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)
“You know,” I begin sweetly, even though I’m sort of quaking on the inside, “if you keep talking about my best friend, I’m going to take offense. We’re married, remember?”
His dark eyes glitter. “And if you take offense, I’m gonna assume you’re jealous. Like you were about the stripper.”
I scoff. “I was not jealous about the stripper.”
“No?”
“No,” I say sternly. “You can do whatever you want with whomever you want.”
His lips pull up in a slight smirk. “That your wedding vow?”
My heart races. “No, it’s me saying: I don’t care about what you do because I’m running away the first chance I get.”
“You’ve got nowhere to run, remember?” he taunts, his words dripping danger.
I do. There are woods everywhere, and again, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make my way out of this place. But just like stealing the knife, I need to try.
“Well, I’d rather take my chances with the wild animals than stick by the side of a man who’s hell-bent on using me for his revenge plans.” I pause and then add, “Plans that, by the way, I don’t even know about. Like, what the hell do you want me for specifically?”
This makes him draw a breath, his chest swelling up and down. “Why don’t you let me worry about that part?”
Clutching the fork, I frown at him. “Are you listening to yourself? I’m involved in this too. You got me involved. Without my say-so. You ruined my future for this. I think I have a right to know.”
He clenches his jaw for a second or two before clipping, “Future.”
“Yes,” I insist. “Did you think about that for even a second, how this affects me? You know what I want to do with my life, don’t you? I told you. I told you when I’ve never, not once, told anyone. You know I want to work with domestic violence victims because of my history. I was going to volunteer at the shelters this summer. That’s why I wasn’t doing a shift at the library. You know all this and you still—”
“You can still do that,” he cuts me off.
“What?”
“Not gonna keep you tied to my bed, if you cooperate,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “You wanna volunteer at the shelter, be my guest.”
“This is your solution? Keep me married to you until you get your revenge and in the meantime, I go fulfill my dreams?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He throws that at me so casually and in such a calm voice that mine goes up. “What I wanted was to not be here, okay? What I wanted was to not be lied to and kidnapped and forced to marry a criminal, to not be used for your revenge. What about love?”
Something about him goes unnaturally still at this.
I can see his chest moving with his breaths. I can also see his jaw pulsing. Those flames are still dancing in his dark eyes, but something about him, within him, around him, has gone still. Maybe the night air. Maybe the earth has stopped moving. Again, all I know is that I feel this change in him and I’m forced to go still too.
Then, with a harsh clench of his jaw that I feel in my own teeth, he goes, “What about love?”
“I”—I swallow—“want it.”
I loved you.
I don’t know where that thought comes from. Although, it shouldn’t be a surprise because it is the truth.
His eyes narrow. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna be like your mother.”
I wince. “I don’t.”
He watches me for a beat. “So this is perfect, ain’t it?”
“What’s perfect?”
“There’s no chance in hell you’re ever gonna fall in love with a criminal.”
I already did. Once.
But I keep my mouth shut and my spine straight under the massive ache in my chest and belly that’s begging me to curl into myself.
“Because love’s worse than any wild animal in these woods,” he continues. “A wolf would kill you but love’s the kind of animal that’ll eat you up but won’t let you die. It’ll keep you alive and in pain for the rest of your life.”
IS HE SLEEPING?
I can’t say for sure because he’s sitting up against a tree and not lying down on a sleeping bag like me. His back is leaning into the trunk with one leg drawn up and his face dipped low. So much so that his chin touches his chest. A softly breathing chest, I should add. I watch it go up and down for a few moments in the dying embers of the fire. Then I watch his arms. They’re folded across his chest, and they’re locked so tight that I can see the hills of his biceps. He appears more like someone keeping watch than someone in a deep slumber.
Plus, I don’t think he ever sleeps, as impossible as that sounds. But then, I watch as one of his arms goes slack and falls to his thigh. Followed by a low release of breath. And my heart starts pounding because he’s asleep after all.