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)
She laughs, but it's not a happy sound. It's bitter and tired and sad. “Right,” she says. “How ironic.”
“Bianca.” Her name feels like a prayer on my tongue. I've said it a thousand times in the dark but never to her face. Never where the lass could hear it. “I know this is hard to understand—”
“What's your name?” she says, suddenly interrupting me.
Fuck. She can't know my name, at least not my surname.
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you know everything about me, apparently.” Her eyes search my face, looking for something I'm not sure I can give her. “You know where I live and who I'm engaged to. You probably know that I just graduated from university. You've apparently been watching me, and I don't even know your name.”
“It doesn't matter,” I say quietly.
“It matters to me.”
“No. Names don't matter. What matters is that you're safe, lass. That's all you need to know.”
Her jaw sets, that stubborn tilt to her chin I've watched a hundred times when she's arguing with her mother or defending a point in class.
“I hate you.”
“You don't know me well enough to hate me.” I hold her gaze and shrug. “Once you do, you might. Give me time. Now, let's get on with the practicalities. Are you hungry, lass?”
“No,” she says petulantly. I watch her try to fold her arms across her ample breasts, but with her wrists still secured, it's awkward.
I swallow hard, forcing myself not to drag my gaze down the length of her perfect fucking curves I've fucking dreamed about.
“I want to know how long I'll be here.”
“As long as it takes.”
“For what?” she says. This is a side of Bianca I haven't seen before, but I'm not surprised. Didn't expect her to go along with everything I said.
She'll be here as long as it takes. Until I can kill Crowning without bringing down hell on my family. Until she stops looking at me like I'm the devil and realizes I'm the only thing standing between her and the grave he was digging.
Until she understands I'm not the monster in this story… I'm just the bastard who couldn't stay away.
“You can't keep me here,” she says, her voice wobbling.
“I will if I have to, and for now, I do.”
“I'll escape,” she says, her jaw jutting out as she glares at me.
“Mmm.” My lips are pressed together. She won't.
“I want to go home,” she whispers, and I hate seeing her like this, but I have to stay the course.
So I cross my arms over my chest and watch as her gaze isn't quite as caged as mine. Her eyes flicker to my arms, then widen slightly before she swallows and looks back up at me.
“You weren't about to go home anyway, were you?” The memory of how close she was to devastation makes my voice sound like a growl. “You were about to make your home with Crowning.”
Her eyes search mine as if she’s looking for something. Truth, maybe. Some sign that the monster she thinks I am has a shred of humanity left.
She turns her face away. “Right.” She sniffs, wiping at her eyes before turning to me. “If I’m hungry, what are you going to feed me? Something laced with drugs?” she mutters.
I laugh and groan. “No, lass.” I move toward her slowly. “I've got your penne arrabbiata keeping warm. Fresh burrata. That bread from D'Agostino's, the loaf with the hard crust you like to tear apart with your hands.” I stop close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. “Every Saturday morning. Nine fifteen. You buy two loaves—one for you, one for Mrs. Chen next door. Or used to, anyway, before that arsehole shamed you.”
Her eyes widen as she takes this in.
Too much?
I reach out and grip her chin gently but firmly. Her skin is impossibly soft under my rough fingers. Warm. Real. I've imagined this touch a thousand times—alone in the dark, in the ring between rounds, watching her through windows. But nothing prepared me for the actual feel of her.
Fuck.
“I'll take the restraints off if you behave yourself.” My thumb brushes her jaw as I hold her gaze. My voice lowers. She has to heed my warning, for her own damn good. “But you listen to me, and you listen good—you try anything at all, and those wrists are getting bound again. Only this time, I'll make damn sure you can't slip them.”
She nods and doesn't speak. She turns her face away, and I have to force myself to release her chin. To step back. To give her the illusion of space, even though we both know there's nowhere in this cabin she can go that I won't follow.
“Am I—can I—” She blows out a breath. “Can I go outside?”
“No.”
She frowns. “Can I call my mother?”