Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
"You were hit by a car. That's one of the problems, Anissa. You’re impetuous and disobedient and ran wildly into oncoming traffic."
Impetuous? Disobedient? I feel my brows lift in surprise. "One of the problems you have with me? I'm not a child. I know that much. I’m sorry, I know I was in an accident, but did I somehow go back in time?”
He growls and doesn't speak for a moment as if he's trying to compose himself. "You’re definitely no fucking child.”
His gaze grows hungry as he licks his lips, and I’m once more reminded of a wolf, but this time, he looks ready to eat me alive. I blink and stare, trying to compose my thoughts and my expression all at once and failing at both.
I chatter on, trying to regain some control. "So far, we've established that I'm your wife. I ran from you heedlessly and was hit by a car. My reason for running from you had something to do with your high-handed ways? And I'm guessing you must have a ring that I lost in the accident."
"Yes," he says, and something like regret crosses his face. There’s a vague familiarity about all of this, but just enough off-kilter to make it feel like I’m staring into the mirror at a funhouse. The truth is distorted. His ragged voice utters a low, harsh command. “Give me your hand.”
When he takes my hand in his much larger, much rougher one, I note the golden ring that glints in the overhead light. “Your ring,” he says, slipping it back onto my finger. It’s heavy and cold. I notice a small engraving inside—a twisted line that looks as sharp as barbed wire. In hardship and loyalty, it reads.
I stare in wonder as he slides it onto my finger. It feels vaguely like Prince Charming sliding the glass slipper on Cinderella's foot because it fits perfectly.
I rub my thumb along the ring, waiting for it to feel foreign, but it doesn't. It’s a perfect fit. At the same time, though, it's reminiscent of the cuff he just took off. A teeny, tiny perfect handcuff. I can’t remember the ceremony, but the words resonate. I note the matching ring of gold that glints on his finger.
"How long have we been married?" My voice feels detached and hollowed like I’m speaking in a tunnel. I’ll ask questions until I know who I am.
"One week."
My jaw drops. My god. "One week, and we already hate each other?"
A ghost of a smile crosses his features again. "We never liked each other, Anissa. You were given to me by your father. He owed me a debt, and he paid it with you."
I blink in shock. "Jesus," I mutter. "What a dick move."
This time, he actually does laugh. I start at the sound.
"Some men value their lives more than their virtue," he finishes.
"I see." I’m quiet for a moment before I continue. “So I was angry with you or… something,” I begin.
"Or something," he finishes with a nod. "Yes."
"And I ran from you, and I got hit by a car. Wow. I suppose I'm lucky to be alive.”
His gaze grows murderous, his tone chilling and laced with danger. "Lucky for the person driving that car that you're alive."
I lick my lips and swallow hard. "So… what happened to the person who hit me?"
He sits up straighter, and his eyes darken. His muscles tense. "What do you think? I did exactly what a husband is supposed to do when someone hurts his wife."
I stare at him. Again there's a twinge of familiarity, but I'm not sure if it's him that triggers it. There's something about his undeniable protection, cloaked in danger… Something about his violent, unbridled strength that makes me feel like I'm protected in a gilded cage. It’s all so familiar to me, and yet it makes my heart race. I lay my head on the pillow because the effort of talking is exhausting.
“I’m tired." I rest my head back and sigh. "And I'm sorry that we didn't get along before. Maybe you'll remind me why I don't like you. But for now, I'm glad you've given me some answers."
Something tells me we're going to have a lot more questions before this is through, I think, as sleep beckons.
"Those pain meds… okay, can you hook me up?" I'm guessing he doesn't really know that much about me. I was given to him in marriage, which doesn't actually surprise me. The arranged marriage idea is strangely familiar. Maybe it's because I was married to him, or maybe it's for another reason altogether. "I think I need a pair of crutches," I tell him. "I can't walk like this. And I really need to get out of this bed."
His phone rings. With a scowl and a curse, he shuts it off and shoves it into his pocket so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.