Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Harper emerges from the bathroom a moment later, her towel wrapped around her shoulders and the open wounds staring back at me. “I’m ready,” she says, pointing to her ribs.
I stand abruptly, leaving the kitchen knife on the mattress, and head back into the bathroom. Carefully avoiding her wounds, I hoist her back up onto the counter to fix her up.
She winces as I apply the antiseptic cream. “Fuck, that stings.”
“Just you wait until it’s a bullet wound. Now, that ain’t pretty.”
Her eyes widen. “You’ve been shot?”
I nod. “Three times.”
She gapes at me as though only just seeing me for the first time. “Holy fucking shit,” she breathes. “That either means you’re always throwing yourself in front of your teammates to save their asses, or you’re just really fucking bad at your job.”
I grin. “I’m bad at my job.”
“Bullshit.”
I laugh and leave it there. Now isn’t exactly the time to get into it, and I’m sure at some point she’s going to find every last scar on my body and demand a full rundown of how they got there, which I’m more than happy to give. But right now, I have questions of my own.
“Those ropes,” I say, watching as her body stiffens at the reminder. “When I was fixing the bed, I couldn’t see anything. Are you sure it was actually rope?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t exactly pause and ask him what kind of rope he was using. It looked like rope to me, but it wasn’t scratchy on my skin like I assume rope would feel. Not really sure.”
“Okay. And how’d you get out of them?”
I apply more cream and she winces again. “He released my ankles halfway through, but my wrists were still bound after he left. I had to rub them up against that knife after I called you. I’d only just gotten free when I heard you come through the door.”
“Shit, doll.”
She shrugs her shoulders and glances away, letting the bathroom fall into silence as I bandage her wounds. I’m left with even more questions than before I started. I mean, fuck. Where are the ropes? There was nothing but shredded blankets on the bed and blood from her cuts, but no ropes. It doesn’t make sense.
“I just have one more question, and then I swear, we can forget about it if that’s what you want. Or I can order something for dinner, and we can chill on the couch.”
“I’m not a fragile little petal that’s going to break, Knight. I’m fine to talk about it,” she says. “You don’t need to freak out about asking me questions.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
She arches a brow, and I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. I don’t want to ask you shit about it in case it fucks with your head. But I’m not freaking out. I’m a fucking SWAT officer. I’m trained specifically to not freak out.”
“Uh-huh.” I give her a blank stare and she rolls her eyes. “Fine. Ask your question so the bossy asshat can go back into retirement.”
“I just . . . I can’t work out what happened to the blankets.”
Her brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“They were cut into ribbons, doll,” I say, carefully, watching her closely. “Nothing you said in your recap explained how the blankets ended up like that, so I wasn’t sure if I’d missed something, or if that had happened later.”
“I . . . really don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, lifting her hand to my head. “Are you feeling alright? Nothing happened to the blankets.”
I nod, knowing damn well what I saw in that bedroom, but after the hell she’s been through today, I’m not about to push her on it. It’s not uncommon for victims to block out memories of their trauma in order to protect themselves, and if that is the case, I’m sure as fuck not about to make her relive something that she’s not ready to share with me.
“Okay,” I finally say, finishing with the bandages before lifting her off the counter and setting her back on her feet. “I’m gonna remake the bed and order takeout, and while I do that, you’re gonna call your boss and either tell him what the fuck has been going on or that you’ve come down with the flu. But either way, your ass is staying here tonight.”
“But—”
“No. You’re staying right here under my roof and on my fucking couch. We’re going to watch a movie like regular people. You’re not going to think about this asshole who keeps stalking you, and you’re going to have a good fucking time.”
She gapes at me, and I can just imagine the comment about being bossy, but I don’t give a shit.
“And if I wanted to take you to bed and sit on your face instead?”
“Then I think it’s important for you to know that I can be a very understanding man who cares only for giving those around me what they need most. But doll,” I say, grabbing her waist and pulling her in, my tone lowering to a whispered rumble. “If you’re going to spend hours riding my face, then you better drop right down and fucking suffocate me with it.”