Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
He turns to me, taking three large strides forward, the cords in his neck taut and bulging as his dark eyes pierce into me.
“Shot me?” he questions me with nothing but disbelief and rage burning in his eyes.
The intensity of his stare alone makes me cower.
“Carter,” Jase speaks up from behind us, but Carter doesn’t turn away from me. He stares at me like I’ve betrayed him. As if what I did was the ultimate sin.
Has he forgotten that they’re my family? That I’ve begged him to spare them and yet he was going to execute them? Did he forget that he stole me from them and locked me in a cell for weeks?
He stares down at me as though he hates me.
I feel it. It’s raw and palpable.
At this moment, I feel he truly hates me. And that’s what breaks me.
Because no matter what he did to me, I never hated him. I love him.
Tears flow from me easily as Carter informs Jase in the most unfeeling manner that I’m to be removed from the premises.
My heart hollows and collapses, but my feet move, my body shoves me forward. And Carter follows, blocking me from running down the hall to the bedroom.
“I thought you loved me,” he sneers at me and I cover my mouth with my hand to hold back the agony.
I do love him. I do.
I swear I love this man.
Even if he hurt me and even if I hurt him just now.
I can’t voice a single word as his warm breath covers my face and my body wracks with a sob.
“Carter!” Jase yells, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look at anything other than me.
The moment he does, I bolt. I turn to run past Jase. I don’t dare try to run past Carter. He could block me, catch me, and throw me away. He could see to it himself to banish me from his home.
The hideaway room is past the bedroom, so that space isn’t an option either. And given the state Carter’s in, I don’t trust him to keep his word and let me recover from what’s happened, so I can try to explain.
Instead, I run as fast as I can, on shaky legs and with adrenaline coursing through me, in the opposite direction. The muscles in my thighs scream with pain as I take the stairs two at a time. The pounding of my heart and footsteps are overwhelming. I’m hot and sweating and not okay in any sense of the word. I have to make him understand somehow.
He starts chasing me, although at his own slow and teasing pace. The second I hear Carter behind me, I slip. My elbow and hand crash on the hard, wooden stairs as does my knee, sending shooting pains through my body. I could cry, and I hate myself for it. I did this. This is my fault. I look behind me and see Carter start to climb the stairs. A mask of anger and dominance appears set in stone on his handsome features.
The cell.
The thought hits me at that moment. I force myself to get up and run to the cell. I know it’s behind a painting. He wouldn’t be able to get in if I ran to the cell and locked myself in. It’ll take him time to get a key; time I desperately need. He needs to calm down and I need time. Time so I can figure out how to explain things to him in a way he’ll understand.
Running up the stairs and using that momentum to push off the wall at the top, I careen down the hall.
Which one is it? My breathing is unsteady and a cold sweat breaks out along every inch of my skin. My heart won’t stop racing; pounding chaotically. I can barely see straight.
There are six large paintings in the hall and my fingers fumble around the first, trying to heave it to the side, but it’s not the right one. I tremble as my gaze is whipped toward the sound of him coming.
The second painting I push so hard that it falls, nearly toppling over on me. It’s at least five feet long and four feet high. And it’s not the right one either. The frame splits and cracks and I have to high-step over it, scraping my shin as I go, but I don’t care. Where is it? I need to find it, please.
“You can’t run from me.” Carter’s deep voice reverberates through the hall, and glancing behind me, I see his shadow as he climbs the stairs.
Thump, thump, my heart pounds harder and harder. I can barely breathe.
I don’t know which one is the cell. I don’t know.
The box.
The very thought has me sprinting down the hall to the last set of stairs. Up one more floor and on the left. I run as fast as I can, gasping for breath. Just the idea of Carter not giving me a chance to even speak to him, to explain, to ask for forgiveness, is crushing me with every step.