Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I grab a lighter.
“Here goes nothing…” I whisper as I turn the gas on under the small pan as well and put fire to the oregano.
It goes up in flame in an instant, and I jump back with a yelp so fast my sleeve catches on the handle of the other pan and holy fucking shit, the oil is on fire!
I scream my head off, but this is not my first rodeo setting things on fire, so I’m not dumb enough to pour water on it. The fire alarm is already blasting in my ear, but I’ve seen a trick online that involves covering the pot with a metal sheet pan to smother the flames.
Sadly, the only one I can think of is in the oven, so fuck the nuts, I’m going in.
As soon as I open the oven, the smoke hits me like a wall, and I start choking. The nuts are charred nuggets. I forget to use the oven mitt, so I burn myself first, and send the tiny smoke bombs flying. On my second attempt, I successfully grab the pan, this time through a towel, and put it on top of the pot.
By now, the whole kitchen is a smoke inferno, I can’t stop coughing, my hand hurts, and I’m pretty sure parts of the extractor above the cooker have melted, so now the plastic is also producing toxic fumes.
I can’t see, but now that I’m pretty sure I’m not burning the house down, I run to the windows. The bars are a reminder that I can’t escape and in case of a fire I would have burned alive. But it’s when I can’t open the windows that panic settles in.
I can’t stop coughing, and in desperation, I hit the glass with the marble mortar, but this must be some bulletproof shit, because it’s no use, and only a small scratch appears on the glass, as if to mock me.
I slide to the floor just as I decide to run out of the kitchen altogether.
Chapter 12
Corvus
I knew it was a mistake to let him roam.
No amount of sticky notes or good will would prevent a trapped man from seeking freedom, so of course Dalton caused a fire once he realized none of the doors and windows open to just anyone. But he’d miscalculated and now… now…
“I’m here to see Dalton Cross,” I tell the nurse at the reception, my throat tight as I imagine what could have happened if the fire service hadn’t automatically been made aware of smoke in my home. Because Dalton doesn’t have a phone and I—a landline.
I wipe the sweat off my hands on the front of my coat and clear my throat. I’m still disturbed by the scenes I saw once I arrived home, and the fear of someone from the services finding out what’s in the secret room in my basement still lingers like a tight cage around my heart.
But it’s fine. The bookshelf attached to the door is weighed so it always closes on its own, and if they found anything amiss, I’d be in the back of a cop car, not seeking my renegade fiancé at the hospital.
I recognize his laugh before I even see him, so I guess he’s fine, despite coughing right after. He’s behind a blue divider, and so many feelings I can’t control flare up in me all at once as if I’m the pot of oil on fire. I saw the remnants of the kitchen disaster, so that’s what must have happened.
I’m worried about his health, furious that he tried to escape, that he fucked up my kitchen, but also dying to find out who is making Dalton laugh. Is he fucking flirting with a nurse? After what he’s put me through today?
I pull away the fabric divider in a gesture that feels a bit overdramatic even to me, but what’s done is done.
Green eyes dart to me almost immediately, and Dalton grins at me from under the tube attached to his nose. “Um… sorry?”
I can imagine the male nurse standing over him would laugh even at something so very unfunny as my home almost burning down. “Hi, honey,” I say dryly, and the nurse clears his throat before excusing himself and leaving us on our own.
By the way Dalton’s face falls, I’m guessing he didn’t imagine I’d find him so quickly. If he thinks he can run from me, after lulling me into a false sense of calm with his dick, he has another thing coming. No more nice Corvus.
He opens his mouth to spill more lies at me, so I cut him off, while pulling the divider behind me. “Really? You try to burn my house down after I decided to let you out? I put trust in you, and you pay me back by endangering not only your life, but also my freedom? You know some of my things are,”—torture devices and evidence of crime—“private,” I say through teeth clenched so tightly it’s making my jaw muscles ache. “I saved you. I’m prepared to give you a life you probably never dreamt of. Why would you run? Why would you sabotage me?” I hiss, clenching my hands on the folds of my coat as he stares back at me with eyes red from all the smoke.