Page 154 of The Billionaire's Christmas Bride

Twelve o'clock.

Eleven o'clock.

Ten o'clock.

The goddam timer—an old fashioned clock fitted to run backwards—as my kidnapper had informed me, never stops counting down.

Every hour it helpfully rings out the time, so even though I am blindfolded, I have no choice but to follow along in my head.

Nine o'clock

Eight o'clock

Seven o'clock

Every hour brings me closer to the time when my kidnapper is going to come through the door.

Six o'clock

Five o'clock

Four o'clock

Twelve hours, that's how long he'd said he'd be away.

Three o' clock

Two o'clock

One o'clock

The timer passes the twelve-hour mark, and stops. The silence stretches. A beat, another.

My heart begins to race and sweat pools in my armpits. I tug my wrists against my bindings, and pain shoots up my arms. I draw in a breath and the acrid taste of fear fills my mouth. Something is wrong.

Why hasn't the bomb gone off as he'd said it would? Why hasn't my kidnapper returned for that matter? My throat closes, my hands and feet grow cold.

Today, I won't survive the beating. Today, something is different. Today is the day when he finishes it. When he doesn't stop electrocuting me until...my heart gives out.

My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse races, and my stomach coils in knots. The pressure builds at my temples. What's he going to do to me when he gets here?

My head spins and coldness grips my arms and legs... I won't last the day. I have to get through today. Need to focus, focus. Stay still; count down again.

Twelve o'clock.

Eleven o'clock.

Ten o'clock.

My heart beat slows and my pulse steadies. How strange. My biggest nemesis is also the only way I can calm my mind. Stay still, in the moment. You can't give up. Not yet. The door creaks open. I jolt upright. The change in the air indicates he's in the room. Footsteps approach as the door snicks shut. The hair at the back of my neck rises. Fuck. He's here, he's going to hit me...any moment. The floorboard creaks to my right, to the left, behind me. He circles me, comes closer.

"What should I do with you?" he mutters. "Leave you in your filth or put you out of your misery?"

Let me go, I try to say, the words muffled by my gag. Let me the fuck go, you asshole.

"Weston. Weston," he says. "When will you realize that resistance is futile?"

I yank my wrists against my bindings, strain the muscles of my legs. The ropes around my ankles dig into my skin. The ticking of the clock around my chest fills my ears...my mind. It grows louder, ricocheting inside of my head. The fuck is he up to? Why the hell is he not untying me?