Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 191421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 957(@200wpm)___ 766(@250wpm)___ 638(@300wpm)
When all Brad does is watch him fearfully, Reign shakes him, as though trying to jar loose the answer he wants to hear.
And he does because Brad jerks out a nod and squeaks, “Y-yes. I-I get it.”
“Good.” Another shake. “Now apologize to her.”
“Reign, I don’t think that’s necessary,” I chime in.
He gets up in Brad’s face again. “Apologize!”
Frantically, Brad looks at me and whimpers. “I’m s-sorry. I-I’m fucking sorry, all right? For touching you. For p-propositioning you. For fucking e-everything.”
“I-I forgive you.” Then, to Reign, “Now let him go.”
Finally, fucking finally, he does. And Brad’s pushing at Reign who goes back easily and scrambling away.
I don’t wait for Brad to disappear completely before turning back to this crazy and insane and strangely protective — protective — guy standing in front of me.
“What were you trying to do?” I ask, pushing on his shoulders. “Are you crazy? You could’ve really killed him, Reign. You could’ve —”
“Proposition,” he says in a low voice, his stare as intense as ever.
“What?”
“What did he mean when he said he’d propositioned you?”
Oh shit.
I snatch my hand off his shoulder and move back, repeating, “What?”
Opting to play dumb is the only thing that I can think of.
Because it looks like he wants to go after Brad again.
Stupid Brad.
He takes a step toward me. “What was he talking about?”
“Nothing,” I tell him, shaking my head. “He was talking about nothing. It’s not important.”
“It’s not important,” he says, dipping his chin toward me. “Or is it nothing?”
“It’s both. Not important. Not anything,” I say quickly, moving back.
And somehow I find myself in the same position as Brad.
Spine stuck to that tree with this hunk of a guy standing before me.
Only he doesn’t have to put a single finger on my body to take my breath away.
He’s doing that with his bloodshot eyes and his bruised face.
“Tell me.”
His words are rough and raspy but still commanding.
And there’s no doubt that if I don’t tell him, he won’t let it go.
It’s better to just give him what he wants.
But I’m not doing that without taking some precautions first. So I go for his t-shirt again. I fist it at his ribs tightly. With both hands. Then, “I’ll tell you. But you have to promise me that you won’t lose your shit and go after him again.”
His gaze flickers down to my hands on his body.
To my puny fists that, if we’re being honest, won’t do much to hold him.
But I have to do something. I have to make sure that he doesn’t attack Brad again.
“Promise me, Reign,” I prod.
He looks up. “No.”
I pull at his t-shirt. “Reign, you have to promise me. You —”
“Because a promise is an oath and I’ll break it.”
“You —”
He licks his split lip. “Don’t wanna break an oath to you.”
I don’t say anything after that.
And neither does he.
I guess there’s no need.
There’s no need for words when a rush goes through my body.
A hot rush.
So hot that my skin stings with it.
My body aches with it.
And my mind is flashing. With memories. With things of the past.
Usually, I fight it.
I fight when they surface, but right now I don’t have the strength.
Right now, I let them come.
As I study the red flecks in his eyes. As I count his eyelashes.
And breathe in his summery, sunshine-y, watermelon-y scent.
“He meant actually propositioning me,” I whisper to Reign. “When everything happened, when we… when Lucas broke up with me, the news spread everywhere. At the manor obviously, but also at school. And so… So guys would come up to me and ask me out, leave notes in my locker, that sort of thing. But not in a nice way. In a bad way, a mean way. Kind of like coming on to me because I was this… this slut who cheated on her boyfriend with his best friend and so they thought I was fair game.”
I realize that by the time I’ve told him the sorry tale, he’s gone rigid.
Even more so than before.
He’s gone all heated and intense, his jaw clamped shut in a way that must be painful for him with all these bruises. His eyes go even bloodier.
“Reign?” I prod, trying to wake him up.
A pulse jumps on his cheek. “It doesn’t end, does it?”
His low, threadbare voice makes my heart race. “What doesn’t?”
“This.” A pause, then, “My fuck-up.”
My fists tighten in his t-shirt. “Your what?”
He clenches his teeth something fierce, his eyes narrowing, his words muttered and low. “Lucas is all fucked up. He’s this close to losing it. This close to losing everything that he’s ever worked for. You’re still at that shithole of a school. When you should be out there, ready to go to NYU. Ready to become a fucking writer or whatever the fuck you want to be. But you’re not, are you? Because of me. And now I find out,” he swallows painfully, smacking a hand on the tree, “that there are motherfuckers out there who dared to look at you. Who fucking dared to think that they could talk to you that way and there would be no consequences. And they dared because I fucked up. Because of what I did. Of all the lines I crossed, all the rules I broke and I —”