Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I draw the blanket up and wrap my arms around myself. I’m sitting on the mattress with my back against the wall. There’s no headboard. I still have my dress on but it’s ripped along the side and I’m barefoot. That’s when the dress tore, when Hugo insisted I give him the shoes and I insisted I would not. He won.
An hour must have passed since I’ve been in here. I thought Kill would be here sooner, but he’s probably making me wait it out. Making me anticipate what’s coming.
Something has changed between us. It’s like we’ve crossed a bridge that collapsed into the chasm below as we took step after unknowing step on its rickety planks. What’s been happening up until this point, I realize now, was child’s play. That was the easy part. The part I could survive.
I know he’s here before I hear him. It’s like I can feel his presence now, I’ve become so in tune with him. A chill runs up my spine and I shudder. I always seem to have a very visceral reaction to him, even to the thought of him. It’s like my body reacts to him outside of the parameters set by my brain.
I hear his voice outside the door. Then Hugo’s. I can’t tell what they’re saying but I can distinguish between the two. A set of footsteps recedes down the hall. Hugo, I assume. When the key slides into the lock, I feel the cold sweat breaking over my forehead. The lock slides back. I push the blanket off and, as the door opens, I force myself to stand. To face what’s coming.
Kill stands in the doorway, still wearing his suit jacket. So proper. His gaze slides over me, takes in the torn dress, my bare feet. He steps in and closes the door behind him. The wall at my back is cold against my skin.
He releases me only momentarily from his gaze, hijacking mine again in our reflections in the mirror. He doesn’t speak as he slides off his jacket and hangs it across the back of the chair. Purposefully, he takes off one cuff link then the other, sets them on the table, the little sound they make is the only one in the room. He turns to me and my eyes drop to his hands as he begins to roll up one shirt sleeve, then the other. I look at them, at how thick they are, how muscled and powerful. Look at his big hands. Remember how they feel against my skin. How rough he is when he touches me. Takes me.
“I shouldn’t have walked away,” he says, startling me.
My gaze snaps back to his.
“I shouldn’t have left you that way.”
“What way?” I ask, backing into the wall even more when he takes a step toward me.
“I know the real truth, Cilla.”
I hear him, but I don’t want to think about that. All I know is I need to get out of here. Away from him. From his words. From the way he’s looking at me.
“I know,” he repeats.
“No.” I walk around the bed to the window. I can’t let him see me now.
“Look at me.”
He’s close behind me. I shake my head.
When he touches me, I jump, turn to him. I shake my head again, back away, but there’s nowhere to go and I’m going to be sick.
“Jones is in bad shape,” I say when the wall hits my back. I rub my face, cover it. I can’t talk about what he just said. I can’t have him look at me. Can’t have him see me. Not now.
“I think he’s in better shape than you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want this.”
“I know everything,” he says. “All of it.”
I double over and hug my stomach. My hair hangs like a curtain between us, shielding me from him.
“Cilla,” his voice is low. Dangerous.
I realize I’ve moved into a squat when he crouches down. As much as I want to crawl into his arms and bury my face in his chest and sob until I drown, when his fingers brush my hair, I slap his hand away. Look at him.
“You don’t know anything,” I spit. I stand, try to slip past him, but he catches me around the middle, draws me to him, my back to his wall of a chest.
A sob escapes but I swallow it. I can’t let this happen. Can’t let it start. Because if it does, it won’t stop.
“Let me go,” I beg. I’m shaking, I’m freezing. I’m too hot. I can’t look at him. I don’t want to see what I know will be in his eyes because I believe him. He knows. He knows all of it.
He sits on the bed, draws me onto his lap. I keep my face averted as he cradles me.