Page 41 of Endgame
Maybe meeting them would be nice. But to do that, I have to open my eyes. And…my eyelids won’t cooperate. They feel stuck, heavy.
Everything feels heavy.
Sinking. Like quicksand. I’m practically part of the bed at this point. My brain is mush.
What happened last night? I must’ve passed out from screaming in the basement.
Waking up and getting out of here, I have to do that.
All I need is a little more time in this haze. I’m so tired.
“Miss Clarke, please.” That voice again. It’s a woman, I realize. An undercurrent of urgency is audible beneath her kind tone. “Your wedding is in four hours. You must get up.”
My wedding.
Oh, shit.
Reality is a slap in the face.
Yesterday’s memories are a splash of cold water, chilling me to the bone.
The trial.
Everett, the cruel and beautiful wrecking ball.
The electric collar.
This soreness in my ass wasn’t there before. It’s there now. Something’s stretching me from the inside.
“No,” I murmur, as if this is all a nightmare. It isn’t. This is my new reality.
“Please.” The hand on my arm squeezes me.
He knocked me out, then touched me while I was unconscious. I’m pretty sure he shoved a plug inside my ass.
I’ve never seen one in person, but Mom talked about it once. I overheard her on the phone, being judgmental as usual, telling a friend about some woman from their country club who got caught fucking her pool boy and that, according to the rumors, she was wearing a butt plug while hedidher.
So yeah, that must be it. What Everett put inside me while I was passed out.
And now his staff member is going to help me get ready to marry this bastard.
Before today, I wanted him. He made my heart flutter.
Then he zapped me. Thenthishappened.
A full-body shiver tears through me. I allow myself this single moment of weakness before I snap into action.
“Get away from me.” I jump to a sitting position, my eyes flying open to see what and who I’m up against.
Two women in black uniforms stare at me from about a foot away from the edge of the bed. Their gazes are impassive. Both have their long hair braided behind their backs, one blonde and one brunette.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I scoot back in a thankfully empty bed.
His bed. I know it’s his. The sheets are soaked with Everett’s cologne. Overpowering. Masculine. Evil.
“Miss Clarke,” the brunette implores. The corners of her eyes crinkle. “We have to get you ready for your wedding. Please.”
“I’m not—I’m not marrying him. I won’t.” Panic locks my throat. My neck has a collar secured around it. And my hand, it’s heavy from the weight of his ring. I never asked for any of it. I wanted him, yes, but it’s not fair. I had no idea who he was. No idea at all. “Get me the hell out of here.”
