Chapter Fifty
Raleigh
The growling of my stomach and the tantalizing smells permeating the air pull me away from dreams about Lincoln, spicy dreams that leave me aching for his touch.
Before I met Lincoln, I never woke up aching with need. It’s like he awoke something inside of me that turned me into a wanton and needy woman who is desperate for his touch, for release.
If it’s a day that the boys are able to make a homemade breakfast, then that means that it’s gotta be Saturday morning, the only day out of the week that my brothers even have the time to cook breakfast considering their busy schedules. And since it’s the weekend, maybe I *will* be able to steal Lincoln away for a little while for some very much-needed one-on-one time together.
*Apparently, I have a one-track mind this morning, and it’s centered around the throbbing between my legs.*
Reaching my arms over my head, I can’t contain the low moan that falls from my lips when my back arches, causing my hard nipples to brush against the fabric of my shirt and my thighs to clench together as I writhe against the sheets, seeking some sort of friction to help relieve the ache between them.
Deciding to put myself out of my misery, I reach out from under my blankets to my right, blindly feeling around the top of my nightstand for my phone with one hand while trailing the other down my body and slipping it beneath the band of my panties and lower, finding myself already soaking wet.
“Oh, God,” I groan, rubbing my finger over my clit as I turn my head towards the nightstand when I still can’t find my phone, wanting desperately to have Lincoln help me to get off, but when I open my eyes to look for it and take in the sight of the nightstand sitting next to my bed with a plate of pancakes sitting on top of it, everything comes rushing back.
*The accident.*
*Waking up yesterday in this strange room.*
*Julia.*
*Her* Master.
Julia had said that *her Master* was supposed to have come to talk to me when he got home yesterday evening but outside of Julie showing up to bring me food, no one else has been by to see me and I don’t understand it.
She said that I was in an accident, and my memories from Thursday and the wound on my head definitely corroborate what she said, but this is most definitely a bedroom and not a hospital room. So, if I’m in a hospital, which I don’t think I am, it’s got to be some sort of private one or something, which makes absolutely no sense.
I get up and look out the curtained window, taking in the sprawling fields to the left, a line of trees to the right, and the mountains off in the distance. Definitely still in Colorado, *but where am I?* I can’t help but wonder?
Walking over to the door, I try the handle, jiggling and pulling on it even though it won't budge. I bang on the door, hoping to get Julia’s attention. I shout and holler and bang on the door but no one ever comes. Going back to the bed, I pick up the plate of pancakes, my stomach growling at the sight. I cut out a small triangle but just before taking a bite, I remember how after every meal I end up passing out and it makes me wonder if the food is drugged.
Unwilling to chance it, and suddenly repulsed at the thought that someone who seems as sweet as Julia does would do something so heinous, I chuck the plate at the door, the porcelain shatters against the hardwood and the pancakes leave syrupy smeared bits all across the white paint. Throwing the plate and making a mess of the otherwise pristine room makes me feel slightly better and a smile curves my lips as an idea hits me.
Stalking across the room, I rip the curtains off of the windows. When that isn’t enough, I pull all the bedding off of the bed, throwing it onto the floor. Then, I go into the attached bathroom and rifle through the drawers, finding a pair of scissors. I catch my reflection in the mirror, and the person looking back at me looks unhinged, desperate.
Taking the scissors, I pull all of the clothes out of the dresser, shredding them to pieces. Then, I do the same with the comforter, pillows, sheets, and rugs covering the floor. Opening the scissors, I walk over to a nice, expensive-looking chair placed in the corner and stab them into the center of it, then jerk them down, the fabric ripping under the pressure.
When I walk over to the other window to jerk this set of curtains down, I stop momentarily, eyeballing it curiously. Even though I’m on what I’m guessing would be the second floor, this window is facing what I would assume is the rear of the house since I don’t see any cars as I have with the other one, only the sprawling fields, and I’m betting if I were to escape out of it, it wouldn't be noticed as quickly as the other would be.
Without a second thought, I reach out, brace my hands against the pane, and lift, but it doesn’t budge. With a frustrated growl, I adjust my stance, brace my feet, and try again but it still won’t open. I scan the perimeter of the window seal, trying to figure out what I’m missing when I see it.
“Fuck, I’m stupid,” I mutter to myself as I reach up and flip the little lever in the center. This time when I place my hands against the pane and lift, to my relief and elation, it does so quietly and smoothly. My pulse beats double-time as I look out the window, trying to judge if I can get down on my own or not.
“Shit,” I mutter realizing that it’s a straight fall and that if I try, I’m likely to break something. Ripping down the curtains, I tie them together, then rush across the room, grabbing the other set of curtains and tying them to it as well. Securing the curtain rope to the four-poster bed, I drop them out the window and then slowly and very awkwardly shimmy down the side of the house—panicking and cursing the entire way down, because I’m scared shitless that I’m going to get caught and this is nothing whatsoever like those exercises that they have you do in gym class.
As soon as my feet hit the ground I’m a shaking mess, but have no time to dwell on it because the sound of tires on gravel tells me that there’s a car coming up the driveway.
Without a backward glance, I take off to the right towards the trees, and my best chance of being able to escape since it’s the only source of cover that I have. I’m running as fast as my legs can carry me, but apparently, it’s not fast enough because moments later I hear an angry bellow.
“Where is she?” A male voice shouts, sounding livid. “Find her. NOW!”
I can’t hear much of anything over the thundering of my own pulse in my ears but I know that the man must have been talking about me and that when he finds me, whatever he does to me, it can’t be good.
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