Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Even if he hated me for it.
Penn storms into the kitchen like a freight train, face thunderous as his eyes lock on me, holding up his phone for me to see the article that ran this morning. It’s exactly as I expected and I take an involuntary step backward.
“You went to the press?” he snarls. “Without telling me?”
My voice wobbles. “Because you refused to talk to me when I first came to you. You shut me out. You left me with no other choice.”
“You had a choice,” he growls, tossing the phone onto the kitchen island. “You chose to betray me.”
I flinch. “Betray you? I didn’t even mention your name!”
He steps closer. “You didn’t have to. Any asshole with internet access is going to figure it out.”
I change my tone to match his. “I was scared, Penn! You think I did this to hurt you? I did it to stay alive.”
His jaw flexes, hands braced on the counter like he needs the marble to anchor him. His voice sounds like broken gravel. “You’re an idiot if you think this is going to change a thing with whoever is stalking you. It’s only going to make my life hell.”
Something inside of me snaps. Or rather, maybe it’s my own indignation locking into place, replacing the fear with anger. “Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Penn. You’ve spent your entire adult life hiding in plain sight and now your carefully constructed, lonely little existence is threatened to be exposed.” The asshole rolls his eyes at me and heat flares in my chest. “You know what you are? You’re a coward.”
He shoves away from the counter, anger blazing in his eyes as he comes toward me. I hold my ground, refusing to be scared by this man. We meet in the middle of the kitchen, toe to toe, the air between us charged like a live wire.
His glare is menacing. “What did you call me?”
I ignore the question and attack. “You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the bad guy,” I hiss. “You pushed me away when I sought out your help and you’re not going to blame me for doing what I needed to do to ensure my safety. You’ve always done that… pushed me away. You did it here in Pittsburgh and you did it all those years ago when I tried to back up your story.”
“I pushed you away because I didn’t want to drag you down with me!” he yells. “But you thought you knew best.”
“You think I wanted to do this?” I shout back. “You think I wanted the world to know what happened to my brother? That my parents disowned me? That I’ve been sleeping with a can of Mace under my pillow for years?”
I’m practically panting, every word ripping out of me like a blade. But I’m not done. Not even close.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes burn into mine, and I see the storm of emotions churning behind them—anger, frustration… something darker I can’t name.
“And you,” I seethe, the venom dripping in my response. “You stand there like some fucking martyr. But you’re not, Penn. You’re just… hollow.”
He flinches, but I don’t stop.
“Do you even feel anything anymore? Or did you bury that part of yourself so deep that nothing can touch you? I bet even this”—I gesture wildly between us, between me and him and everything unraveling—“doesn’t make you feel a damn thing, does it? Because you’re too fucking numb to care.”
Something snaps.
The air between us, already charged, ignites.
“Fuck you,” Penn growls, low and dangerous, and then suddenly, he’s there.
Grabbing me.
His hands are rough and sure, one curling around the back of my neck, the other cupping my jaw.
And then his mouth crashes down on mine and I think I might have just died and gone to heaven. Nothing else exists. There is no fear, no hatred, no irritation. Just his mouth on mine, and a bolt of pleasure rips through me so forcefully I moan against his tongue.
Penn jerks back, his hands falling away as his eyes dart wildly, roaming my face for perhaps some explanation of what the hell that just was. It’s over as fast as it started.
We’re breathless, faces inches apart. Neither of us blinks.
Air hisses out from between his clenched teeth and he mutters, “You’re fucking infuriating.”
“And you’re a bully.” I shove him—just a little, just enough—because I want to provoke him again. I’m sure I’ll be ashamed about it later, but I want to push him into kissing me again.
I almost smile when his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.
The silence is deafening. His fingers tighten for the briefest moment. “You’re a brat,” he murmurs, but I don’t hear anger. No heat. Just quiet… acceptance.
“And you’re a—”
Once again, he has me by the upper arms and pulls me in fast. His mouth finds mine in a collision of heat and fury. It’s messy and desperate and full of things we haven’t said, of years spent pretending we didn’t remember the dark times in our lives. My back hits the edge of the island and he presses his body into mine. My fingers clench into the front of his hoodie so he can’t escape.