Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
After all, the only sure way for two people to keep a secret is for one of them to die.
The road gets darker as we get off the main road. I remember making it this far the other night, seeing the reflection of lights in Lake Holbrook as I turned right.
I see them again now, but it feels different when I look over at Tor behind the wheel. It’s not the first time it has occurred to me that he’s dangerous—not even the first time in the past twenty-four hours—but it’s the first time since I got in the car that I wonder if letting him take me to the lake house is… well, insane.
He’s more or less admitted to stalking me, and this is after he killed my ex-boyfriend. I may not be the least mentally stable person in this car.
I don’t really believe he wants to hurt me, but I’m not sure I trust my own instincts about that, either. It’s clear from the car stunt that he’s not sure if he can trust me, and he’s right—he has a lot on the line right now. What if he is changing his mind? What if I’m becoming more of a risk than he wants to take on? If he wanted to, he could drown my ass in the lake tonight to make sure he doesn’t have to worry about me telling on him. Sure, it might be suspicious, but I have no doubt he could spin it. I’m the one with motive, and even if he’s twisted the narrative to be that Russell was the killer, he could twist it a little more and go with the story that I pulled the wool over his eyes, that I was involved in the murder of his brother.
Killing me could be self-defense if he tells the right story.
I know he could get out of it, just like his brother did.
He could kill me, and there would be no consequences.
These invincible fucking Walters boys.
Run.
Dream Russell’s voice in my head sends a chill down my spine, and the memory of that dream leaves me feeling even more unsettled. I shake it off, wishing I could erase that memory, and maybe a few others. All those lonely, agonizing nights I spent fantasizing about killing Tim, I believed that action would set me free from my mental prison. Mission accomplished.
But no.
I traded one jail for another—at least, that’s how it feels right now.
Tor parks the car and opens the door, glancing back to make sure I’m coming.
A bit reluctantly, I open my car door as well and follow him to the front door, but my stomach doesn’t feel great as we approach. The other night flashes to mind, and honestly, it pisses me off. I refuse to have traumatic flashbacks about that. Abso-fucking-lutely not.
I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.
I ignore the tightening in my chest and tell myself that over and over as I watch Tor single out the front door key, then push it into the lock.
I understood when Russell said the thing about Tor being Tim’s twin, about how weird it is that I can stand to look at the guy who shares a face with my rapist, but the truth is, most of the time, the resemblance doesn’t even occur to me.
Right now is not one of those times.
It feels spooky as hell to be standing at this front door again, with a man who looks just like the one I killed three nights ago.
From behind, they’re identical. Completely indistinguishable. Tor was into the same sports as his brother, and I’m sure they worked out together, which resulted in the same build, and right now, as I look at his broad shoulders from behind, his gray hoodie, his dark wash jeans, his effortlessly tousled dark hair… he looks like Tim.
And considering the other night, that’s the last thing I want to see.
I know Tor said he was the one who didn’t want to come back here alone, but I feel like the one having a hard time with it. If he’s struggling, I certainly can’t tell.
And with the thoughts that have been swirling around my mind since he picked me up from work, I’m amped up on doubts and feeling paranoid. Suddenly, going inside this house with him is the last thing I want to do.
That feeling from the dream comes back. The moment I was conflicted, one instinct screaming at me to run but another highlighting the danger in that, too. Running tells him what he needs to know—she doesn’t trust me.
And the balance of danger in our relationship can swing pretty heavily if there isn’t trust. If he can’t trust me, I’m a liability, but if I don’t trust him… then he can’t trust me.
In the dream, I ran.
I did manage to outrun him, but only with dream logic.