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)
He watches me do all that, his eyes first flicking down to my mouth that starts tingling before settling on my neck for a few moments. My throat goes dry the longer he watches me, and my pulse seems to be hurtling at a dizzying speed. When he finally meets my gaze, his eyes are so shiny and intense that I have to clutch the dresser to steady myself.
“Not about the rope,” he drawls, his voice low. “It’s about the knot. The loops you make, the retrace, the dress.”
“The… what?”
“It’s about pullin’ the ends,” he goes on, his eyes green and glittering, “to set the knot in a way that it only tightens. And tightens.”
“Well—”
“And keeps tightenin’, the more you struggle to break it.”
“That’s—”
“Until you breathe only when I tell you to breathe,” he finishes.
I swallow, the bandanna feeling tighter around my neck. “That’s, uh, quite graphic.”
He jerks his chin at me. “Unlike the knot you’ve got.”
I touch the knot at my neck and clear my throat. “I—”
“Or,” he continues, “the other option’s to just hog-tie you.”
“Hog… hog-tie?”
“No one gets out of a hog-tie,” he advises, educating me. “Bet all those city boys you play with didn’t know that.”
“I do not play with—”
“Let alone city girls, who ain’t never seen a rope before.”
“I’ve seen a”—I clear my throat—“rope before.”
He watches me a second before observing, “But never tied it.”
“Of course not. Why would I—”
“Never been tied by one either.”
“Well, this is my first time getting kidnapped, so”—I attempt to clear my throat again—“pardon me if I’m not an expert on ropes and knots and… whatever.”
His eyes flash, and I swear I see his lips twitch, his scar flickering a bit. But the almost smirk disappears quickly.
Ignoring it, I tip my head to gesture at the wall again. “So these are just for the animals, right?”
He leans against the wooden post then, his chest moving with a breath. “What else would they be for?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my heart beating really loudly in my ears. “Strangling people, maybe?”
At this, he crosses his arms across his massive chest, making it look even more massive and corded. “Don’t need rope for that.”
Of course not; his hands are enough. The image of him almost choking Jensen to death in the parking lot last night is seared into my brain. It scared me, how easy it was for him to do that, wrap his hand around someone’s throat and almost cut off their air without breaking a sweat. But it also felt… right. Him taking vengeance on my behalf. I’m not one of those people who think cutting violence through violence isn’t the right way. I know violence is as necessary as surrender, and I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened if he hadn’t arrived when he did. But I’m not going there. I’m not thinking about how he saved me only to trap me himself. I’m also not going to analyze why he clenched his jaw just now. Or that it feels like he did it because he’s thinking about the same thing as me, that guy from the parking lot.
Instead, I glance down at his hands peeking out of his folded arms. I notice the absence of a wrap or a bandage and ask, “How’s your hand?”
He unclenches his stubbled jaw with difficulty and replies, “Finally stopped bleedin’.”
“That’s good I guess,” I say, swallowing. “I mean, I totally tried to maim you. Not that you didn’t deserve it, but still.” Then, for some reason I also add, “In fact, I think you should see a doctor…”
I wanted to say more but thankfully stopped myself because what the fuck am I doing? I don’t care if he sees a doctor or not, or that it bled a little too much, or at least more than I thought it should have. His stupid hand can fall off for all I care.
“Why,” he goes, “you rabid or somethin’?”
I gasp. “What?”
“Along with being a stubborn little filly that keeps wanderin’ off and is in desperate need of lassoin’.”
“You’re such a—”
“Told you to keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, didn’t I?”
“I’m not your—”
“And yet, you’re here,” he keeps going. “Also, this is the second time, ain’t it?”
“Second time what?”
“That you’ve strutted into a place your ass don’t belong. Just like the bar last night. Tryna hunt somethin’ that’s way faster and more dangerous than you.”
My belly churns at his words. He’s right. This is the second time. That I’ve tried to get one up on him but instead got caught. I wonder, if I hadn’t baited him at the bar, would it have been so easy for him to take me? Actually, who am I kidding; of course it would’ve been easy for him. I mean, just look at him. He’s not only tall and broad and muscular, but he knows how to use those things to his advantage. How to not only use his strength to crush someone but also how to stay still and hidden until it’s time to strike.