Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
I’m already thinking of a million other things I want to ask him because I’m pretty sure he’s not going to answer me when he does. “About a hundred miles north of the city.”
Surprise knocks the wind out of me, but I still persevere. “What, you think I’ve got a goddamn GPS stuck in my brain or something? What does that mean? What town?”
And we’re back to being silent.
I grit my teeth as I glare at him, at his beautiful, impassive face. “You stuck me with a needle, do you remember that? You knocked me out. You brought me out here, about a hundred miles north of the city, and tied me to a fucking tree. You have my best friend, and you won’t tell me what you want.” I lean forward again, looking him dead in the eye. “When I get out of these ropes, I’m going to kill you. And I’m going to make it slow. I’m going to make it painful, and when you’re dying, I want you to remember this conversation. I want you to remember that you fucked with the wrong girl.”
He takes me in once again, before surprisingly murmuring, “Already know that.”
“Know what?”
“That you’re the wrong girl.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“And the only way you’re gettin’ out of those ropes,” he says, “is if I decide to untie you.”
“You—”
“You wanna make that happen, you start keepin’ your pink little mouth shut and do what I tell you to do. Is that clear?” Then he adds, “Oh, and you wanna kill me, get yourself a bigger knife. The one you had before won’t even cut through my shirt.”
I blush. Instantly. Involuntarily. How stupid I was to think I could control him with a mere pocketknife. But then again, maybe, just maybe, I thought he’d prove me wrong. Somewhere deep down, I don’t think I was fully convinced that he’d hurt me. Or that he’d be involved in my best friend’s disappearance. Not after everything. Not after all these months.
God, I’ve been such a fool.
“Oh, I will get myself a bigger knife, you evil asshole. You just watch,” I tell him, anger burning in my veins even as my heart twists.
“That ain’t keepin’ your mouth shut,” he notes, his eyes roving over my features, taking in my flushed cheeks.
“Fuck keeping my mouth shut,” I say, leaning forward once again. “And fuck you. I’m going to fucking dance on your grave. Mark my words.”
He hums, watching me for a few beats. Then, “Seen the guys you run around with. They may follow your lead, but I ain’t like the city boys you play with. So I’d keep the threats to a minimum.”
Somehow I blush even harder, because of course he’s seen them. Of course; he’s seen it all, hasn’t he? He’s been watching me for months. For months, I thought he watched me for me. He wanted me for me. That somehow he was the exception in my world made of bad and cruel men. But he isn’t, is he? He’s just the same. Actually, no. He’s worse. He fooled me enough to make me feel alive.
“That’s why you watched me, didn’t you?” I ask, unable to keep the hint of brokenness from my voice. “For three months and four days. Because you were planning something. You were planning this. You were planning to kidnap my best friend and me. That’s the reason, isn’t it? That’s the reason you followed me, followed my every move, for three months and four days.”
He keeps staring into my eyes before he says, “Six months, three weeks, four days, fourteen hours, and thirty-six minutes.”
I blink. “What?”
“That’s how long I’ve been watchin’ you.”
My mouth falls open. “You… I didn’t… That’s…”
I don’t know which part I’m struggling with exactly. The fact that he’s been watching me for over six months or the fact he freaking remembers it down to the minute.
“Drink,” he finally says, tipping the bottle again.
But I’m still stuck at what he just said. “You… But I never… I never had a clue. Not until…”
That night. The one in the alley where he saved me from those three drunk assholes.
And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Why did you save me?”
His face doesn’t give anything away. Not even a hint of what he’s thinking or even if he heard me.
But I keep going. “That night? You came to my rescue. You… Why did you do that? Why did you… And what about all the other times? Why did you save me then? Why did you keep saving me? Why—”
“For myself,” he says in a raspy voice.
“You—”
“Every good hunter knows how to protect his prey from other predators,” he continues, his eyes flashing and downright animalistic-looking. “How to defend his territory, keep it safe, keep it fresh and scared. Just for himself.”