Page 3 of Deadly Sweet

Leavinghimfor last.

Chapter 2

Savannah

For the past... whothe fuck knows how long I’ve been down here, things have always been the same.

Every morning, I wake up at eight am, and I’m given breakfast. At noon, I get lunch, and at five pm, supper is served. Exactly at ten, the guards come to make sure everything is off and that I’m tucked into bed like a good little Omega.

It’s the only time of the day I have any human interaction. Every other hour of the day, I’m alone, with only myself, the books I read, and the movies I watch to keep me company.

When I was pregnant, the only thing that changed was when they had a doctor come in every once in a while to check up on me.

Let’s be honest: I lost whatever marbles I had left long ago. Spend enough time alone with only the voices in your head, and any hope of saving your sanity is long gone.

The repetitive thump-thump of footsteps and the tinkling of keys grow loud enough to be heard over the movie that’s playing.

During the day, I always have a movie on. I’ve resorted to tracking my time by the movies’ run times—most are between an hour and a half to two hours long.

Dinner wasn’t even a full movie ago, meaning I should still have a few movies before it’s time for bed. There’s no reason for me to be hearing these noises right now.

So why do I hear someone coming from down the hall?

Scrambling off the bed, I quickly duck behind the door, plastering my back to the wall.

My chest rises and falls quickly as I try to settle my pounding heart.

You might ask me what I’m about to do? And the answer is I have no fucking clue. It’s not like I have anything else to do, so if it means making the guard’s life a living hell, then that sounds like a fucking good way to pass the time.

If I had a weapon, I’d use it. But there’s nothing in this fucking place I could use.

What am I going to do, throw a book at their face? Beat them with the remote of my TV? Like I’d waste my precious items on those ugly fuckers.

I need the remote, or I won’t be able to watch my movies. Even if I’ve read every book I own a million times over, at the end of the day, they’re still mine—some of the only things in this world that I own.

No, I need to be more creative.

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