Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
He was trying to scare me.
And it was working.
But I’d known he was a killer for a long time. It was impossible not to know that after just gazing upon the man. Something instinctual told you what he was.
Yes, hearing him say it out loud was unnerving, but not as much as it should’ve been.
He’d said it in large part because he believed it. He was sure of what he was. There was conviction in his tone, grim resignation etched into every one of his features. But he also wanted to push me backward, back into our defined roles of captor and captive.
Instead, I pressed on.
“I think there is a lot more depth to you than just that,” I countered, my voice quiet, almost a whisper.
I held my breath, waiting for him to breathe fire. But he leaned forward imperceptivity. In our dynamic, the simple change in his posture was as mighty as a mountain moving.
“Why?” he asked, his low tone mirroring mine.
When I chewed my lip, his gaze followed the motion, hunger clouding his vision, pupils dilating slightly.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Because I can see it.”
The air between us changed. I swore it did. I could feel our roles warping, transforming. I was no longer his captor, a job, some abstract person that he was to break then deliver to his boss for a lifetime of torture.
I was a person to him. And maybe … I was something more. Of that I was certain.
He grasped my wrist.
The speed in which his hand moved was almost unnatural. I hadn’t been prepared for it. The conversation had been intense, but he was guarded, keeping his distance.
The man from moments ago was gone.
“You think you can unnerve me with a pretty cunt, Piper?” Despite the obvious violence of his grip and the crass words, his tone remained measured. His thumb stroked my wrist, right above my thundering pulse point. “You think that’ll save you? Throwing yourself at me? It won’t. This is the only warning you get. The next time you flash that at me, I won’t be restrained. I’ll take you in all the ways you’re begging for, and you’ll be so far beyond saving you’ll regret it.”
When he let my hand go, it felt so heavy it clanked onto my plate with the clutter of my silverware.
He went back to eating as if he hadn’t just said all of those earth-shattering, threatening, despisable yet somehow intensely delicious things.
There wasn’t a tremble to a single one of his fingers. Whereas my entire hand fumbled as I tried to mimic him by going back to my meal to prove that he hadn’t unnerved me.
That he hadn’t made me want to rip all of my clothes off, present myself to him in a dare to take me.
Swallowing food that was suddenly tasteless, I ate the rest of the meal in silence, unable to trust my instincts, my needs, the very air around me.
Knox was breaking me.
Just not in the way he’d intended.
Ten
Piper
Ineeded a distraction. I’d gone temporarily mad last night. Which was fine. One was allowed to go a little bit mad in situations like that.
Yes, I showed off my pussy to a monster, but it’s okay. Act like it never happened.
Act like you didn’t see that raw, almost ugly yet picturesque hunger on his face.
I could do it. I could eat and sleep in the same space as him for an indefinite amount of time until I was delivered to Stone.
Yeah, I could totally do that.
That’s what I’d convinced myself during the long hours it took me to find sleep. Knox wasn’t in the room. He’d gone outside after doing the dinner dishes, with me sitting at the table, watching him with a muffled ringing in my ears.
I didn’t know what he was doing out there. It was long dark, and the air had a nip to it. He hadn’t put on a jacket when he left, I’d noted that. He’d be cold.
Why I was worrying about him being cold was beyond me. He deserved it. He deserved to get his fingers fall off from frostbite and worse.
Yet I’d tossed and turned after stoking the fire and almost got up to find him, to hand him his coat. The caretaker in me could not be killed by threats. Not yet at least.
Eventually, I’d fallen into a fitful sleep, restless and dreaming of Knox. Of him hurting me. Of him being in bed with me. Of the world burning.
Cheerful things.
The next morning, I’d jumped out of bed with the intention of ignoring him and going for a run. But as I’d left the bathroom, fully dressed this time, he was up.
“You’re eating before you’re running,” he said, back to me at the stove.
I stopped in my tracks at his voice. As though last night had never happened.