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)
“Stay in the car.”
I draw back at the sudden change of topic, and for the first time since we started this journey, I look away from him. And I realize two things: First, we’ve come to a stop. And second, we’ve come to a stop at a ranch. I’ve been so focused on him that I have no idea how long it took us to get here, but it looks like we’re parked on a dirt road and there’s a corral right in front of us. There are palominos trotting along the fence and a couple of ranch hands brushing other horses’ coats and tending to their hooves. A sprawling house stands against the backdrop of a large field that also holds grazing horses, and then, as always, off in the distance is the ever-present chain of mountains that you find in Montana no matter where you go.
Before I can turn to him and ask what this place is and what we’re doing here, he climbs out of the car and prowls away, leaving me stunned. He heads toward the barn that sits right adjacent to the corral, and as he nears it, I see the barn door opening. A guy comes out wearing a Stetson and leather chaps. I watch them have a conversation, and it’s so reminiscent of yesterday that ignoring his decree, I jump out of the car and head toward them.
I get there just as the guy walks away and I demand, “Who was he?”
My eyes are on the guy as he heads back to the barn, which is probably why I don’t see Arsen move closer to me. So close that I feel him breathing down my neck. I feel his big hard chest, which was plastered to my spine yesterday while he held my throat captive, moving. My heart races, and for some reason, instead of turning around to face him, I choose to watch the guy as he disappears inside the barn.
“Is he your buddy?” I blurt out. “Like the sheriff?”
Ignoring me, he rasps, “You didn’t stay in the car.”
Even though we’re not touching, his words vibrate through my body, raising goose bumps. “Are you going to stab him too if I ask him for help?”
I hate that my words sounded more breathy than stern. But he’s so fucking close and his breaths are so warm and I want him to get away from me.
“I’ll stab him if he touches you.”
“That’s—”
“Or if you touch him.”
“What?”
“So you better save all your pleadin’ and beggin’ for me,” he goes on, his voice deep and sort of hypnotic.
I curl my fingers into a fist, still keeping my back turned and my eyes straight ahead; I have no clue what I’m seeing, though, because something occurs to me. “Did you… Is that why you stabbed Sheriff Cooper in the arm specifically? Because I t-touched it.”
Because that’s what he did, didn’t he? He stabbed Cooper’s arm, and before that he kept staring at it with a dangerous intent.
A strange kind of intensity wafts from him and his voice. “Don’t like when men put their hands on things that belong to me just as much as I don’t like those things putting their hands on other men.”
My heart jumps to my throat, beating in a mad rhythm. “That’s… that’s psychotic.”
“Maybe.”
“And I’m not a thing,” I remind him.
He hums. “Semantics.”
“And I definitely, definitely do not belong to you.”
“I’ve got a paper in my pocket that says different.”
At this, along with my rapidly beating heart, the blood starts rushing in my veins like crazy too. “That paper does not hold up.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a lie. You forced me to sign it under false pretenses.”
He hums again. “Well, you did sign it, didn’t you?”
“That doesn’t—”
“It’s your name on there.”
Something about his tone makes my belly churn. It feels knowing. Like, somehow, he knows that I’m lying. It’s impossible, though. There’s no way for him to know. I won’t let him know.
“Isn’t it?” he prods when I stay silent.
Breathing in deep, I straighten my spine. “Yes.”
“So then, you’re mine.”
“I’m—”
“And no one puts their hands on what’s mine.”
I close my eyes for a second and gather myself. I curl and uncurl my fingers. I fist my dress and suck in my belly. All in an attempt to not fall apart at his rough tone. His possessive tone.
Clearing my throat, I change the subject and try again: “Who is he?”
I feel him shift behind me. “His brother works at Rawhide; one of the wranglers.”
“What are we doing here?”
“You’re about to find out.”
“Why can’t you just…” I breathe in and out for the hundredth time before I continue, “Tell me about last night.”
“What about last night?”
“What happened after I fell asleep?” I ask because for some reason, I can’t get it out of my head. “No matter how scary it is, I need to know.”