Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“What the fuck did you do?” Fury roars, lunging toward him.
“No,” I cry out. “No, Fury, he was asleep.”
He comes to a stop, panting with rage, and the two men stand, face to face. “Back down,” Western snarls. “Now.”
Fury does as he’s asked, and he turns to look at me once more.
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I manage, before shoving through the gates and rushing toward my car.
I don’t look back, even as they both call out my name.
I get in my car, and I get the hell out of there.
I cry the entire way home, big heaving sobs. Memories continue to swirl in my mind, and even though I know he didn’t mean it, I also know I need a minute to process the way I’m feeling right now. I don’t have a reason to be scared, and yet I am. I’m scared of his strength, his pain, but mostly, I’m scared of his demons. He could have killed me tonight. That’s the cold hard reality of it.
I can’t stop that thought from repeating over and over in my head.
By the time I arrive home, I’m an absolute mess.
I was warned, so many times, not to get involved with Western.
I was so confident, so sure of myself, that I never once considered the situation I was putting myself–and my heart–into.
Making my way into my house, I go to the bathroom and flick on the light. Before me stands a woman I don’t recognize. My eyes are red and glassy, my skin is blotchy and red, and my face is swollen. It’s my neck, though, that brings a new wave of emotion to the surface. The dark, angry red marks in the perfect shape of his fingers. Reaching up to run my hand over it, I clench my eyes shut, horror washing over me.
What am I doing?
What the hell am I doing?
I could just leave, pack it all up and go like the other reporter did. Change my name, make a new life for myself, and move on. There is nothing keeping me here, not really, and yet even as I have that thought, I know I won’t do it. I won’t leave him. Am I broken? Am I so attached that I’m refusing to see what’s right in front of me? Backing out of the bathroom, I turn off the light and ignore my phone ringing over and over as I go to my room, flicking the covers back.
I crawl into bed, pulling them over my head.
Here, for just a moment, I don’t feel like the world is crashing down around me.
Just for a moment.
9
I’m avoiding him.
I know I shouldn’t be; I know I have to talk to him, but right now I need to occupy my mind with something else, anything else.
So, I did a whole lot of digging, and begging Nathan, and managed to find out where the last reporter, Georgina Thomas, moved. She never released her findings–the moment Bill got word that she was looking into him, he basically threatened her to leave town otherwise she would pay. She did as he asked, dropping the story and moving away. She’s smart, probably smarter than me.
Still, she might know something I don’t.
She might have something that can help.
I found out she works two towns over as an editor for a magazine. I called her, and, surprisingly, she agreed to meet with me.
So, I got in my car and drove three hours to meet up with her at a local café.
From the moment she walks in, I can see she’s not pulling punches. She walks with confidence, the kind of confidence you don’t mess with. Nathan told me she is a shark, and now I’m looking at her, I can see that. Her blond hair is pulled back into a bun, and she’s wearing a pantsuit that makes her look that much more powerful. Her face is free of lines and blemishes, and she has the prettiest green eyes. She’s beautiful, but she’s also a raging bitch.
I haven’t met her yet, but I could almost bet you wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.
“You must be the girl everyone is talking about,” she says, when she approaches the table.
“That would be me,” I say, standing and extending my hand. “I’m Bonnie.”
“Georgina, but you already know that. I’ll give it to you, Bonnie, you’ve got balls.”
I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at that comment.
“Yes, well, it has gotten me into a great deal of trouble. Please, sit.”
She sits down across from me, and we both order a coffee. She briefly tells me about her new job, and then we get to the nitty gritty of it all. I want the information she has, if any. I’m running out of options fast, and nobody wants to talk to me. Everyone is afraid I’ll share it with the world. When I walk down the street now, I know people are talking. They stop me, asking questions, sometimes they even get angry. It’s not always fun.