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)
We’re quickly approaching the sign marking the start of the Grayson territory, and I tear my eyes away from it to look at the man beside me. My heart slams in my chest as I stare at him, at his thick and muscular body. That black leather Stetson on his head with dark hair curling from under it. I don’t know when he put the hat on, but somehow it makes him look even more sinister. A cowboy who’s a hunter too. He’s so tall and large that he dwarfs the interior of his own truck. He’s so strong that he could take this machine apart with his bare hands. It wouldn’t even matter that one of his hands is injured and his makeshift bandage is completely soaked with his blood now. It wouldn’t matter if I somehow found a way to run from him, if I somehow got myself untied and jumped out of this truck right this second. He’d catch me. He’d rope me again and drag me to the place of my nightmares, kicking and screaming.
How could he be anyone other than a Grayson? Cold and beautiful, ruthless.
“You’re a Grayson,” I breathe out, my throat dry and my breath choppy.
He doesn’t seem surprised to find me awake. Even though he’s kept his eyes on the road this whole time, I’m sure he knew the moment I opened mine and became alert. He also doesn’t seem surprised that I’ve finally put all the pieces together. I bet he enjoyed that, enjoyed watching me struggle with confusion. Just like he enjoyed stalking me, toying with me, hunting me all these months.
I fist my roped hands behind my back. “You hate me. You were born to hate me.”
A muscle jumps in his unscarred cheek in response.
“And I was born to hate you,” I finish.
Again a muscle jumps in his cheek, but that’s his only response and it makes me so angry. So fucking furious. All this time, all this fucking time, he knew. He knew what he was doing. He knew that because of who he is and who I am that he’s the biggest threat to me, to the Turner Princess. He knew everything, and I was the clueless one. I was the one left in the dark, and like a naive idiot, I used the darkness to dream. To weave stupid girlish fantasies rather than realizing I was in danger. That instead of simply watching me through my bedroom window, he could’ve climbed in at any time and grabbed me by the throat. And I would’ve gladly offered him my neck without realizing he could kill me if he wanted to.
“So this is…” I can’t seem to catch my breath; it’s as if he’s strangling me right this second. “So this is really about the land then? About… about my father?”
He of course doesn’t offer any help.
I should shut up now, but I can’t. I’m too afraid, too restless, petrified. “Are you… are you going to kill me?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch on his face or in his towering frame.
“Answer me,” I demand.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance.
My chest is heaving now. “Answer me, asshole. Are you going to kill me? Is that why you’ve brought me here? To your ranch.” When he still looks like he hasn’t heard me, I lean forward, despite my shoulders screaming in protest. “Listen to me. If I’m going to be murdered at the hands of a fucking Grayson, I need to know. Do you understand that? I need to fucking know that I’ll die because men like you exist in this world. Greedy and evil and fucking power hungry with dicks so small—”
My words come to a halt because the truck jolts to a stop, and I snap my eyes away from him to take in my surroundings. We’ve stopped at a circular driveway in front of what could only be called a mansion. The front is constructed of horizontal wooden logs, and there are wide steps leading up to a wraparound porch, complete with rocking chairs and potted plants. A giant picture window looks into a massive living space that houses a ton of leather furniture. For a few seconds, I don’t really get it. I don’t really grasp the existence of such a huge, sprawling, well-kept mansion when we’re supposed to be in a place of my nightmares. When there should be run-down cabins and barbed wire everywhere.
Is this where the Graysons live?
I don’t get time to process that, though, because once again, the truck jolts. This time because the man who brought me here climbs out and slams the door shut. I watch him round the hood and come for me. And God, I don’t want to show any fear, not to him, not now when I know who he is, but I can’t help but scoot away when he reaches the door at my side. I can’t help but flinch when he opens the door and his eyes lock with mine. All green and stunning, cold and mean. Just like his face. Just like the scar on the left side of it. I’ve dreamed of him for so long, of his eyes, that scar; I’ve felt him for so long, watching me, following my every move, seemingly keeping me safe, that as I look at him in this moment, I can’t quite believe it. I can’t believe that he’s someone I’m supposed to hate. That he’s someone who hates me. That this was all a ploy against my father.