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)
My stomach growls as if awakened by his words, and if that light in his eyes is any indication, I know, I know, he hears it. But I ignore it. “No, thank you. I won’t touch the food you give me with a ten-foot pole.” I don’t know what makes me say it, but I add, “Plus, I don’t eat bacon.”
That gives him pause. “What?”
“I’m a vegetarian,” I inform him or, rather, lie.
He looks at me for a second. “You’re a vegetarian.”
“Yes.” Then, “It’s funny that it never came up before. You know, when you were lying to me and pretending to be my Bo for six whole months.” I notice his jaw clench at this, but I keep going: “I think killing animals for food is disgusting. Killing animals for sport”—I make it a point to look around the room and at all the animal heads—“is disgusting. You are disgusting.”
Again, he looks at me for a second or two, his jaw tight. Then, with a deep breath, he says, “Fine, I’ll get you some grass to munch on the way.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snap, barely resisting the urge to stomp my foot. “Not until you answer my questions.”
“Why, do you think you could stop it if you knew where we’re goin’ and what’s gonna happen to you when we get there?”
What’s going to happen to me…
Okay, okay.
Don’t panic.
Do not panic.
I breathe through my nose, fill my lungs and my body with air and determination. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Look, this is insane, okay? This is absolutely fucking insane. This is… You can’t keep me here. You can’t… You can’t kidnap people. This is not normal. None of this is normal. This is…” I open my eyes and let him see my frustration. “I don’t know why you want revenge. I don’t know what they did but they did something, didn’t they? This isn’t just some family feud. This isn’t about Grayson-Turner rivalry. I know it. I knew it back then when we were…” I take a deep breath because my belly is clenching in pain. “When we were writing to each other. You never… said anything but I knew. And I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry that bad things happened to you. I’m sorry they did what they did. But it has nothing to do with me. Nothing. So please let me go. This is… This is not fair. I don’t deserve this. And”—I shake my head—“whatever it is you’re planning, it’s not going to bring you peace. I know you think it’s all bullshit, that I read it in books or whatever, but it’s the truth. Revenge is not the way. Revenge is not the answer. It’s not—”
“You done?”
My breaths are choppy and so fast, it feels like I will pass out. “Just please, okay? Don’t do this. Don’t—”
“Eat your breakfast or don’t. You got thirty minutes,” he says, unfolding his arms and pushing away from the door, once again ready to put this behind him.
And I just…
Lose it.
I completely lose it, but this time as I scream, I go for the plate. I pick up the breakfast he left for me and throw it at him. I don’t even know where it lands, but the sound tells me that the plate also shatters like the glass. I’m busy picking up the fork that’s lying on the nightstand and clutching it in my hand like the knife.
And I launch myself at him, fork poised to stab, but before I can take even two steps toward my target, he gets to me himself. He grabs me around the waist, picks me off the ground, spins me around, and plasters my back to his chest. All in one fluid, scary move. And now I’m standing here, trapped in his grip, his muscular arm like a steel band around my belly.
Very easily, like child’s play, he divests me of the fork and throws it aside. Even through my heavy breathing, I hear it clatter to the floor pathetically. And then, oh God, then, he wraps his fingers around my neck and squeezes.
Not hard, not soft, just firm, and all my noisy breaths stop.
I go still. I’m not even shaking. I’m petrified, turned into stone.
Even so, I can feel him behind me.
Like a dark predator, his chest moving, breathing, sliding across my spine; his heat—God, he’s so hot, almost burning up—making me sweat; his scent making me dizzy. And his hands on me, large and rough, threatening. This is what I imagine being in the clutches of a wolf or a panther would feel like.
Helpless and afraid.
So, so afraid.
But I don’t think my skin is supposed to break out in goose bumps or that my nerves should feel electric like they do now. I don’t think I should be opening my mouth to breathe him in more or feel a quickening in my belly when I do.