Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you should really stop talking,” I warn him.
His lips twitch with amusement, and damn it, that’s devastating too. “Yeah?”
I glare at him. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why.”
“Because if you talk about some random girl with me, I’m going to stab you again,” I tell him very seriously, and his stupid sexy lips keep twitching. “And this time, thanks to you, I know where to aim to make it really painful. So again, stop talking.”
Instead of heeding my warning, he inches even closer. So much that now our chests clash every time we breathe, and yes, now I know for sure that’s blood on my dress. Then, tilting my head back even more, he rasps, “When three motherfuckin’ assholes jumped her in a dark alley.”
I blink.
“They put their filthy disgustin’ hands on her,” he says, his features harsh, his scar thick.
My mouth parts with a breath, but no other sound comes out. I’m completely speechless.
For once, he doesn’t stop his words, though; he keeps going: “On her soft, soft skin.” At this, he brings his thumb down to my cheek and rubs it in slow circles. “They scared her, could see it in her eyes. They’re blue like the sky without clouds and they’re always shinin’. There’s a light in them that I ain’t never seen before. It’s bright and loud, just like her. And she don’t scare easy. In fact, sometimes I think she should. For her own sake, but”—he clenches his jaw and his thumb presses into my cheek—“that night she was so fuckin’ scared. So I had to do it, yeah? I had to kill them for scarin’ her. For dimmin’ her light.”
I remember that night like it happened only yesterday. I remember feeling scared. Feeling terrified. More than I’d ever been. Not because I’d never seen that look on men before but because I had. Too many times to count. And that night, there were three of them and something told me, something deep in my gut, that that was it. That night something terrible would’ve happened to me, and there was no way I could’ve stopped it. If not for him.
So he’s right. I was scared.
My breaths are haphazard, choppy, both too little and too many. “You… k-killed them?”
His nostrils flare with his breath and his hold on me gets even tighter, possessive somehow. I don’t know how I know it’s a possessive hold, but I do. I’ve never been held like this. Both domineeringly, with his fingers splayed wide on the back of my head; and tenderly, as he cradles it and maneuvers my face even closer. As if my body is an object. His object.
Then, his breath misting over my face, he rumbles, “They scared you.”
I blink again, my nails almost lodged in the tree trunk. “You scare me.”
His chest expands with a large breath. “Not like that.”
“No,” I instantly answer because he’s right about that too. He scares me but not like that. He scares me in a way that thrills me, in a way that I like. It makes no sense, but it’s the truth.
“But I…” I go on, shaking my head, “I thought you left. That night. So how…”
“Didn’t leave,” he tells me. “I followed you home. Saw you get in, go to your room. You stopped by your friend’s room for a bit. I thought you’d tell her, let her be there for you. But you…” His jaw pulses, as if in annoyance. “You just laughed with her like nothin’ happened, like it was just a normal night.” Another pulse in his jaw before he continues, “Then, I doubled back to the alley. Loaded those motherfuckers in the back of my truck. Drove them out to the mountains; not here, though, someplace else. Left them for the coyotes to find.”
“You fed them to the…”
“Thought about bringin’ them to my wolves, but”—he shakes his head—“my boys deserve better.”
My mind is reeling. I have so many things to say, so many things I want to focus on. When I left my room tonight, I never could’ve imagined being here. Never could’ve imagined stumbling upon so many secrets, discovering so many truths. There’s no denying, though, they’re more precious to me than any leverage against the Graysons. But there’s still one more truth, one more secret I need to know, and I’m not taking no for an answer.
So I keep looking into his eyes as I state, “You killed for me.”
He keeps looking back.
“For the Turner Princess.”
His mouth tightens.
“Why?”
His chest moves with a long breath, dragging against mine.
And I push my body into his. I press against his torso, bloody and wounded, and ask, “Tell me why.”
He grits his jaw.
But I don’t let it go. “Tell me why you remember, down to the very minute, how long you’ve been watching me. Tell me why you kept saving me from all those men. And don’t give me that hunter bullshit again because I know that’s not the whole truth. Tell me why you notice things about me that no one else has. Why does it matter to you if I’m scared, if I’m in danger? Why do you care if I put myself through those awful dates? Why did you put me in a blue room? Why did you care to cook my breakfast just the way I like? Why didn’t you let your wolves just eat me? When we both know there’s a reason you’re a bigger threat to me, the biggest, anywhere. And it has nothing to do with land or your best friend’s revenge. Tell me why, Radisson. You’ve hurt me, yes, but why don’t you just”—I pull at his shirt and swallow—“hurt me?”