Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Just let me in,” he pleads. My eyebrows dip because I wonder if he truly understands what he’s asking for. I doubt there’s anything of equal significance that he can offer me.
“The fact that I’ve let you live this long shows I care, doesn’t it?” I say quietly, picking up the coffee and taking a small sip just so I can focus on something else.
“It’s not enough. You’re buried so deeply under my skin now that I need it all, Shortcake. I need all of you. Not just a taste or a moment. You’re mine.”
I want to laugh at him and publicly humiliate him so he’ll never blurt such absurdities again. But my heart races, pounding hard, as I realize I’m on the edge of having something I never thought was possible.
Why is love the most dangerous thing I’ve encountered? I want to trust him, but how could I be stupid enough to give my heart and secrets to my family’s enemy? Yet, I haven’t shot him down.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say in an even quieter tone. “We’re not meant for each other.”
“You don’t believe that. You know damn well you’re the perfect fit for me. I’m the only man who indulges your fantasies, plays your games, and actually survives them. You’re the only woman for me. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”
“I think you’ve lost your mind,” I whisper, trying my hardest to flick away his honesty. But what if it’s a trick? It doesn’t feel like a trick, though. I’m falling further and further into uncharted territory, and I have a choice to remain in my comfort zone or fall— even if it’s my undoing.
“Come home with me,” he says, standing and tossing some cash on the table.
“No.”
“It wasn’t a request. Come home with me,” he repeats, offering me his hand. “There’s something I have to show you.”
I’m conflicted. I can either reach out and take his hand or leave without looking back. I want to go with him, and I’m doing everything in my power not to. I don’t know who or what to trust anymore. For self-preservation sake, I should walk away. I’ve done so many reckless things in my life, but I know Braxton Hero is the one thing that will utterly devastate and ruin me.
It’s precisely why I take his hand. Because no matter what, I have to see where this will end. Even when I’m certain I already know the outcome—him in a body bag.
He asked me what we were, and I had no answer for him. Because, in truth, I don’t know what we are. I’m not sure I’ll ever know. I don’t want to kill him, but I don’t want anyone else to kill him, either. I like the way he looks at me and the way he touches me. Braxton is not a man I ever thought I’d be attracted to in this way. I mean, I want him by my side permanently. I’d never even thought about permanency with someone until he reentered my life.
I make a quick detour to my car to tell the driver to leave. As usual, he’s reluctant, but this time, I take a chapter out of my father’s book. The most effective ways to motivate someone are by threatening them or bribing them. So I throw a thousand dollars in his lap and tell him to enjoy his evening.
Then I allow Braxton to lead me to his car. It’s stupid, really. Every step by his side is leading to the inevitable. But I can’t stay away. I don’t want to stay away. And I want answers just as much as he does.
We sit in silence as he drives us to his apartment. His callused hand holds mine, and I stare down at it, thinking about all the possibilities if we could have a future together. I don’t care about his financial situation; I can afford anything I want in this world. But the one thing I need more than I ever realized is to be understood. I need Braxton to see the real me, but it’s a gamble. It’s torture to love this man. My secret is right on the edge of my tongue, even when I’ve surrounded myself with so many lies.
I want Braxton to know I’m a killer, not just someone who finds inspiration in photos of dead bodies, but who actually craves the high and thrill of sending someone to the land of the dead.
Would he still hold my hand like this, or would he immediately put me behind bars?
When we pull up at his apartment building, Braxton’s gaze narrows, and I follow where he’s looking. His partner is standing out front, smoking a cigarette. It’s almost one in the morning, and visits around this time—unless from a lover—aren’t usually a good thing.