Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Part of me was looking forward to it. Craving the chase. The defeat in her eyes when I caught her, proving to her that she’d never escape me. Part of me was half-hard just thinking of that.
Which was likely why I bought the fucking cigarettes.
When I came out of the store, the car was still there. As was Piper. Nothing outwardly changed about me, it never did. But inside, I was surprised.
On the surface, people might’ve thought her stupid to waste such a golden escape attempt.
I saw past the surface.
Piper was smart. She understood the gravity of her situation completely.
And she loved her sister.
Enough to die for her.
Because that’s what going into the Appalachian Mountains with me was.
Death.
“Those will kill you.”
I will not look at her.
My head craned upward to look upon her body, illuminated by the sunshine behind her. She was wearing cutoff shorts, cowboy boots stained with mud and a white tank with dirt smeared on it. Her legs were long, tanned, defined and went on for fucking ever. Her small tits were perky, aching to be shown attention. Her neck was slim, delicate, fragile. I unclenched my left hand, taking a long pull of the cigarette with the right as I imagined circling that neck with my palm, squeezing, cutting off air, bruising it as I came.
A glimpse in her hazel eyes was a bucket of ice water on my previously dead, rotted and fucked-up libido.
She was looking at the cigarette in my hand, her hands on her hips. Whether she’d noted my gaze on her body was unapparent.
“I’ll be long dead before I can see the results of this.” I took another drag before throwing it onto the muddy ground.
Piper blew out an exasperated sigh, leaning down to snatch the still burning butt and putting it out against the wall before holding it in her palm.
She kept it there, her palm outstretched like she was holding some kind of bug.
“Littering,” she scoffed. “We don’t do that. Not here.” She waved her hand at the woods and mountains in wonder.
With reverence.
“We shouldn’t do it anywhere,” she continued. “But we do. We. Us humans. Pillaging. Destroying. Creating endlessly. Consuming endlessly. Discarding things when we’re done with them as if they no longer exist.” She squeezed her palm shut, looking at me. “I do that. I’m guilty of it all. It’s easy to forget in the city. But here…” She gazed upward, drawing in a long breath.
I watched her chest move as she did so, my eyes traveling over the soft mounds of her breasts.
“Here,” she repeated, moving her gaze back to me, but not before I returned what I hoped was a dismissive stare. “Here I cannot see you sully it. Not even with something tiny. So…”
I found her words to be captivating. Her obvious love for those woods, those mountains. It denoted a history. One that I had not discovered. Once again, I kicked myself for my lack of meticulous research, thinking this job was going to be easy. Lapsing into a false sense of security was deadly in my world.
But we weren’t in my world. The painful realization was inescapable now.
We were in hers.
And I was beginning to understand that that was deadly too.
I itched for a way to find out about her past. But I didn’t have one. We were out of range for cell service—purposefully. And though I doubted anyone on Stone’s team was talented enough to track me, I’d kept all my tech at my apartment. I had no need for it. Needing to call for help meant I was morally injured, and I deserved to die anyway. And I had no one to call.
Not a single way for me to dig for skeletons. Except to ask her. Talk to her. No way in fuck would I be doing that.
Silence descended between us, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Piper did not do well in silence. I’d observed that since I met her, during the drive here. She’d writhed with discomfort, unable to resist making conversation with a man she thought might possibly rape and murder her.
A ridiculous personality trait, yet one I found immensely charming.
“Here is my list,” she said, handing me a piece of paper.
I took it on instinct. Her handwriting was messy, barely legible. But I could see she put little fucking hearts over the “I”s.
Tampons, food requests—gummy bears and pop rocks. What was she, seven?
“Seeds, dirt, planters?” I questioned, once I moved past the candy.
She nodded. “I’m going to start a garden.”
“A garden,” I repeated before I could stop myself.
“Yes, well, I can only hope I won’t be here to see the fruits of my labor, no pun intended since I do in fact plan on planting strawberries.” She winked. My cock twitched. “But there are only so many weeds I can wrestle with and books I can pretend to read, and it’s good for the soul to get hands in the dirt. Grow things. And then maybe your next captive can bake you a strawberry pie or throw together a tomato salad.”