Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“I'm doing this for Mam,” I whisper, and I imagine my father hears my proclamation. I don't know if I believe in an afterlife, but it helps to not feel so lonely.
My skin prickles.
Something's… wrong.
When I turn from the window, the reflection of a man glints in the glass. My pulse spikes, and I gasp. I try to scream just as a warm hand closes over my mouth and spins me toward the wall so I can't see his face.
“Shh. I'm sorry it has to be this way.”
The voice is unfamiliar. Definitely not Marcus’s.
The touch is different, the voice deeper, raspier. But something about it tugs at the edges of my memory, like a half-remembered dream.
I try to scream, but the hand presses harder, cutting off sound. My heart hammers against my ribs as I thrash, my fingers clawing at the arm wrapped around my waist.
“No, lass, don't struggle.” The voice is closer now, breath warm against my ear. “Don't want you to hurt yourself. You're alright. I'm not going to hurt you.”
Not going to hurt me? A full-grown man breaks into my bedroom, and I'm supposed to believe he hasn't come to hurt me?
I kick backward, connecting with a shin. He grunts but doesn't let go. If anything, his grip tightens.
“Easy, love. Easy now.”
Who—?
Something sharp pricks my neck, and heat spreads through my veins like fire. I'm screaming under his palm but quickly lose control over my limbs. My legs buckle, the fight draining out of me.
“That's it,” he murmurs in my ear. “Just sleep. When you wake up, you'll understand. Eventually.”
The room tilts and spins. My vision blurs at the edges, darkness creeping in.
The last thing I see before everything goes black is a shadow moving across the wall—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the easy grace of someone who's done this before.
And then… nothing.
Chapter Six
Ashland
She's here. In my cabin. Breathing the same air as I am. After six years of watching from the shadows and rooftops and the fucking tree line behind her apartment. Six years of memorizing the rhythm of her sleep, the way she hums in the shower, and the exact angle of morning light that makes her hair look like spilled ink.
Bianca White is in the middle of my cabin, and I can hardly breathe.
I have her blindfolded and handcuffed on the sofa, and it should make me feel like shite that the source of my obsession is right here in front of me, and that I had to force her here.
But it doesn't. No.
I’m fucking elated.
I lean over when she starts to shiver.
She's coming to.
My sweet girl is coming to.
I'm nervous, wiping my sweaty palms on my trousers to stop them from shaking.
The fuck is wrong with me? I'm never nervous.
I knew that once she was at Crowning's, my job to protect her would be made ten times harder. As soon as I found out this was her plan, I made my move.
I took her. I brought her here, where it’s safe. But I never really thought about what it would be like… being near her. Never let myself even dream.
I let out a shuddering breath. I've faced terrifying men and impossible situations and won, and the little sweet lass has me damn near tremblin'. Feel a bit like the proverbial elephant terrified of a wee mouse.
I'll take her blindfold off first so she can look at me, but I'll have to keep her wrists secured. She's like a scared little kitten and might hurt herself.
I lean closer. In my most soothing voice, I tell her, “Shh, it's okay now. I promise. You're safe. I know you're probably scared, and I'm sorry for that. But eventually, you'll understand that I had to do this.”
I reach for the back of her head and untie the blindfold. It falls to the couch, and she blinks up at me, her gorgeous eyes bleary and unfocused.
And Christ, I'm hard. I'm fucking hard just from having her look at me, just from seeing those blue eyes finally focused on my face instead of through a telephoto lens. Six fuckin' years of celibacy.
But that’s not why she’s here.
“Easy, lass,” I say, reaching for her, but she scrambles away from me with wide, terrified eyes.
I know what she sees when she looks at me—her captor with a shaved head, a scar across a brow, with ink on my arms and neck and any visible skin.
I would never hurt her, but she doesn't know that, does she?
“Please.” Her voice cracks, and something in my chest cracks with it. “Please just let me go. Don't hurt me. I won't tell anyone. I promise I won't.”
“Shh.” I kneel beside her and run my thumb under her eye, wiping away a tear. “Shh,” I say again, keeping my voice low and controlled, everything I'm not feeling inside.