Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
My brow arches, and I fix her with a hard stare. “How’d you know about that?”
“I, umm . . . I saw you. There were more vents in the ceiling that had a clear view of the cells below.”
I nod, impressed. “I’ve been locked up at Hartley Creek for seven years, and in that time, not one person has been observant enough to notice my kill list. Yet you’re there for two fucking seconds and start uncovering all my dirty little secrets.”
“Kill list?”
“Polaroids. Pictures of those who’ve wronged me,” I explain. “I have no intention of forgetting what these people have done to me, and when the time comes, I’ll see to it that they pay the ultimate price.”
“Let me guess, this menace girl is right at the top of your kill list.”
I nod and glance at the woman who I’ve more than memorized. Every curve of her face, every freckle, eyelash, and speckle within those bright green eyes. Only today, they don’t look as bright. Not like they were the day I took that photo. Today, they’re fearful, but that’s the way I like it.
“Yes,” I say, giving her a pointed stare. “You are.”
A sheepish expression crosses her face. “Can I . . . see her?”
“No.”
Aria shakes her head, frustration burning in her eyes, and I prepare myself for the onslaught. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she spits at me, grabbing the first aid kit she’d gotten from Doc and launching it at my head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you insisting on being such a stubborn jackass? You are literal proof that confidence doesn’t require intelligence. What is it, huh? Are you scared? Scared of being wrong? Scared that you’ve gone too far and can’t figure out how to admit that you’ve made a mistake? TELL ME! GOD DAMN IT! Tell me, because if you’re willing to risk my life on it, then you better be damn sure.”
Anger burns through me like a wildfire, and in the blink of an eye, I find myself slamming into her, my hand braced around her throat as I shove her against the wall of the old sewer line. “I AM SURE,” I roar, blood vessels bursting in my throat as the sound echoes up the long, dark tunnel.
Aria gapes at me, her eyes wide as her body trembles beneath my hold, but I feel no empathy for her. She asked for this. She has done nothing but bait me all day. She should have known that, sooner or later, I was going to break, just as I did this morning in the conference room . . . before everything turned to shit.
“Then do it,” she challenges. “Stop being such a little chicken shit, and just do it. Snap my neck like you did all of those men in the prison. What’s the point in dragging this out?”
I scoff and lean into her, my stare boring into hers like lasers as my grip around her neck tightens. “You don’t think I will?”
She swallows, and I feel the movement beneath my palm, and as I hold her stare, refusing to release her, a strange tension begins to build between us. Her chest heaves with gasping breaths, and I do the same, feeling myself about to break. She always had this hold over me, always knew exactly how to draw me in, only I’m not the same twenty-year-old dumbass kid she used to know, and she sure as fuck isn’t the seventeen-year-old girl that I once knew. Everything is different now.
She scoffs, challenging me further. “I know you won’t.”
Anger radiates out of her, but I don’t let up, and as the tension boils between us, pushing it past the point of no return, she finally turns away, snapping her gaze down the long tunnel ahead. Her jaw clenches, and I don’t ease up, knowing her too damn well. She’s not nearly finished. The girl I know doesn’t give up that easily, and she sure as fuck doesn’t falter at the first sign of fear.
This girl does, though. She’s terrified of me. It’s clear in her eyes, in the way her body trembles, and in the way she shrinks away from me every time I get too close. The girl I knew would never have done that. Though the girl I knew never had to watch me tear men to shreds with my bare hands. At least, not until that day.
Could there be a chance that I’m wrong? That this girl truly is just a journalist who came to the prison to break a headlining story and make a name for herself? Could this all just be some kind of messed-up coincidence?
No. There’s no way.
She has her eyes. Her hair. That same rasp in her tone.
I can’t be wrong. This is my menace.
My gaze trails over her face as she stares down the long tunnel, refusing to look away. Only when her brows begin to pinch, and she stares with a curious purpose, do I begin to ease up. “Is that . . .” Her words fall short, and she carelessly shoves her hands against my chest, pushing me back a step. For whatever reason, I find myself moving out of her way. “I think that’s the end.”