I have to play this demented chess game. Except in this game, I’m nothing but a weak pawn.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My hands shake and my head pounds. I need coffee. Actually, I need a shot of whiskey, a few uppers to help me face my day, but I’ll settle for coffee to try to take this edge off.

I look at the door and figure that Ember will be returning soon with breakfast. I need to do a better job and can’t scare her away anymore. I need her on my side.

Getting up and walking to the bathroom to clean up, I mentally prepare for what will no doubt be the hardest thing I will ever do in my life. I know I am highly intelligent—an attribute that has always benefitted me in my life. I’m also a fighter—another quality that has served me well. Yes, I’m chained in a cellar in an old mining ghost town, soon to be presumed dead. But I’m not going to throw in the towel. Not yet.

Richard will regret the day he chose me to marry his daughter. I’ll make damn fucking sure of it.

8

Ember

Concentrating on not dropping the tray of food, I somehow open the door and enter with Pine Cone close at my heels. She’s not used to ever being without me, nor all my attention not being focused on her. I keep my eyes on the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, not really wanting to look directly at Christopher. He makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t know if I am scared of him, like him, hate him, or feel bad for him. All I know is my knees want to buckle as I enter the room.

“I wasn’t sure how you liked your eggs,” I say as I reach back with my foot and close the door shut.

“Please tell me what’s inside that mug is coffee,” he says which makes me look up and see he has a smile on his face. He also has washed off the dirt on his exposed skin and has rinsed the matted blood from his hair.

“It’s black, but I can get cream or sugar if you want.”

I hope he doesn’t want sugar because I have very little of it, and I want to save what I do possess so I can make a cake later as a special treat. Papa Rich doesn’t make a supply run for a few days, and I doubt he will make any exceptions.

“Black is perfect. So is scrambled. I’m not picky.”

I let out the breath I’m holding, and hand him the tray. Not sure if I should remain in the room or not, I look for my cat. She has jumped up on the crate I sat on last time I was in the room. It’s like she is making the decision for me. So, I sit.

“I didn’t put anything in the food,” I inform, although I quickly regret saying it as I see his body tense. But I