Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I hold out my palm. “It’s over.” The game. The lesson. “Give me the gun.”
Mistrust flickers in her eyes. She doesn’t believe me. But there’s also a spark of vulnerability. She wants to believe me. In the end, a vicious mixture of shock and anger wins out, distorting her pretty features.
Not breaking our eye contact, she braces herself. She tightens her finger on the trigger, gets a feel for it. Time stops. So does my pulse. There’s nothing but her, me, and that gun. As if in hindsight, she jumps back a step, making sure I can’t grab her, all the while pointing the gun at my heart.
The human body is wired to function on instinct. The spiking of my heartbeat is an involuntary impulse. The organ reacts to being threatened. We’re tuned in to each other, breathing each other’s air and will of survival. Like a hunter and its prey, we’re connected in the most intimate of ways in the second that separates life and death. In that second, we’re living inside one another. I feel her intention even before I see it in the way her eyes flare at the same time as her pupils contract.
Surprising both of us, she takes the leap. She jumps over a cliff from which there’s no return. Instead of going for quick and painless, she aims for my stomach.
Click.
The hammer triggers the striker, firing the empty chamber.
Her face turns ghostly white. She’s shocked that she did it, that she would’ve killed me. Or maybe that she didn’t. That she chose a long and torturous suffering instead of a quick and painless death. Perhaps she’s most surprised by the latter. Hell, so am I. I didn’t think she had it in her, not even for a minute, and I can only respect her for it.
The gun drops from her hand, hitting the floor with a clank. She backs up, looking from the gun to me.
“Sabella.”
The commanding tone of my voice stops her. Her gaze flits to the useless weapon on the floor.
“Look at me,” I say, the instruction gentle.
Her gaze snaps back to mine.
“It wasn’t loaded.” I advance cautiously, reaching for her. “The chamber was empty.”
She shakes her head, making her hair fly around her face. She doesn’t want to believe what’s right in front of her eyes, let alone trust me.
I take another step. “They’d never let me carry a loaded gun in the airport.”
Her eyes clear a little as the logic gets through to her.
“It’s over.” I close the last distance between us and trap her in my arms. “Nothing would’ve happened.”
All that wildness caught inside her erupts. She fights me like a lioness, kicking and clawing and screaming. It doesn’t take much to hold her in the vise of my arms and lift her off her feet. Pressing our naked chests together, I let her carry on until she’s tired herself enough to sag like a rag doll in my hold. Dry sobs rack her shoulders.
“Shh.” I brush my lips over her forehead. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
“I hate you,” she says, her voice raw and broken. “However much you hate me, I’ll always hate you more.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I hook an arm beneath her knees, lift her into my arms, and carry her to the bathroom.
She continues to fight, but her effort is feeble, her strength spent. “Put me down.”
“In a minute.”
When I deposit her on her feet, she wraps her arms around herself and stands there shivering. I turn on the tap in the shower, letting the water run warm while I make quick work of undressing. After testing the temperature, I pick her up and put her under the spray. She hisses as the water runs over her ass.
I don’t linger. I only take as much time as necessary to wash her clean and rinse her hair. That wild look on her does things to me, things I don’t like. I prefer her better like this, looking whole and normal. Not broken and unraveled. Not ugly inside. That’s me. That’s reserved for the monsters.
She’s gone from shivering and crazed to numb and vacant when I’m finished. I dry her off before taking a towel for myself. Making her sit on the closed lid of the toilet, I use the hairdryer to dry her hair. She lets me, not saying a word or looking at me or herself in the mirror.
She remains quiet while I dry my own hair, accepting whatever fate I choose for her. That’s all right. Now isn’t the time for talking.
I carry her to the bed, pull back the covers, and lay her down. She curls into a ball like Pirate used to do. Maybe I should get her another cat when we get home. Ryan informed me about what happened. Knowing how much she loved that cat, I can only imagine how hard it must’ve been for her.