Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Yet, instead of running like anybody with a brain between their ears, she only stares at me, raising a hand to rub at her throat. “It isn’t true.” Her voice trembles along with the rest of her. “It isn’t.”
“Now you’re going to tell me what is and isn’t true? I gave you the chance to get the fuck out of my face—”
Her head swings back and forth. “I don’t think you want to hurt me. You’re just saying that.”
She may as well set a match to a powder keg.
I don’t know what pisses me off more. How wrong she is about what I’m capable of or how she reads my mind where it pertains to her. I only know I have no choice but to grab a handful of hair and yank her head back, glaring down at her while reaching for the gun resting against my lower back.
“You’re still that deluded?” I snarl, holding the pistol up for her benefit.
Her already tear-filled eyes bulge, focusing on it. She’s near hyperventilation with her quick, shallow breaths. “Please…”
“Please, what?” I touch the muzzle to her cheek, and she whimpers, then shudders as I drag it over her jaw and down her neck. “Please, don’t blow my brains out? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done it. And accidents happen all the time. You could just as easily disappear without a trace.”
“Please, don’t,” she pleads in a tiny squeak of a voice.
“Maybe you’d rather have it someplace else.” I trace the curve of her tit, the flat plane of her stomach. She’s shaking harder, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. “Is that it? You want to feel it in your pussy?”
Once I reach the hem of her dress, I work the fabric up, pressing the steel against her thigh. She goes still, and her breath catches. “What? You usually cream your panties when I touch you here.”
It’s like studying a work of art, watching terror take hold. I stare into her eyes as the pupils dilate until there’s hardly anything left but black emptiness gazing back at me from her ghostly white face.
“I know what this is all about,” I whisper in mock surprise. “You can’t stand the thought of being away from my cock. That’s it, right? If you really want it that bad, I could bend you over the desk and claim your sweet pussy right now. Would that make you happy?”
She remains silent, and it’s not her silence I want. I tug her hair harder, forcing her to answer. “No.”
“No? No to what? You don’t want me to fuck you?”
“No.” Her voice is a little stronger now, but just barely.
I pull her closer one last time. The impulse to kiss her is almost too much to resist. Even now, I want her enough to make me hate her. “Then why the hell are you still here? This is your last chance. Go.” I release her again, hating myself even more.
I know she got the message loud and clear this time. Like a lamb running from the wolf stalking her, she hustles out of the office. Once she’s gone, I can breathe. The tension in my muscles releases, and I fall back into the chair, scrubbing a hand down my face. I need to get over this, to get away from her. We can’t be together or do whatever the fuck it was we were doing.
If she hates me, she hates me. That’s how it should be. How it needs to be. I’m too old for her. Too dark. Too dangerous. And I doubt she could hate me more than I hate myself right now, anyway.
BIANCA
My stomach churns as I roll through the front gate, like it has every night for the past few weeks. The guards let me in without question. Everybody’s used to me coming and going by now, though it’s not like I was a stranger before this. They all seem happy I’m here, like this is where I belong.
Everybody except for one person, who I’ve barely set eyes on since that awful night in his office. The one person I can’t get out of my head.
The scene replays in my mind as I stare at the house, looming larger with every turn of the wheel. I would call it a gilded cage. Only I can leave whenever I want. Dad would let me move in with him in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But that would mean exchanging one cage for another, and at least this cage gives me space and freedom… even if the freedom is an illusion. Callum might not ask a million questions and monitor my every choice, but I still feel his presence looming over me. Everything’s a trade-off in the end.
Living here, I can come and go as I please without having to explain to anybody what I’m doing. If that’s the case, why do I always head straight back here after picking up something for dinner? I could hang out with some of the people from the office. I could stop at Dad’s for dinner. He’s been dying to catch up on how work is going, and it’s been a while since I’ve checked in on him. Sure, he manages to get through his days, but I have the sneaking suspicion he’d live on coffee and fast food if there wasn’t somebody around reminding him to eat a green vegetable every once in a while.