Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Everyone has a choice.”
He slams something down on the table, and I jump. A fresh wave of tears slips from my eyes. I don’t want to cry anymore, but it’s the only way I can release my emotions.
“You’re fucking right, and my choice was to keep you alive. So if I let you walk out that door, all of this will have been for nothing.”
“Good. I’d rather be dead than stuck here with you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Eventually, I close my eyes, not because I think I can sleep, but because I can’t stand to stay awake any longer. Can’t stand to keep looking at this cabin, to feel the handcuff on my wrist, to hear the man who’s keeping me prisoner breathing.
It feels like fate hates me because sleep never comes.
I lie there in the growing darkness, listening to him breathe, listening to the wind outside, listening to my own heart hammering against my ribs.
I want to see my father. I want to find a way out of this.
I pray for an answer, but it doesn’t come. There’s only silence, darkness, and the presence of the man who holds my fate in his hands.
A man I don’t fully understand.
A man who terrifies me and confuses me in equal measure.
A man who kept me alive when he should have killed me.
And somehow, out of all that, the uncertainty is the most terrifying thing of all.
Calder
The silence in the cabin isn’t silence at all—it’s a noose tightening around my neck, one shallow breath at a time. Saint lies on the bed with her back to me. Her breathing’s too shallow, too careful, for her to be asleep. She’s pretending, reaching for the escape of unconsciousness even though we both know it won’t come.
Not for her. Not for me.
In my head, all I see is her face. The fear. Her tearstained cheeks. The silent plea in her eyes. I can’t let this end with her in a shallow grave, but every plan I consider fractures, leaving me with the same result. She’s gone. I’m gone, or both of us are gone. No solution that doesn’t take a piece of us with it. No salvation. Just blood in different shapes.
Fuck. I may have finally gotten myself into a mess that I can’t get out of.
There’s a frigid bite to the air that smells like a blizzard. Montana’s weather, especially in the mountains, can be unpredictable at best. The cabin will freeze by nightfall if I don’t get a fire going. I stand, causing the chair to scrape against the floor, and Saint’s entire body tenses.
She doesn’t turn around, though. I pause mid-step and am hit in the chest by a wave of guilt. She didn’t ask for this. To be cuffed to the bed, to piss in a bucket. Even if it is her fault that she opened that door, she didn’t ask for any of this.
Dammit. Moments like these make me wish I had no heart at all. No conscience. I have no weaknesses, or at least I didn’t, until Saint came into my life. Fuck.
I told her I wouldn’t uncuff her, but I should. It would give her wrist some time to heal, and maybe then she’ll warm up to me.
Not likely, asshole. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I decide before I can stop myself. This is a mistake. I know it.
The thought comes sharp and clear, but I ignore it against my better judgment and pull the keys for the cuffs out of my pocket. Keeping her chained up indefinitely isn’t sustainable.
If she tries to make a run for it, I’ll catch her. No one is going to see her out here in these woods. I know I’m doing this for more than the reasons I’m feeding myself. Because the guilt is a clawing thing in my chest, and I’m praying releasing her wrist will allow it to sheath its claws enough so I can think.
I can handle her if she tries anything. I’m twice her size, trained in ways she can’t imagine. She’s nothing. Hell, I bet she hasn’t even thrown a real punch before.
I’ve got this.
I walk to the bedside, key in hand. “Saint.”
She doesn’t respond.
“I know you’re awake.”
After a few seconds, she slowly rolls over to face me. Her blue eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s a trail of tears on her cheeks. The sight of them feels like someone is jabbing a hot branding iron into my chest. I swallow the pain and push the fantasies of what that might have been a little bit further down.
“I’m going to uncuff you,” I tell her.
Surprise flickers across her face. “Why? Don’t tell me you had a change of heart?”
“No change of heart. I just know keeping you cuffed permanently isn’t an option, and I think it would be good to give your wrist a break.” It’s not a lie. Holding the key out in front of her, I continue. “But if you try anything, if you run, if you fight me, it’s going to end badly. Understand?”