Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
IT COMES TWO days later.
The opportunity for me to run.
We’re in another camp, much like the first one, and once again, it’s the middle of the night with the fire burning low. This time I definitely know he’s sleeping, even though like always he’s propped up against a tree because his PTSD doesn’t let him sleep.
Except when he can smell you…
My heart clenches at the thought and what it means that he’s finally drifted off. But I ignore it and focus on his hand lying on his outstretched thigh. It’s limp, and I know that for sure because it’s tied to both of mine.
It’s his way of making sure I don’t run.
It’s also his way of killing me slowly, because every night before he ties me to him and every morning when he unties me, he makes sure to put an ointment on my wrists. To make sure my skin doesn’t chafe. It’s torture, the way he cares for me one second and the next reminds me I’m nothing more to him than a pawn. And if I was smarter—which I’m not, not where he’s concerned—I’d focus on only the pawn part. As it is, I can’t, but I do tell myself to stop thinking about it right now.
He doesn’t know that for the past two days while he was tying me to himself, I was looking for a chance to break free, and I made a breakthrough today. It was pure luck, but while washing up this morning, I found a piece of glass lying under the foliage. And it’s a sharp piece, too, that I think will cut through this rope with only a little effort.
We reach Rawhide tomorrow. I always thought I’d be long gone before that, but here I am. In any case, I need to make it this time, because as soon as we reach his ranch and he puts whatever twisted scheme he has for revenge into motion, he’s going to find out I’m not Peyton. And I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do when that happens.
So I get to work. I very meticulously, with small motions so as not to alert him in any way, go about cutting the rope. Once free, I slowly get up and, as quietly as I can, walk out of the camp. And then, when it’s safe, I run.
With only the moon to guide me, I take off into the woods with that piece of glass in my hand. I try to remember where we came from. I try to remember landmarks or signs, a fallen tree or a crooked branch, anything to tell me that I’m going in the right direction. The direction where freedom lies. At this point, I don’t even know what it looks like, this far-fetched idea of freedom that I have, and I don’t even care. All I care about is trying. So I keep zigzagging through the woods, ducking under branches, leaping over logs. Sometimes landing on my feet; other times falling. I skin my knees; I scrape my palms. I think I lose my makeshift weapon somewhere, too, but nothing is going to deter me.
Or so I think until my hurtling body comes to a jarring halt.
It’s a miracle I don’t fall face-first from my own high velocity, and now I’m standing in front of the one thing I hadn’t really given much thought to tonight. Or any night, to be honest. Mostly because he was always with me and I knew he’d protect me from something like that.
A bear.
A big black scary bear with glittering eyes.
I don’t know where it came from. Or maybe in my mad panic, I didn’t pay enough attention to watch where I was going and ended up in his path. However it happened, I’m utterly petrified now. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how long I stand frozen, simply staring into the eyes of death. Until I hear a low growl and I flinch, my heart jumping up in my throat.
The bear moves. Its paws thudding on the ground, crunching leaves, and I spin around and take off running once again. Only this time I’m running toward him. Because he’s the only one who can save me now.
What was I thinking? Why did I run away from him? Why didn’t I listen? I know he’s dangerous, but he’s the only one who’s ever made me feel safe. God, I’m such an idiot, and I’m going to die now.
I know it.
So I call out his name. “Arsen!”
And I don’t stop.
Arsen. Arsen. Arsen.
I use it as a chant, a prayer almost, that I send up to the night sky. But I’m not sure if he or anyone up there can hear me over the stampeding feet of the beast chasing after me. I’m just about ready to give up and let it take me when I crash into a tree. Or something really, really hard. My body ricochets back, but before I can go down, the thing I crashed into—my kidnapper, my husband, the man I was calling out for, Arsen—catches me around the waist. He pins me to his hard body and saves me.