Page 82 of While He Breathes

The numbness took over a while ago, and I haven’t been able to work out if it’s from the cold, the drugs, or something else entirely.

The cot isn’t worth sitting on. It puts me closer to the door and is almost as uncomfortable as the floor, which is where I’ve huddled. The thin foam mattress from the cot is beneath me, helping to keep the chill from my bones. The holey blanket they provided is wrapped around my shoulders, but it’s like a fucking freezer in here, which probably means it’s nighttime again.

It’s hard to figure out what time it is, given the complete lack of windows and regular meals, paired with the fact I have no idea how long I was knocked out for. But based on temperature alone, I have to assume it’s been at least twenty-four hours since I was taken.

I wrap the worn blanket around me tighter, hoping the tattered material will hold me together when all I want to do is fall apart.

After everything I’ve been through, all the times I’ve wanted to give up, this feels like rock bottom. Because I have mere days before Lucas forces me down the aisle, and then I’m stuck.

The wife of a man I hate.

I press my palms against my eyes, willing away the tears that gather at that thought.

Before I met Orion, I assumed I would never get married. It seemed like just a distant thing to worry about because I couldn’t get into a real relationship while I was indebted to Lucas.

But without even realizing it, I’d started to consider it as a possibility.

All the things I thought would never happen to me—marriage, kids, a house in the suburbs—were all within my reach for a short time, and not grasping the chance will likely be my greatest regret.

Right up there with not telling Orion I love him.

Footsteps in the hallway pull my thoughts from the only man I’ll ever love, and I steel my shoulders for Lucas’s entry.

He’s the only one who’s visited me alone so far, and for that, I’m grateful.

Lucas is an asshole, but if push comes to shove, I’ve worked for him for long enough I know his tells. I know how to calm him when he gets angry. I know how to manipulate him.

Anyone else on the other side of the door, I’m not so sure about.

The hinges whine as the heavy door pushes open, and my husband-to-be steps over the threshold.

God, I hate the thought of that.

I hate the idea that in a few short days, I’ll be nothing more than his wife and baby factory.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” He beams.

“What time is it?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound small.

“Doesn’t matter.” He steps toward me, and I swallow around the bile in the back of my throat. “I came to see how you’re feeling?”

“Not great,” I admit. “I’m about to get my period, so I assume that’s what’s causing it.” The lie slips out, and as predicted, his eyes widen, and his cheeks ashen.

If there’s one thing you can always rely on, it’s how much men hate the idea of women menstruating.

Orion being the exception to that rule.

Lucas doesn’t respond immediately, so I continue, hoping to make him so uncomfortable he fucks off. “Speaking of which, I don’t know how long you’re planning on keeping me down here, but if it’s for a while, I’ll need some…supplies.”

His face turns an even lighter shade, and I try not to laugh at his reaction.

Okay, this is kind of fun.

“For the first couple of days, I need either pads or period underwear, and then I’ll need tampons for the rest of the week. You need to get enough to make sure I can change them every four hours, and I’ll need more ready access to a bathroom, if that’s not too much trouble. Oh, and a heat pack.” I look around the cell I’m in with a furrowed brow. “Is there another room I could take that has an electrical outlet? I’ll either need a microwave or a rechargeable heat pack, whatever is easiest for you to get. And Tylenol.”

His mouth opens as if he’s going to reply, but he snaps it shut again.

A pang of sadness shoots through my chest. Max would love this. I can imagine his reaction, his infectious laugh, the way his head drops back, and his entire body shakes when he finds something particularly funny.