Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Not him, though.
He gets a few drops of juice on him, but other than that he’s safe. The glass, unfortunately, hits the door, probably the same spot as the knife, before shattering into countless pieces that rain down on the floor. The thwack makes me flinch, but I’m not deterred. I stand with my fists tight, my chest trembling.
Slowly, he turns around to face me.
He glances down at the broken pieces of glass along with puddles of liquid before his eyes come back up to me. And that roughened look, the one that made me think he probably didn’t sleep at all, is gone. His eyes are alert now. His thickly stubbled jaw is firmly set, and even though the rest of his features are as blank as ever, I can still sense the thrum of intensity just beneath the surface.
It makes me waver a little bit. That lurking threat, but fuck that.
Fuck being afraid.
Fuck cowering. I’m so angry right now. So, so angry. And it’s not just him toying with me; it’s also the fact that this is happening in the first place. That somehow this is my life right now. Somehow, after doing everything right, after being cautious and careful and playing by all the rules, I still ended up here.
I still ended up like my mother, falling for the wrong man.
I lift my chin up. “Tell me where we’re going.”
Because I’m going to fix it.
I’m going to get myself out of here. I’m going to save myself. Unlike my mother. And I’m going to save my best friend too. Because he doesn’t want me, does he? His entire plan—whatever the fuck it is—hinges on Peyton, but he isn’t going to get her.
I won’t let him.
He takes me in, my raised chin, my heaving chest. My fisted hands and my battle stance.
Good.
Let him see I’m not some doormat who’s going to lie down and let him walk all over me. I’m not a little college girl who’ll let him do anything he wants just because he’s a big, bad criminal cowboy.
Once he’s finished with his perusal, I see his chest moving with a long breath as he shifts and leans against the door. He crosses his arms as if he’s hunkering down, settling in for the long haul. Then, “No.”
I clench my fists harder. “So then, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I think you are.”
“No, I’m not. Not until you tell me exactly where we’re going and why we’re going there.”
Again, he takes his time responding.
He takes in my cheeks that must be flushed right now; the pulse fluttering in the base of my throat; my hair probably in disarray and all sleep-mussed. And something in his gaze changes. I don’t know what it is, but it darkens and glitters as he challenges, “Or what?”
“Or I’ll…”
I trail off, trying to think of an appropriate response, but he takes advantage of my pause and says, “Scream?”
“You—”
“There’s no one around to hear you. Middle of nowhere, remember?”
“I—”
Cocking his head to the side, he keeps going: “And didn’t you already do that last night?” I open my mouth to retort, but he gets there before me. “Not sure it did anything except give me a headache, so I’d save my breath.”
“Oh, I’ll take the headache,” I say, glaring at him. “Maybe this time if I scream loud enough, I can make your head explode.”
His eyes glitter with a light I don’t understand but that gets my heart racing. “Or maybe I can gag you again. And if that doesn’t take care of the problem, I can always give you the tranq. I don’t want to, but I will.”
My heart thuds. “The tranq?”
“The sedative,” he explains. “Also known as xylazine.”
I frown, my mind racing, and then it dawns on me. “That’s… You gave me a horse tranquilizer?”
His eyes glitter again. “Yeah.”
“But that’s… that’s dangerous. That’s so… It’s found in illegal substances,” I say, my voice squeaky.
“I’m aware.”
“You could’ve overdosed me.”
Something like arrogance flickers through his face before he says, “Haven’t been a cowboy in eight years, but I know my tranq doses. Besides, it was for your own safety.”
“Safety?” I repeat, my voice even squeakier.
“Yeah, more than screamin’ inside my trunk, couldn’t have you movin’ around and hitting somethin’, hurtin’ yourself in the process.”
“But you can’t just… I could’ve been allergic.”
“You seem fine to me, but”—he looks me up and down—“I could always check you for rashes.”
“You—”
“Now, if there’s nothing else, how about you eat your breakfast before it gets cold and then get ready to go.” He jerks his chin at me. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”
God.
Oh my God.
Glaring at him, I snap, “I’m not eating your stupid breakfast.”
“You probably should.”
“What makes you think I’ll eat anything after what you just told me?”
“Probably because you skipped dinner last night and must be hungry.”