Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
It’s time to leave. I don’t want to be here when the night turns rough.
Sliding off the barstool, I tuck my phone into my purse and sling it over my shoulder. My thoughts are already with the creaky motel bed that waits for me like a quiet reward.
Eyes trail me to the exit. Men always look. It’s instinct. Predator to pray, desire disguised as curiosity. My ex used to do the same. Always watching other women, thinking I wouldn’t notice. He called it harmless. He accused me of being paranoid, then he proved me right.
My skin prickles, a warning wrapped in a memory, and I can almost hear their thoughts. What does she look like under that blouse? How tight are those jeans when they’re peeled off? Do those spiked boots mean she wants to be handled roughly? The man at the bar certainly thought so. He looked at me like I was something to unwrap and consume.
Truth is, I don’t know who I am when I’m naked anymore. With Kade, sex was a performance. Something choreographed for his benefit, full of fake gasps and gentle submission. I played the part. The demure girlfriend. The grateful lover. But it was never about me.
The first gust of fresh air hits me as I push through the swing doors. The sky has shifted into full darkness, and Braysville is wrapped like a forgotten town tucked beneath a dark blanket. The lights outside the bar are dim and few. I should have driven, but the night felt mild earlier, and I needed to move after the long haul on the road.
I head toward the lot, heels clicking against the uneven gravel, purse tucked close. It’s not far to the motel, and once I’m there, I’ll be safe. The wind picks up, brushing strands of red hair across my face like warning banners. I smooth them away with one hand, senses on edge. The woods flank either side of the road, thick and close, their shadows dancing with the wind. Every rustle is a whisper, every creak a warning.
A twig snaps behind me.
My heart skips a beat.
I know there’s someone there before I look. The prickle of unease I had in the bar returns tenfold, and I whip my head around, finding the creepy man behind me by only a few paces. Was he waiting in the undergrowth for me to pass, or had he followed me all this time? That same rotten energy brushes up against mine. He’s too close. Too quiet. Too intentional.
Don’t trust strangers, my mom’s voice screams in my mind.
“Hey,” he calls out, casual and smooth. “You want me to walk with you? It’s not safe out here.”
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to sound light and breezy, like I’m not unraveling inside. I wave a hand, dismissively. Keep it friendly. Don’t escalate. But he doesn’t fall away. His stride matches mine, unhurried and too confident.
“It’s no trouble.” He smirks like a wolf.
“I’m fine,” I say firmly. My feet are burning from the heels. I wish I wore sneakers, something I could run in. I quicken my pace, and he keeps up easily.
“I guess what they say about redheads is true,” he mutters.
I don’t take the bait, but it’s hard. Every word from his mouth grates like sandpaper across my skin.
“What’s that?”
“Feisty,” he says, and that’s when his hand clamps around my wrist.
I gasp, twisting my body away, trying to yank free, but his grip is solid, snagging my skin and bruising my bone.
“Let go of me,” I hiss, yanking my arm back again, but he grins, his yellow teeth turning my stomach.
“Don’t be like that,” he croons. “I’m looking out for you.”
“I know,” I lie, gathering my senses. Rage won’t help me here. He wants the struggle. His eyes light up with it, bright with the thrill of dominance. “But I don’t need looking after. My husband’s back at the motel. He’s waiting for me.”
He turns my wrist, inspecting it like he owns it. “No ring,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “And no man in his right mind would leave you to walk alone. Not looking like you do.”
I have no comeback. Nothing will work. He doesn’t care what I say. He’s already made his choice. He’s going to take what he wants unless I stop him.
So I scream.
I scream with everything I have. My lungs tear with it. He tries to shut me up, lunging with his other hand, but I twist, kicking and thrashing, refusing to make it easy. We stumble off the road and into the woods. My ankle catches on something, and I crash forward. Still, I scream.
“Shut up,” he barks, yanking my hair, turning my face roughly. His hand clasps viciously over my mouth. I bite. I bite so deep, I taste blood.
“Bitch.” He slaps me around the back of the head, pain exploding in white stars, and I blink furiously through the haze. Then something moves. Low to the ground. Fast.