Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 120472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
I gape at him, far too consumed by his words to even acknowledge how fucking close he is. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I question, though I’m pretty fucking sure I already know.
“Stop acting so ignorant. You know what I’m offering,” he tells me, his tall frame looming over me, though with the blade on offer, I suddenly don’t feel so intimidated. “I took pleasure in hurting you and I would have ended your life had you pushed me far enough. It would have been simple. A quick slice across your throat and it all would have been over. I’m offering you the chance to even the score. Take the knife, Shayne.”
My gaze meets his and I hold it for a moment before finally reaching out and taking the knife in my hand. The handle is sleek, cold, and dark, just like every aspect of Roman’s soul. My finger presses to the very tip and I apply a little pressure, watching how the tip digs into my skin but doesn’t quite pierce it.
The sheer layer of blood rests along the curved blade from Roman’s palm, a stark reminder of just how sharp this thing really is. I release my finger from the tip and let the blade dangle in my hand, watching as that single drop of blood runs down and falls from the tip. It hits the expensive silk of my dressing gown and only once it’s completely absorbed do I glance back up and meet Roman’s heated stare.
“Let me get this straight,” I start, pushing away from the wall and watching as he moves with me, backing up a step, probably for the first time in his life. “You got off on hurting me. You chased me through the castle, probably hard as a fucking rock as I screamed, telling you over and over again that I didn’t do it. You shot out the tire of the car and caused a wreck that could have easily ended my life and then stalked me while I scrambled away with a piece of glass protruding from my stomach. You dragged me through the woods. You left scars all over my body. You held me down while your brother performed surgery on me. I was awake, Roman. I felt his hands moving inside my body, and now, after everything, you come into my room with a knife, and assume that if I get the chance to tear your flesh into ribbons that it’s suddenly going to make everything okay?”
Without another word, I slam the knife into his chest, the blade resting along the length of his wide pecs still glimmering in the glow of the moonlight. Though the blade doesn’t pierce his skin, I still get the sweetest satisfaction over the way his body tensed.
I step around him and walk to the door, holding it open and silently waiting for him to get the hint and walk out of here. Only the fucker doesn’t move.
“I know you and your brothers don’t know much about being normal fucking people, but let me give you a clue,” I growl. “When a woman stands at her door with a fucking scowl stretched across her face, that’s your cue to get the fuck out.”
He shakes his head and tosses the knife to my bed, turning to stare me down. “I see it in your eyes, Shayne. You want this. You want to hurt me just as I’ve hurt you. You want to hear my pain, feel my skin grow clammy beneath your touch. You want me to fear my life slipping away just like you did.”
My eyes narrow as anger pulses through my veins, and without thinking, I walk back toward him, feeling the power getting me high at having a man like Roman DeAngelis at my mercy. “Don’t doubt me for one second,” I seethe. “I want those things more than you could know. I dream about how it would feel to put you down just like you wanted to do to me, but I see right through you, Roman DeAngelis, and you’re nothing more than a lost little boy desperate for someone to come along and save him. But get it through your thick fucking skull, that won’t be me. Doing this, taking that knife and letting it slice through your skin isn’t doing me any favors. It doesn’t even the score. All it’s good for is to make you feel better about the hell you put me through because of your lack of judgment and inability to trust anyone who isn’t yourself. I refuse to give you anything that will make you feel any less of a monster and I refuse to act out in a way that would make me any more of one. The weight of what you did is going to rest on your shoulders, it’s going to consume you until the day you die and that will be the sweetest revenge I’ll ever get.”