Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
When something flies through the air—I feel it pass by me in a whoosh, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up in a sudden chill—and thunks itself into the door.
A knife.
A pocketknife with a black handle and a sharp and glittery blade. It’s barely an inch away from my head, and the thought of that gap closing, and that blade lodging itself somewhere else other than the solid wood, makes me clench my eyes shut. It makes my heart pound so loudly that it could’ve been knocking at the door that the knife—and me—is stuck to right now. But no amount of mayhem in my body could’ve prevented that voice from reaching me.
That rough and deep, unused-as-the-sheet-over-my-body, voice.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Crazily, my initial thought is that this is probably the very first time he’s spoken since we met in the café. Like he said his last words to me and then didn’t speak up at all until now. Why that would matter, why that would even enter my brain, I don’t know. All I know is that he’s here. He’s behind me, and he just threw a knife at me.
He threw. A knife at me.
A knife.
Oh God, oh God; oh God, what is happening? What is this? What is…
“You run, I’ll catch you,” he goes on, raising goose bumps up and down my body. “Be a waste of both our times.”
I should turn around now. Instead of standing stuck to the door, staring at the knife that could’ve killed me, I should face him. I should show some strength. Even through the mind-numbing fear, I know that.
But I can’t move.
I’m shaking like a leaf, but I cannot make myself move.
Not even when I hear him take in a deep breath, as if sighing with impatience, followed by rustling in the background. Then, “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s not a lot of places that you can run to. Plus, I don’t really think you can run at all. The drug I gave you takes a while to wear off, and until it does, you’re gonna be disoriented and wobbly. So your best option is to stay here, get some rest.”
Drug.
He drugged me? He… Oh my God. In a flash, I whirl around and there he is.
Or at least, there his naked back is.
He’s standing at the chest of drawers, and his back is turned. There’s a towel wrapped around his narrow waist, but other than that, he isn’t wearing much of anything. I glance to the side where I see another door, ajar and with steam wafting out of it, telling me that he was in there, probably taking a shower. I was so occupied with everything else that I failed to notice there was a bathroom in here as well.
But I’m noticing now.
His hair’s wet, all dark and dripping drops of water. I watch them sluice their way down his thick, muscular neck before getting lost in the expanse of his back. And expanse is right because it’s huge. It’s muscular with dense, fanned-out shoulder blades and the sleek, tapering line of his spine.
I was right when I said he reminded me of the mountains I see through my window every day. Unwavering and strong, made of thick, burly muscles. They make him look like a fighter who could crush anyone with his fists. An outlaw, a criminal who snatches people off the streets.
Who snatched me.
I feel the bile rising up again, but I push it down because I’m not finished perusing his back. Because scary strong muscles aren’t the only thing that needs my attention; there’s something else on his back that needs to be studied. Up by his left shoulder blade, specifically.
A letter.
It’s the first letter of my name. An R; but most importantly, it’s a brand. Like the one you see on animals, on cattle. Put there by a hot, scalding iron; and oh my God, it’s insane. Why does he have a letter branded on his back?
A second later, my thoughts disintegrate because he drops his towel—the only thing that was covering him—and I clench my eyes shut again. I clench them and clench them so hard that I start to feel dizzy again. My knees start to shake, and my stomach feels queasy. I don’t know if—
“You can open your eyes now,” he says.
And they pop open.
The first thing I notice is that he’s covered. He has on a shirt and pants. I can’t tell very many details about them, other than they’re dark-colored, because my focus is on other things.
Like his face.
I know I saw him only yesterday, but I’m looking at him like I’m seeing him for the first time. And maybe I am because a day ago I thought he was the man of my dreams, but today I know he’s from my nightmares.