Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“No worries, the trophy is still yours.”
I sip at the black coffee, and the burn of the liquid helps to clear some of my lingering thoughts. I need to figure this thing out with Saint, and I need to do it fast. My father’s going to be even more paranoid than usual. I’ll have to watch my back.
“Good, can’t risk you trying to take my place.” He grins back at me and I pause wondering if I should tell him what I’ve done. No. Who’s to say he wouldn’t tell Dad? Kade’s always had my back, but he’s so eager for our father’s approval I’m not sure he wouldn’t run right to him just because. “Is everything else good?”
It’s his way of asking me if I’m okay, and if I were being honest with him I’d probably tell him the truth but I don’t want to draw more attention to myself, and the betrayal I’ve committed. I watch him take a few more bites, then I reply.
“I’m fine.” I take another gulp from the mug, to stop myself from confessing what I’ve done out loud.
“Sure ya are.” He rolls his eyes. “Are we still on for drinks at The Rusty Nail tonight? Sawyer won’t shut up about the new server they hired this week.”
The normalcy of the question is jarring. Drinks. Waitresses. As if last night never happened. As if there isn’t a woman chained to the bed in my cabin right now, her life irrevocably altered because she had the misfortune of opening her door to the wrong person.
“No. Got another job and I can’t fuck it up this time.” I hold up the file. Little does he know I’ve already fucked up. Fucked up on a level that can’t save me from our father’s rage.
Kade shrugs, and then shoves out of his chair, stretching like a lazy cat. “All work, no play. It’s your loss, brother.”
“If catching chlamydia is my loss then I’m fine with that.”
He flips me the bird before walking in the direction of our father’s office, the picture of ease and confidence. No weight on his shoulders. No doubts clouding his mind. All he wants is to prove himself.
Meanwhile, all I want is to disappear. To stop suffocating beneath my father’s shadow.
Once I’m finished with my coffee, I head for my truck, mind already racing ahead to what needs to be done. Right now I need to go to the cabin. See if Saint is awake and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with her.
While I’m at it, I’ll need to come up with a plan to deal with Allie Porter too. Fuck me. There are so many moving pieces, and in the middle is Saint.
A betrayal that I need to keep straight until I have a solution. There’s no going back, no changing my mind. I made my choice. I chose obsession and need over loyalty and blood. Now I have to find a way to save our lives, because if my father finds out what I’ve done, there won’t be anything to stop him from killing us both.
Saint
It’s impossible to figure out how long I’ve been sitting here, watching with bated breath for the door to open. I have no idea what Calder has planned for me, and the unending questions make my stomach knot.
I shift, and tug my legs up to my chest. It’s easy to grow uncomfortable when there are only two ways to sit. Keeping my gaze trained on the door, I rest my chin against my knee, and try not to let the dark cloud of fear consume me.
The sun has shifted across the floor, the light no longer streaming through the window but slanting at a lower angle. There’s no clock to tell me what time it is but I’m assuming it’s after noon. I can’t be sure. I’ve lost track somewhere between the third prayer and the hundredth desperate tug at the handcuff.
I glance at my throbbing wrist and frown. The skin is raw and angry from the metal of the cuff biting into it. Stupid cuff. More like stupid Saint. I should’ve stopped struggling the moment I saw blood, but to stop felt like admitting defeat, so I kept going.
It didn’t do me any good. No matter how much I pulled or twisted, the steel wouldn’t give, and all I managed to do was slice my wrist open. I look away from the now dried blood flecking my pale skin. Nothing I can do about it right now.
My stomach makes a grumbling sound that has me eyeing the protein bar resting on the table beside the bed. My stomach gives another clench of anxiety, or hunger, or both. How can I eat when I don’t know if this is my last meal? When I don’t know what’s coming when he returns?