Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Callie stared at him, shocked. “You love me?”
“Yes, I love you. You mean the fucking world to me, and nothing and no one is going to fucking change that. Now, let’s go and get this pregnancy test.”
Callie couldn’t move.
Love.
She loved him so damn much. She didn’t for a second think he felt the same way. Why would he? He’d been sent to kill her.
It doesn’t change anything.
But would a positive pregnancy test change that?
****
Ruin knew he shouldn’t have tried to bring her to his home, but when she’d walked toward him and told him about being pregnant, he knew he couldn’t let her do this alone. There was always a high chance of her getting pregnant. He’d not been careful. He’d wanted to knock her up.
He stood outside of the bathroom while she took the test and tried not to worry. There was no way she could escape from his home. He knew every single nook and cranny of the house. He’d designed it, built it, and this was the most secure home in the fucking world. When he wasn’t working, he liked to rest and relax in comfort. No one entered his home without him knowing.
Father.
Dad.
He stopped, a little shaken. He’d never thought for a second he would be any one of those things. Running a hand down his face, he tried to focus on Callie. Ruin stared at the door and waited. He was about to bang on the door, when she suddenly opened it.
“We’ve got to wait a couple of minutes,” she said. “For the test to give a result.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“I just peed on a stick. There was nothing scary or odd about doing that.”
“I know, but how are you feeling?” He wanted to touch her.
For the past three months, on odd days, he’d snuck into her apartment and laid with her. He hadn’t fallen asleep. He’d come close a few times, but he’d not completely fallen.
“I’m fine.”
He gritted his teeth.
She shut him out. This was all Callie would do.
“Callie, please.”
“Let’s just wait for the test.”
He looked back to the bathroom and that test didn’t feel like his salvation. It felt more like a freaking nightmare to him. He felt sick to his stomach. He’d seen some fucked-up shit in his time, had even come up with many different scary fucked-up things to do, but this … this terrified him.
“No,” he said.
“What?”
“No, I’m not going to wait for the fucking test. Are you waiting for it to be negative so you can tell me to get out of your life for good? Is that what you think is happening with me?” he asked.
“I don’t know what is happening with you,” Callie said.
But he saw it. She looked away.
“And if the test is positive, what then?” he asked.
“What exactly do you want from me, Ruin? If that is really your name? I don’t know anything about you. You’re … I don’t know who you are. You lied to me.”
“The only thing I lied to you about was my reason for being there, and I know it’s a freaking big one, but I can’t change that. Trust me, if I could, I would.” He took a deep breath. “I … my name is John Doe, and that is no fucking joke. I was abandoned as a baby. My parents, whoever the fuck they were, didn’t even have the sense to drop their baby at a care home. No, they dumped me at an animal shelter. A kill shelter.” He burst out laughing. “I don’t know if it was because they were stupid, didn’t care, or if they hoped the staff would kill me.”
“Ruin?”
He held his hand up. He had never spoken about this to anyone. His name, who he’d once been … he’d locked that shit up tight.
“As you can see, the kill shelter didn’t do it, but they sent me to a foster home. As a baby, I was adorable and I got adopted out, until about four, when that family decided I was too much of a handful. From that moment, I never knew a safe home. I was bounced around. By the time I was seven, I’d already been told more times than I could count that all I did was ruin everything. The moment I turned up, I destroyed everything. From seven till about thirteen, I took the beatings. I took the violence, and in a way, I fed on it. But, with each whip of the belt, each hit of the bat, it made me stronger, until one day, my foster dad was drunk and came at me, and this time I wasn’t about to take another beating. I hit back that day. I’ve hit back every single day.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“By fifteen I was on the streets, and trust me, that is no place for a young man. Especially a young man with a lot of rage inside him. So, I fought my way up. I killed my first man at fifteen. He was trying to fucking rape me. I had a knife, and I slit his throat. This happened in an alley. I ran. I moved. I learned how to fight properly, and it wasn’t long before I was doing odd jobs, a beating here, a kill there. Nearly thirty years later, I’m the fucking Bogeyman. I’m the man people call to finish the job.” He pointed at his chest. “And I’m more than happy with that. I can live with all of it.”