Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
That he’s not your salvation.
He’s your undoing.
The devil in a pinstripe shirt and wingtip shoes who garnishes his Manhattans with cherries soaked in your menstrual blood.
He always said that was when I tasted the most “like his”.
“Bunnnnnyyyyyyyy,” he creepily calls out prior to letting an equally unsettling smirk slide onto his face. “Sweeeeet Peeeeeaaaaa…”
Memories of being awake yet unable to move in a cushy bed swiftly come soaring to the front of my mind alongside the term of endearment being whispered in my ear as he slowly brushed my hair.
Coated my lips with lipstick.
Then his tongue.
Erased the shade he had carefully colored only to moan while putting it on all over again.
Coo that his little toy was almost too pretty to touch.
An amalgamation of tears and bile begin burning the back of my throat, pushing me to get going.
Moving.
To do whatever it takes to not go back.
To never fucking go back.
I won’t go through that shit again.
And my child will never be anywhere near it.
“I did what you wanted…” Brad proudly declares at the same time he reaches into the bed of Mutt’s truck to retrieve something. “I came for you.”
Regret over my challenge isn’t given time to settle into my system courtesy of me clambering over into the driver’s seat.
Look, I may not be the best at driving stick, but I know I can do it well enough to run his ass over.
It’s gear shifting, not maintaining accounts receivable.
And I’ll happily pay for any and all surgery Miss X needs afterward.
“Did you get my love note?” His movement prompts me to steal another glance to see the hammer he’s acquired. “I addressed it to you.”
Yeah.
I caught that when the wedding ring had my fucking name inscribed on it.
Knowing better than to engage – to not waste precious time engaging – I rush to turn the key only to clutch onto nothing.
No…
No!
Disbelief darts my glare down to examine the empty space, to visually scour for the item I’m sure just slipped out of the ignition when I was crawling over, to desperately swivel it around for a glimmer of the piece of metal that I want to be where it isn’t rather than in my boyfriend’s pocket where it most likely is.
Fuck!
“Did you like it?” Brad continues to inquire as if I’m actually going to respond, hammer carefully being swung around in aimless circles.
Maybe I should just run.
Run and keep running and never look back?
“Have you missed me?”
No.
Maybe I should run for help?
But help from who?
Who’s around to help?
Our town is fucking empty.
Everyone’s at that fucking festival…
Which is what he was counting on.
Fuck. Me.
“Tell me you’re ready to come home…”
He’s thought this through.
And I need to do the same.
Just quickly.
My attention cuts back to where his approach hasn’t sped up whatsoever, informing me of the painfully obvious.
Not only does he not believe me to be a threat, he knows my men aren’t coming to help me because he made sure they couldn’t.
He took out my extra line of defense.
Isolated me.
Has me trapped like a poor defenseless version of my namesake.
Well, fuck him for that.
I am not the same fragile woman he derived pleasure from undressing and bathing and hand feeding drugged food.
I am damn sure not that too scared to scream or speak female he’d drunkenly hold the nose of while he rammed his dick down my throat as his mother watched through the crack of the door.
Touching herself.
No!
I am stronger!
I am smarter!
And I will do whatever is fucking necessary to get out of this!
I swore to him he wouldn’t be leaving this town alive, and come hell or highwater, I’m going to make do on my promise.
“Tell me you’re done playing this game…”
Okay, so he’s got a weapon, which means I need a weapon.
“Hide and seek is always fun at first,” my stalker coos out, distance steadily closing. “But you took it a bit too far this time, Sweet Pea.”
Perk of The Kid’s overly organized vehicle?
Makes it quite obvious what’s available for use.
And truthfully?
The options suck.
We’re talking malfunctioning excel formula suck.
“You wanted to make me jealous…”
No.
I wanted to be happy.
“And then you wanted to make me extremely jealous.”
No.
I wanted to actually live.
“I did not like that.”
The change in his tone has me cutting a small glimpse upward to see that I have even less time than I thought.
Fuck!
I gotta find something!
I gotta come up with something!
I gotta get out of this car and buy myself a bit of time!
Construct a better weapon.
Find my guys.
Make sure they’re alive.
I mean…they have to be.
I’d feel it if they weren’t.
Which I know sounds crazy and insane and insane crazy, but it doesn’t make it any less true.
Kind of like having a man convince himself of a relationship that no longer exists.
Or that the relationship he crafted us having was romantic rather than abusive.
Reaching for the pen I abandoned earlier craftily precedes positioning it on the side of my leg out of sight.