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)
Finally, I look down at myself. I’m lying on a bed with white sheets, my head is resting on a pillow, and I’ve got a blanket on me. All cozy and warm and extremely unfamiliar.
But that’s not my main concern. Second by second, as I come awake and become more alert, I feel various aches and pains starting to show up. My back hurts like crazy, and my shoulders are tender. My knees and elbows are stinging, making me think I banged myself up pretty bad. I’m about to inspect myself more when I freeze because I smell something.
Leather and spices.
And even though I’m not completely awake and haven’t pieced things together, I know that scent. My body, my brain, my fucking heart knows that scent. I’ve been obsessed with it for far too long and traumatized by it far too many times. Without wasting another second, I jackknife on the bed and instantly regret it because the room spins and every ache comes back tenfold. I clutch my head and fall against the pillows, panting.
Amid the chaos in my brain and sudden panic, I hear his voice. “Careful.”
Just one word spoken in that rough and unused voice of his and everything comes rushing back. Everything. And I realize there’s no word for a girl as foolish as me and there’s no word for a man as heartless as him.
All of a sudden, I can’t breathe. I can’t get any air into my body. I can’t… I pull at the sheets. I wheeze. I kick my legs, drag them up and down the bed. Everything seems to be spinning. Everything seems to be closing in. It’s like something is sitting on my chest. Something is choking me and… I see him move. I see his dusty, bloody boots coming toward me.
“Don’t,” I scream somehow. “Don’t c-come… near…”
His boots come to a halt immediately.
Something about that breaks through my panic, through my suffocation, and I’m able to take a full breath. Still gripping the sheets, I move my eyes up and look at him then. He stands a few paces away from the bed, wearing the same clothes from before, bloody and dusty and now wrinkled too. As though he’s been in them for hours now. His bandanna is gone and so is his Stetson, and I can see the dark rich waves of hair falling over his forehead, curling around his ears. But most of all, I can see every inch of his face clearly. Every feature on it, every angle and every peak. That scar and those eyes. And dear God, there’s one emotion running rampant on his face: concern.
The kind he had back on the cliff when he set his fucking wolves on me. Even through the panic, it had warmed my heart. Now it only makes me want to scratch that emotion off his fucking face. He did it again, didn’t he? He threw me to the wolves again. Panting, I ask, “What… what place is this?”
“A cabin,” he says, keeping his gaze steady and expression the same. “A hunting cabin in the woods.”
Right. That would explain all the bear heads on the wall. Not to mention the fact that once again, we’re in the middle of nowhere. “Did you…” I begin, putting a hand on my neck. “Did you drug me again?”
“No,” he replies, and it seems like he does it emphatically too. “No, you passed out. Hit the ground pretty hard.”
I remember that now, him diving at me and tackling me to the ground. Him covering me with his body as he shot whoever it was that was trying to… shoot me. As he got shot himself. My eyes jerk over to his shoulder, the right one, but before I can inspect more, he speaks.
“There ain’t no concussion or anythin’, but you got yourself some scrapes and cuts,” he informs, motioning with his chin. “Tried to clean them as much as I could, but you’re gonna be sore for a while.”
I don’t care about cuts and scrapes. I don’t even care about a concussion. My breaths are coming hard and fast, and I’m dizzy again. The room starts to spin and I think I may be on the verge of another panic attack. “What… what happened? Who were they… Who—”
“Peyton,” he snaps, his deep voice lashing, and I draw in a sharp breath.
Panting, I focus on him again. He keeps our gazes connected as he raises his arms, his fingers splayed wide as though he wants me to know he’s harmless. Then, “You need to listen to me, listen to my voice. Fuck who I am, just listen to what I’m sayin’ to you. I need you to take a breath. Do you understand? Just take a deep breath. That’s all you need to do. This is like what happened at the cliff, yeah? You’re scared as fuck and I get that. I do. But you need to do what I’m tellin’ you to do. ’Cause I can’t come close to you. Can’t touch you right now. Can’t put my arms around you. Can’t…” His chest moves with a large breath. “So I need you to listen to me. Just listen. You need to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth, yeah? Do it.”