Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“I will!” Cass, Tate, and the twins all volunteered at once.
Wendy handed off plates, spoons, napkins, and glasses so they could all contribute.
Peter wore an expression of boredom as he waited for the soup to finish cooking, and Bayne kept to the shadows, always watching with that calculating stare from the outside looking in.
There was something unnatural about him as if his upbringing embedded a sense of distrust, and he didn’t know how to form relationships. Yet somehow, he stuck by Peter all these years.
“How did you all meet?” she asked, casually disguising her interest as she kneaded the dumplings.
“We were prisoners,” Peter said as he chomped on the scraps left on the cutting board.
“Prisoners? Of what?”
“A wretched beast who locked us in frigid cells where we had no choice but to serve the evil that trapped us.”
Was he joking? She thought he was, but the others lowered their gazes. She couldn’t tell if they did so to hide smirks or out of some form of respect.
“I escaped first.” Peter proclaimed, slamming down the cleaver to cut off the green leaves of a carrot. “Then Bayne. Then the others.”
She frowned. He spoke as if telling a bedtime story, but there was a solemness in the air that hinted at the truth.
Peter hopped off the stool and came to stand behind her, holding the carrot to her throat like a blade. “We were never captured again. From then on, we made the rules.”
“We take the prisoners,” Tate said, nodding in agreement.
“Like pirates,” Nibbs nodded.
Wendy cleared her throat and gently pushed away Peter’s hand. “Pirates?”
“Aye,” one of the twins said. “We take what we want and want for nothing.”
“You could be a pirate, too,” Peter told her. “We could call you something wicked, like Red-Handed Wendy—the innocent bird who escaped her cage and never got caught.”
She gave him an unimpressed side glance. “For a bird, I’m not the best when it comes to flying.”
“You’ll learn.”
Nibbs perked up. “We can teach you to swim, too! We can teach you anything you want to know. There are no rules here, except for one.”
“And what is that?”
“Peter’s in charge,” they all said at once.
She looked at each face, noting the resolute loyalty in their eyes. How did Peter become such a high-ranking leader among a group of seemingly equal friends? And how much of what they said was actually true?
“It’s time to clean the chicken from the bone,” she said, putting the crew to work.
Peter might be their leader, but they followed her orders easily, coming to work around the island and helping in any way they could. All but two.
Peter observed the Lost Boys, and Bayne observed Peter. Always on the outside. Always apart from the rest.
Of all the boys, Cass and Tate were her favorites. They were sweet, helpful, and eager to please. She was learning their personalities quickly. She bet Cass was a cuddler because he liked to touch everything and often put his hands on her shoulders in an open show of affection. She liked how he made her feel at ease.
Tate was the ultimate people-pleaser. The mere thought of disappointing others made him anxious, so he always asked what he could do next.
Nibbs was also helpful but in a much more flirtatious way. He’d reach for a spoon and casually touch her hip or playfully dot flour on her nose. The more she permitted, the further he pressed his luck, once even whipping a tea towel at her behind, but Peter stopped that with a quick reprimand.
“Enough,” Peter said, snatching the towel from Nibbs and tossing it aside.
He stepped behind Wendy, sheltering her body with his. Possessive arms slid beneath hers as he rested his chin on her shoulder in an unmistakable claim. The others instantly backed off.
She could have shouldered him away. She could have purposely given the other men more to do. But there was something pleasant about his territorial claim. No one had ever touched her so possessively, and while she wasn’t sure about her feelings for Peter, she was becoming more certain she wanted a man who would unflinchingly claim her as his own.
Preparing dinner was a bit like playing house. A hierarchy naturally formed, one where Peter played the role of father and Wendy was the mother. The Lost Boys deferred to Peter’s authority as much as they craved her nurturing praise.
That fantasy shattered, however, the moment Peter swept a hand under her shirt to grab a handful of flesh.
“Peter.” She caught his wrist and gave him a warning stare. Surely, he didn’t think to touch her with the Lost Boys present.
Peter met her glare with a grin and stepped forward, pressing the hard bulge of his arousal into her stomach. Her breath caught, and she arched back against the counter. He needed to stop.
“What are you doing?”