Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Maybe I could’ve changed clothes on the way, but fuck me, I savored the thought of confronting Jag in this dress.
Too bad I lost the nerve to paint the white satin in his blood.
But I haven’t given up on my revenge. I’m not leaving this frigid hellhole until Jag pays for what he’s done.
“So you don’t talk to strangers.” Wolfson strolls along at my side. “I respect that.”
“Why are you following me?” I stop walking, cutting him a razored glare.
“You’re the darkest, most vengeful Disney princess I’ve ever met.” An infuriating grin transforms his gorgeous face.
“You meet a lot of Disney princesses?”
“No. I’ve waited my whole life for you.”
I scoff, turn, and keep walking.
“All right, I’ll bite.” He trails behind, his voice all lazy curiosity. “What’s the plan?”
I walk faster, scanning the dark streets, looking for a way to lose him.
“I know you’re good at running. I can tell you’ve been doing it for years.” He lights up another cigarette. “But eventually, Princess Bride, you’ll have to stop.”
Something twists in my chest. I don’t like that he sees me. That he’s reading between the lines of my silence.
“And when you do…” He bends closer, his growl dark and silken. “You’ll need someone. Might as well be me.”
My throat locks up.
No. I don’t need anyone. Not now. Not ever.
“Not in this lifetime, Wolfson.” I yank the rifle’s strap higher on my shoulder and resume walking, refusing to acknowledge how deep his words land.
“My friends call me Wolf.”
“I’m not your friend.” I turn sharply down a side street, my heart hammering.
I need to lose him.
The alleyways are empty and unlit, the buildings looming with places to hide.
At the next corner, I race ahead, zigzag around multiple turns, and duck behind a dumpster, pressing myself into the shadows, listening.
Nothing.
Good. Maybe he’s gone.
After several minutes of silence, I creep forward, my breath shallow.
The alley holds still, the path clear. As I turn to check the other direction, a hand snatches my wrist, yanking me backward.
My body collides with solid muscle, the scent of mint and cruelty filling my nose.
Jag.
“Running back to me already, Little Bird?” His fingers bite into my skin. “That was fast.”
My breath halts. The air around us thins, the world shrinking. Blood pulses in my ears, frantic and rushing.
“Let go.” I wrench away, lifting the rifle between us, the barrel aimed at his chest.
“You won’t shoot me.” He gives me those eyes. The melty, amber-gold bedroom eyes that enthrall everyone.
But not me. Not anymore.
I don’t lower the gun.
“You won’t. You never could.” He slowly extends an arm, reaching for the weapon. “I’m all you have.”
A chill snakes down my spine, and my muscles lock.
He moves too fast. One second, he’s in front of me. The next, he’s knocking the rifle from my grip. The impact numbs my hands as the weapon clatters to the pavement.
I rear back, but he’s faster, his arm banding around my waist, his strength overwhelming. He lifts me off the ground, dragging me backward.
“Let me go!” I thrash and kick, bucking against his chest.
“Never.” His lips brush against my ear, a menacing growl. “You belong to me.”
Panic explodes. I claw at his arms, twisting, struggling, but his grip only tightens.
A sharp whistle cleaves the night air.
He whirls, his clutch faltering for half a second.
I slam my elbow into his ribs, and he grunts, his hold loosening. I drop to the ground and scramble for the rifle.
Just as my fingers close around it, he rips it away and springs to his feet. Panting, I roll onto my back and meet his soulless gaze. He stares back, aiming the gun at my face.
I’m fucked.
He used to love me, I think. When we were kids, when our parents died, he protected me like it was his purpose in life. Then everything changed. He changed.
He became this.
I let my head rest on the pavement and force my muscles to relax. Our eye contact hangs, throbbing with history and pain. So much pain it’s hard to hold his gaze. But if he’s going to kill me, I want him to look into my eyes as he does it.
His finger twitches on the trigger.
My lungs shrivel.
As I wait for my death, a shadow lunges from the darkness. Fast and silent, the silhouette crashes into Jag with a force of pure violence.
They hit the cement with a sickening thud, the impact echoing through the night like a gunshot. In a blur of limbs, they explode into a brutal, unrelenting brawl.
I don’t realize it’s Wolf until I see the glint of his eyes. He moves like a feral animal, his hand locking around Jag’s throat, forcing him to the asphalt as his other hand holds a smoldering cigarette to Jag’s bulging eye.
Stunned, my breath lodges in my throat. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. Not even Jag. Wolf’s control is absolute, his fury ice-cold and calculated.