Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“There is no other way.”
“Please,” the girl at the counter says, pulling out as much cash as she can, “just take anything you want, but don’t hurt me.”
“Nobody is going to hurt you,” I say carefully to her. “It’s okay.”
Davina turns to me, her eyes darting through me like tiny razors. “You need to remember your place, Willa.”
“She’s scared,” I whisper-hiss. “Remember yours. You’re not a monster, Davina.”
Sirens blare in the distance and Davina spins toward the girl. “You called the police?”
She must have an emergency button.
We have to leave.
Now.
“Davina, we need to go. Right now.”
“Not until she hands over that money.” Davina waves the gun at the girl. “Hurry up.”
Pale-faced, the girl starts shoving the money into a shopping bag.
“Move it,” Davina bellows, and when she jerks the gun, it goes off.
It’s almost like a nightmare, really.
The girl, who is standing, is suddenly on the ground. Davina goes pale and drops the gun, stammering something I can’t understand. My entire body feels like it won’t move as I stare at the scene before me, horrified. I rush around the counter toward the girl on the ground, bleeding from her stomach, her eyes wide with fear.
“Davina,” I scream. “Help!”
The front door slams.
The shop goes silent.
Davina left me.
She left me.
I look down at the girl, who is staring at me with fear in her eyes. “It’s okay,” I say to her, pressing my hands onto her stomach to stop the bleeding. “Help is coming.”
Help is coming.
It is.
God, Davina, what have you done to me?
1
“My name is Ember.”
I stare at the gorgeous, young woman I’m sharing a cabin with. She looks like she’s barely old enough to drink, let alone have been locked up in prison, but here we are. I know all these women are ex-criminals, so whatever she did, it must have been good enough to get her thrown behind bars.
It’s impossible to believe she could do anything wrong just by looking at her.
Tiny, gorgeous, with a blond bob and the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. No way in the world she is a dangerous to society.
“That’s wonderful,” I mutter, throwing my suitcase onto the bed.
“You’re Willa,” she goes on, unfazed by my snarky mood.
“Yep,” I mumble, turning toward her. “Look, no offense or anything, but I don’t want to be here, and I have no interest in making friends. I want to get this over and done with so I can go home and start my life again.”
She studies me, her eyes scanning over my face. She might be tiny and innocent looking, but in the depths of her gaze, you can see the intelligence and ability to read people. It’s rather off-putting.
I look away.
“Why were you in prison?” she asks, not at all bothered by how uncomfortable she’s making me.
“I shouldn’t have been,” is my answer.
“I got caught with drugs, a lot of them. It was a misunderstanding; I was stupid and believed my boyfriend was a good person and trusted him. He set me up so he didn’t have to go down. I did six months, nothing too major, but it’s not something I’d like to do again.”
Six months is not a bad stint for possession, someone must have got her out. I mean, anyone looking at her can tell she’s not a damned drug dealer, but still, sometimes it’s the innocent ones who are the most dangerous.
“Super,” I say, walking out of the room in an attempt to end the conversation.
Fallon, our other roommate, is standing in the kitchen, organizing things in a way that tells me right off the bat that she has OCD. She has already emptied out the cupboards and rearranged them. The cabin, which was already sparkling clean, is now even more so. She doesn’t say a lot, but she’s friendly enough.
As I said, though, I’m not here to make friends.
I walk outside and see Waylen standing on the patio, cigarette in hand. He’s gorgeous and he damn well knows it. The man is built like a linebacker and has the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen on a man. Matched with his cropped brown hair, olive skin and muscled build, he’s someone who turns quite a few heads.
Mine included.
But that’s a story for another day.
“Got a spare one of those?”
He stares at me, and then pulls a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and thrusts it toward me. I take one out, putting it into my mouth and leaning forward as he flicks the lighter, eyes not leaving mine as he brings it to the cigarette. I inhale as I step back, breathing in the smoke and closing my eyes. I don’t smoke often, but damn, the times when I do it brings me such comfort.
“Where’s my bodyguard?” I say, after exhaling the smoke.
Waylen nods his head toward the main house, which is a good walk away. “He’s comin’.”