Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“I know.” He reaches for my hand and I let him take it, his fingers warm and sure as they close around mine. His eyes are soft, understanding. “And we’ll have that conversation tomorrow.”
Before he can leave, I step closer. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his stare, close enough that if I wanted to, I could reach up and touch that perfectly trimmed beard, trace the strong line of his jaw.
“Blue,” I say.
He goes very still. “Saylor.”
For a moment, his careful control slips. I see the hunger, the way his gaze drops to my lips before snapping back up. The way his breathing changes.
Then he steps back, breaking the spell.
“Get some sleep,” he says, but isn’t quite steady.
The door closes behind him with a soft click, but I can hear him pause on the other side. Can picture him standing there, fighting the same battle I am. And I’m alone, surrounded by luxuries I never knew existed. The bed is enormous, piled high with pillows and covered in linens that probably have thread counts in the thousands. There’s a fireplace with logs already laid, waiting to be lit. Fresh flowers in crystal vases. An attached bathroom with marble surfaces and gold fixtures.
I should hate this. I should be furious at the presumption, the way he’s trying to buy my compliance with comfort and luxury. I should be planning my escape, figuring out how to get past Wren and her keys, over that wall with its cruel spikes.
But I’m not planning to escape anymore. I just asked a man to teach me how to kill. The words are still hanging in the air between us, impossible to take back. I told him I want to hunt down every single person who murdered my father. I laid out my plan for revenge like I was discussing the weather.
What kind of person does that make me?
I find myself sinking onto the bed, my body melting into a mattress that’s like sleeping on a cloud. And all I can think about is the way Blue looked at me just now—like he wanted to consume me and protect me at the same time.
When was the last time I slept somewhere without worrying about the couple fighting next door? When was the last time I ate a meal that didn’t come from a can or a takeout container?
When was the last time a man looked at me like that—like I matter?
The girl who worried about rent money never would have asked someone to teach her how to murder people. But maybe the person lying in this bed is someone else—someone who wants blood and doesn’t feel guilty about it.
As I sink deeper into Egyptian cotton sheets and pull a luxurious down comforter around my shoulders, I can’t help thinking about Cinderella. About what it might feel like to live in a world where money isn’t a constant source of anxiety, where someone else worries about keeping you safe and fed and comfortable.
But I’m not Cinderella. And Blue isn’t Prince Charming. He’s something much more complicated, much more dangerous. And God help me, that only makes me want him more.
But maybe just for one night, I can pretend this is real. Maybe just for one night, I can let myself imagine what it would be like to not be alone.
The thought of letting down my guard should terrify me.
Instead, it follows me toward sleep, even as a warning bell keeps chiming in the back of my mind—persistent and urgent, telling me I’m in danger and the only way I can protect myself is by learning how to become the danger.
Chapter Eleven
Saylor
Some mornings you wake up in a four-poster bed with exquisite sheets and think, “Well, this is my life now.”
Dad would have loved this place. Not the gothic mansion part—he wasn’t really into displays of wealth—but the fact that someone was finally taking care of me.
Except now Dad’s gone, and for the first time since I was eight years old, I’m actually considering taking his advice. Back then it was “Let me help you with your math homework, sweetheart.” Now it’s his voice in my head saying, “Stop being so stubborn and let someone take care of you for once.”
Blue would let me leave—I feel that in my bones. Yeah, he technically kidnapped me, but underneath all the murder and mystery, he seems like a decent guy trying to keep his promise to a dead friend.
Jesus, toxic thinking much? “He kidnapped me but he’s probably nice” isn’t exactly the foundation for healthy decision-making.
But maybe, just this once, I’m going to listen to what Dad’s telling me from the grave. I heard his final words to Blue. Maybe it’s time to stop insisting I can handle everything alone. Maybe it’s time to stop running and start fighting back.