Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
“I can cook sometime, you know.” I sit across from him and wince at the discomfort in my ass.
It’s impossible to move without feeling him inside me anymore.
A fact he notices and appreciates, considering the slight twitch of his upper lip. “I’ll do the cooking.”
“I thought you didn’t know how.”
“That was a month ago. I learned how.”
I nod and take a bite of my salad. “Can I have some fries?”
“Chips?”
“Chips. Fries, whatever.”
“You don’t have to ask.” He pushes the whole plate in front of me.
“Wow. You actually gave up your food. The first time we met, you almost killed me because I asked for a taste.”
That event feels like ages ago. I was infatuated with Creighton at first sight. He was silent, stoic, and the perfect recipe to pull on my heartstrings. Despite his broodiness, I yearned to bring out the man that lurked inside him.
I yearned to sink my claws into his skin and yank the secret part free.
But maybe I should’ve heeded his and everyone else’s warning and stayed away. Maybe I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m currently in.
“You were a stranger back then,” he says, scooping up a handful of fries and practically mounding them on top of my salad. “You’re not now, so you can have my food any day.”
I try and fail not to be touched, especially knowing how much he loves food and that he certainly doesn’t give it up, even to the people closest to him, including his brother and Remi.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I can’t eat all of that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want to make me fat.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Not since I got here.” I release a long sigh. “How come we never run out of stuff?”
He remains silent, seeming preoccupied with eating, but he just doesn’t want to answer me.
“Does someone bring supplies? When?”
Silence.
“When I’m asleep?”
More silence.
“Creighton!”
Still clutching both his fork and knife, he lifts his head while chewing slowly. His look is unnerving, so absolutely blank sometimes that I’m terrified of the depths it hides.
Sometimes, he looks at me like he won’t let me leave his side, ever, and if I try to, things will get ugly.
A secret part of me likes that. Too much. It scares me.
“Yes?”
“Do you have someone who comes over?”
“Not yet. I have a stock full of food that will last us for a few months. But even if we run out, you don’t have to worry about it. Needless to say, if you have any plans to escape, you might want to abandon them.”
My lungs deflate with a long breath as I let my fork stab into the salad without bringing anything to my mouth.
“Can I at least call my mom and tell her I’m okay?”
“So your father can track the call?”
“I’ll just text her then.”
“No. There are no phones here.”
I release a groan of frustration. “What if one of us gets injured or sick and we have to call for help?”
“I’ll think about that when it happens.” He pours himself a glass of wine. No kidding, he drinks wine. At fucking twenty.
He’s like an old man sometimes, I swear.
But I don’t say no to a drink, so when he pours me a glass, I take a sip, too.
The bland stuff is starting to grow on me. Or maybe his family only keeps premium wine, because I never thought I would like it until now.
Creighton leans back in his chair twirling the glass of wine and watching me with a little smile.
I stuff my face with salad. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Because you kidnapped me?”
“You like it here.”
“I do, but I don’t want to be trapped in this place for the rest of my life.”
“It’s better than being surrounded by the outside world.”
Oh.
It dawns on me then.
The outside world, the truth about his origins and my parents’ involvement, is what tore us apart, so Creighton has purposefully chosen a place where they can’t reach us.
I don’t know if I should be touched or appalled by that fact.
“How about your parents?” I whisper. “They must miss you.”
“They understand. Dad encouraged this plan.”
“He what?”
Creighton lifts his glass in the form of a cheers. “Best Dad of the Year Award goes to Aiden King.”
“Wow. I thought he might be unhinged from the time we talked, but now I’m sure.”
One of his brows rises. “You talked?”
“More like he threatened me, but Papa threatened him, too, almost killed him, actually, so I pretended to faint and Papa had no choice but to take me back. He totally didn’t believe my performance, though.” I sigh. “I’m afraid some sort of a world war will happen if they meet again.”
“Which is one more reason not to go back.”
“Then we’d just be running.”
“So what?”
I release a frustrated breath. “We can’t just do that, Creighton. We have a life back at home. People waiting for us. People who love us.”