Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
What if he’s waiting for the perfect moment to grab me, drag me into a van, sell me to the highest bidder all over again—
What if I disappear and no one notices until my unfinished graphic novel becomes a cautionary tale about artistic procrastination?
I’m so paranoid I’ve even started varying my routes, taking different staircases and leaving buildings through side exits. All the things Detective Eaton told me to do, really, but it’s just not enough.
I still feel like I’m being followed.
By day five, I’m jumping at my own shadow. By day six, I’ve started walking with my keys wedged between my fingers like some kind of ineffective wolverine. By day seven—
By day seven, I snap.
It happens in the late afternoon, the California sun hanging low and golden over the quad, students sprawled on the grass with textbooks they’re pretending to read. I’m cutting through the courtyard behind the humanities building when I feel it again.
That prickle.
That weight of someone’s gaze pressing against my spine.
And something inside me just...breaks.
I don’t think.
I don’t plan.
I just spin around and charge directly at the shadow I’ve glimpsed from the corner of my eye.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!”
The words tear out of my throat as I barrel toward the figure lurking near the archway, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, my feet slapping against the cobblestones, my hands balled into fists even though I have absolutely no idea how to throw a punch—
I don’t even see him move.
One second I’m running, the next there’s an iron grip on my wrist and the world spins, and then my back is against the cool stone of the archway and there’s a hand clamped over my mouth.
“Stop.”
The voice is low. Familiar. Ice and velvet wrapped around a command.
My eyes fly wide.
No.
No, no, no—
The hand loosens, just enough for me to breathe, and I find myself staring up into a face I never thought I’d see again.
Ice-blue eyes. Sharp jaw. Gold hair catching the late afternoon light like he’s been personally blessed by the sunset.
My rescuer.
He’s here.
He’s HERE, and he’s the one who’s been—
“Y-You.”
Something inside my chest gives way at the sight of him. His expression is thunderous, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin, and his eyes—
I’ve never seen him look at me like this.
Like he’s furious.
Like he’s terrified.
Like he wants to shake me until my teeth rattle.
“Do you have any idea,” he says, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the hand still pressed against my shoulder, “how foolish that was?”
All I can do is bite my lip. Hard. Because now that the adrenaline has worn off, my body is made to pay every ill-advised move I’ve made in the past five minutes, and my side is hurting like I was shot all over again.
“You charged.” His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to make his point. “At a stranger. With nothing. No weapon. No plan. No thought for what might happen if it wasn’t me.”
“I—I’m sorry, I just—”
“What if it had been him?” His voice is soft and calm. Terrifyingly so. “What if it had been Braxton? What would you have done then, Mira? Screamed at him? Hoped someone would hear?”
“I wasn’t thinking—”
“Clearly.”
“I was scared, and I just—I couldn’t take it anymore, and—”
Wait a minute.
My brain finally catches up with my mouth.
What right does he have to question me like this when...when...
“You’re the reason I’m scared in the first place,” I cry out. “You’re the one stalking me for no reason—”
“Did I say I didn’t have one?”
Everything becomes clear the moment he says this, and it just makes me feel so much worse—
“You’re here because of Braxton.”
Because it’s clear that my rescuer feels burdened to protect me.
Again.
“The police told you about him?”
I nod. “They’ve already warned Dane and me—” Is it just my imagination or did he stiffen when I mentioned Dane’s name? “So if that’s what you’re worried about—”
“It’s not.”
My words stutter to a stop.
“I’m here because I want to talk to you.”
“You want to talk to me,” I echo.
“Yes.”
“But it’s not about Braxton?”
Before he can answer, my phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I take it out, it’s Dane’s name flashing across the screen.
“I should—”
“Don’t answer it.”
I blink up at him. “It’s just Dane—”
“Exactly.”
I...have no idea how to decipher that.
But anyway.
“This won’t take a—hey!”
The moment I try lifting the phone to my ear, things...happen. Or maybe my rescuer is inhumanly fast or I’m the one who’s unbelievably slow because the next thing I know, my back is against the wall again, and he’s caging me in with his body, one hand flat against the stone beside my head, the other curled around my wrist.
“W-What are you doing?”
“I told you.” His voice has dropped to something low and rough, and his face is so close I can see the individual shards of blue in his eyes. “I came here to talk.”